Onknee Spambot Spikes the Ball a Good Fifty Yards Before Reaching the Goal Line

Onknee SpambotEvery so often I come by the blog and check it out to see if it’s updated.  For some reason it never does unless I post something myself.  Of course, if I have posted something there, then I know that it’s updated and don’t have to check.  Thus I don’t come.  And if I don’t come, it never updates.  Which means I should occasionally check, just in case it does.

It’s a vicious cycle, I know.

Stupidly so.

Anyways, one fine afternoon I stop by and lo!  What do I find but a comment on one of the posts.  As it’s not by me, I find this most exciting.

Not to suggest that my own comments are boring, I should hasten to add.  Far from it.  They’re absolutely thrilling.  You never know when I might use correct punctuation or end a sentence with a comma instead of a period.  Much like the posts in the blog, come to think of it,

This particular post, though, failed to live up to even that much potential.  Not that that came as a shock.  The commenter had the name of football.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen weird handles on the web.  But somehow I don’t see a Mr or Mrs football hanging around here.  I just don’t.  In all the years I’ve done this blog, I’ve mentioned football maybe four times.  That’s not a lot in a blog with well over a thousand and a half posts.

Reading the message itself did nothing to improve my opinion on things.  Observe:

Many years ago, Net sports activities book betting was risky.

It is Tennessee’s Rocky Top, Florida’s Old Ball Coach, and of course the Gator Chomp and the mighty Tim Tebow.

I guess a handful of suspensions was enough to satisfy the NCAA.

Now I realize that in a post with opening paragraphs as loosey goosey as this one has been up to this point that it might be, say, untoward to point out that the above makes little to no sense.  But I’m going to anyways.  The hell’s going on here?  We jump from one sentence to the next as if they were on fire and had a pit of lava underneath.

Much like this blog post.  Only without the intended humor.

 Sometimes looking at the post being commented on came help clear things up. In this case it’s a snarky commentary on a comic book that’s 35+ years old.  Which doesn’t help.  At all.

Not that I expected it to.  As the image at the top of the page (and the name in the title suggest) I’m fully convinced this is spambot work.  What I don’t understand is the logic behind it.  Surely there a way to program a search engine of sorts to look for the perfect post to attach the perfect faux comment.  Something that would give a person a wee pause before, I dunno, deleting it.

To give another example, last month I started getting emails from an Adrianna (I think that’s the name) claiming to have known me, seen my Facebook page or what have you (the messages varied) and wanted to reconnect.  Now besides the point I think I might remember meeting someone with a name like Adrianna, there’s the little problem of me no longer having a Facebook page.  I double checked.  The only Cullen Waters on there isn’t me.

It’s clearly not going to fool me.  It clearly won’t work and clearly destined for deletion, just like football.  Why bother?  I realize the programs doing it are mindless robotic drones, but surely the programmers aren’t.  Right?

Right?

Uh.  Might have just creeped myself out there.

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