Lately my WordPress posts have been inundated with spammers. Unlike the obscene spam of years past, these more innovative folks prefer to make a flattering, ambiguous comment in hopes that readers would click on their name, which links to a retail website (or something). Unfortunately, my free Akismet filters don’t catch this stuff, so bloggers like me must manually unapprove each comment as it appears.
It’s annoying. But to any spammers out there reading this, I understand the need to sell a product. Really, I sympathize with your plight.
However, I absolutely cannot tolerate spam with typos.
To be clear, I don’t mind typos in personal correspondence. If we have a personal relationship, this post isn’t about you, so please don’t be self-conscious. Typos in our FB posts, chats, emails, texts, Twitter replies, Goodreads messages, even friendly blog comments—these don’t bother me. But strangers who just want me to click a link? C’mon. Get real.
Even in spam, I can handle certain things. Generic compliments? Love them. Who doesn’t, right? And half-hearted attempts to sound contextually relevant? Sometimes lame, but usually amusing. At least you tried. Points for the effort.
Forget about it.
No flippin’ way I’m clicking on that link now, buddy.
Despite my friendly nature, I’m a suspicious type of person at heart. If you’ve read my fiction, then you understand this about me. I can usually sense a sales pitch from a mile away.
Several years back, my husband and I got talked into letting a salesman come to our home to analyze our tap water. For TWO HOURS on a weeknight, he explained that his amazing filtration system could reverse all our health problems, make our clothing last longer, improve the quality of our skin and hair, increase the longevity of our household appliances, and get rid of all those little hard water stains on the dishes. The fine lines around my eyes would disappear, and my house would be *ahem* MUCH CLEANER. Quite honestly, I wanted to spray the guy down with our chemical-laden tap water.
When we thanked him and said we’d think about it (which we wouldn’t), he went for the hard sell. Surely we didn’t want to waste another day with that awful, horrid water from the bowels of the city. Not after he spent so much time with us! He drove all the way out there, his kids were sick, his wife was about to leave him, blah, blah, blah.
I don’t remember why we initially agreed to the demo, but I think it must have sounded worth the time. At first.
So here’s my point: Spammers, if you’re going to sell something in a sneaky, roundabout kind of way, at least make the effort to be professional—especially in the first attempt.
Show me an eloquent spammer who knows how to proofread, and I might let the comment remain on my blog for longer than usual.
But I’m still not clicking the link.