And it's a lunchmeat too!

Someone has discovered one of my e-mail inboxes, and is salting (or peppering it?) with the dreaded SPAM. It's no big (as Kim Possible would say), because my e-mail server is impressively adept at filtering out the nonsense from real content, but I feel somehow that I've now been exposed to the big wide world of "everyone on the internet who I didn't want to know existed."

To be quite frank about it - I don't WANT to know what's in the garbled nonsense-dressed communique with all the symbols in the message header that was sent from someplace that has no recognizeable address and probably is infested with itchy rashy viruses.

Also, I'm not even going to try to open the thing that says "Re:Hi!", because I don't SEND e-mails with twee message headers like that, and therefore KNOW that the person I don't know who ostensibly is responding to my e-mail that supposedly said "Hi!" to them is a slime-coated square-headed spammer.

(An aside - My favorite message header, which was perpetuated throughout several e-mail exchanges with a good friend with a similarly odd sense of humor, was something like "2 cups of mayo and a whip")

In addition, I didn't sign up for your stupid newsletter, and don't want to know how to enlarge my nonexistent penis, and don't care if you do indeed know how to make $900 dollars a day and want to leave comments like that on my dark and dusty corner of the internet. I didn't ask you for the information, I don't see the need for you to tell me about something I don't want to know about in the first place.

Spam is good as a mystery meat that can act as all the salting a casserole will ever need, or a fodder for songs sung by Vikings, but y'all, that's all I need of THAT.

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Question - is there a good reason my monitor just shut itself off?

I suspect the answer is somewhere in the dreaded "docking station," but can't be sure until I undock the computer, and I am loath to do that until I get this entry posted (which is my 150th, apparently!), so the mystery will remain until such time as I unhook, undock, and untangle all the cords that lead to things I'd rather not be fooling with.
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Anybody else here like the word "cadaver"?

What a lively thing to call a dead body. Cadaver sounds fun, cavalier, devil-may-care (perhaps that's the wrong descriptor to use), like someone who would hop a plane to Spain to see the rain and not complain about the price of tea in China or the exchange rate.

Compare and contrast: cadaver and corpse. I believe they're supposed to mean the same thing.

But DO they?

Cadaver = from the middle English - to fall or to die, means a dead body, especially one intended for dissection.

Corpse = from the Latin for body, means a dead body, especially human.

Why do we use both?

Why am I thinking about this?

And in case you're wondering - this is NOT the lunchmeat to which I was referring inthe title of this very badly put-together post.

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SPEAKING of cadavers, because we were,

I had a friend in college who used to drive bodies for the local mortuary. He came back from summer break one year with a real humdinger of a story, which went something like this:

He got a call one night to go pick up a body from the hospital and take it to the funeral home/parlor. Being toughened by a prior season as a corpse-hauler he thought nothing of taking off in the dead of night to pick up a stiff for transport.

.

The transition from health care facility to the back of his car went well enough, even though Mr. X, a rather large man, was still experiencing some rigor issues that made it tough to get all of him into the back of the hearse.

(What you need to know is that these folks don't get put into the caskets until after they're "processed".....they just get shrouded in a plastic body bag for the ride to meet their embalmer.)

So, at length Bill get's Mr. X into the back, loosely belts him in for the ride, and takes off.

At the first light he thought he heard something coming from the back of the car. Impossible, right? That's what Bill thought.

At the second light he thought he saw the bag move. Impossible, right? Bill now wasn't so sure.

A the third light, when the bag containing Mr. X suddenly SAT UP and BURPED loudly, Bill injured himself by wildly slamming on the brakes and leaping from the car, in which, as far as he was concerned, there was a zombie coming to life in search of brains, and Bill's brains were the closest and he wasn't nearly done with them yet, thankyewverymuch.

Yep - Bill learned a valuable lesson that night about what happens to us after we die. Apparently, we don't just lie there and go gently into that good night. Some of us have one last belch or lurch or involutary motor cortex glitch that needs to be worked out, and there ain't nothing stopping us from doing it, because, even though we're dead, some of us just have to take that last shot, to fling a final single-finger salute to the universe in defiance of the last door to close on our experiences here.

To illustrate, and to provide a clear case of TMI - I understand from my husband, who has seen things I don't even want to think about, that if the allegedly dead body isn't tied down, it can move quite some distance before finally giving up the ghost, so to speak, and taking one last, and long, lie-down.

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So hey, Happy Monday y'all!! I've started MINE out on quite the little track, haven't I?