The Last Gasp of the Return of the Final Unending Spam Files Reloaded, 3rd Edition It was a dreary, lonely spam, and yet the solitude, the relaxed creaking of the spam hinges on the back spam porch, somehow kept me company in a way that nothing can quite compare to. The wind was spamming gently, caressing a discarded missive draped over the arm of my rocking spam. I watched its letters gently rise and fall as the crests of the spam breeze caressed it. "Spam," I thought to myself. "Is it all there is to life? Or is there more?" A distant yell of a child wafted over the spam wind, adding its prose to the gentle wind chimes an old spammer had hung from my spam eaves a few years back. Oh those children. I wonder who, if anyone, was spamming them now? A crow cawed from a tree that marked the border spam between my property, and the spam farmer behind me. "I wonder if crows spam the same way we do," I mused to myself, as the crow gently cawed again. Maybe the neighbor's dog was gently spamming it from below.