Dear Mr. or Ms. Spammer,
It has come to my attention that you have been sending me numerous emails, in hopes that I will purchase your product(s). I am writing to let you know that I am definitely not in the demographic you are trying to reach, and that you may want to focus your efforts on one of the other gajillion people with email accounts.
I do not need a product or pill which will "increase the bulge in my pants." All the bulges in my pants are already far too large. But if you come up with a product that will make me a size 6 while I sleep, get back in touch with me.
If you are a "single Russian female who is bored tonight," I'm not the person you want to come chat with you. I can probably come up with a hundred things for you to do to relieve your boredom, such as volunteering down at the local homeless shelter, or adopting 2 miles of highway and keeping it litter-free. Or perhaps sewing your own clothes, since you apparently don't have any.
Do I "like to cook and want to attend culinary school?" Most emphatically, NO. I've been known to burn water AND air. My kids put on helmets and goggles when I enter the kitchen. Do you believe a cooking school really wants a student who has exploded glass pans? I think not.
Am I "sick of dating?" Honey, I've been married for nearly 22 years. I wouldn't know a date if it walked up and kicked me in my bulgy pants.
The offers for "land in Costa Rica" are mighty tempting, but I'm pretty sure my family would find me there, anyway. And then I'd be stuck cooking jungle food, which is a lot harder than microwaving Ramen noodles, and I can't take that kind of pressure.
I don't really want to "claim my gift card," no matter which store it's redeemable in. One hour of shopping takes 10 years off my life. See my previous entries.
I'm sure your "replica Rolex watches" are just lovely, but I don't need one. I already own a watch which does a fine job of letting me know when it's time to start screaming at my daughter that she will just have to go without that particular mocha lip gloss which is lost in the debris under her bed, because we're extremely late for church and God really doesn't care about the color of her lips, anyway, so get in the car and get in a worshipful mood, dammit.
To all you South African widows who "need urgent help" (and my bank account number) to claim the $9.4 million from your late husband's estate: Am I the only person who thinks the death rate among rich men in your country is unusually high?
In summary, I think you can see that it is fruitless to continue to send me 350 emails each day. However, today I received a message with a link to "hundred of singles in my area," and I would be happy to pass that along to you to help increase your customer base.