Spam As Folk Art for 2006 August 26

They've actually forgotten their computer. Sandoz stares. After months underground, subjected to mind-bending experiments by these dispassionate monsters, he's suddenly alone with an open laptop. He crawls over and it's not even password-locked--rescue! Salvation! No sense in trying to reach a few confidants: the old relay box in his Santa Monica basement will send it to the whole damn Internet if he wants.

Sandoz blinks, trying to shake off the effects of the latest brainshuffle. Bootsteps in the hall. He's only got time for a few words.

²ˆÄ“àÇå_, he types desperately. @@@@Ÿ“à‚Å•s—Ï!