Somebody, somewhere, has decided that I need to refurbish, renew, and recreate my old, shopworn carcass. I really can be a handsome, sexy, rich man about town, or so they tell me. It's the sexy part that's most bothersome.

I spend a lot of time in front of my computer. Computing can be informative, educational entertainment, but mostly I compute because it helps me avoid more strenuous work. I try to avoid strenuous work. I believe had God wanted me to work he'd have made it easier.

In any case, computing has lately provided me with more than my share of spam.

Now, I like the old-fashioned Spam - the kind in the can - though it is a bit high in sodium for me and I've never really wanted to know what parts of a hog it's made of. But it's that computer kind of spam that makes life difficult.

Each day I get about thirty, maybe even a hundred and thirty, offers of various pills, potions, or devices that absolutely guarantee to increase my energy, make me more vital, improve my appearance, or enhance certain of my body parts.

Young ladies, or purported young ladies, offer to entertain me with pictures of themselves in various stages of undress or doing things that occupied my mind at age fifteen. I don't think of them so much now that I'm a half-century-older.

I'd probably take up on their offers if I thought their products would really work. But, I am an overweight old man who looks a bit like Santa Claus. My teeth are going, my hearing is going, and many of my body parts are obviously in decline from overuse, misuse, or neglect.

I have serious doubts that a few gallons of mango-guava-ginseng elixir will overcome the ravages of time.

As for restoring my youth, I'm not sure I particularly like that idea. If I recall correctly, Even back then I wasn't considered especially attractive to the ladies. Mostly they called me names and avoided me as much as possible. Teenage sex was, for me, primarily a philosophical concept, rather than a reality.

I admit, earlier in my life, I have viewed pictures and films of the type the "young" ladies offer. I was initially a bit shocked, embarrassed, surprised, and titillated. I wondered how they managed the positions they did. But finally, I thought the whole thing rather boring. Participants obviously were not chosen for their acting abilities. The plot line follows a simple formula; the story climax is always the same. I'd rather read a good book where my imagination can run wild.

After reviewing today's collection of spam, I am imagining an old man, who looks like Santa, in a permanent state of enhancement, looking for young ladies interested in making a film.

It is a disappointing picture. I am sure my arms, legs, and back will not bend to the task; my loving wife has pointed out that I am unlikely to catch any young ladies as my bait has gone stale.

Well, I can't afford any of that stuff anyway. My social security check just won't stretch that far. So, if you are the one sending me these offers, you can stop for now.

I'll get back to you and give your products a try, just as soon as Mr. Abdul Mbumba from Nigeria deposits all that money in my bank account. And please stop spreading those nasty rumors about the size of my body parts.

Paul Graybeard Paine, a retired homebuilder, writes from Claremore, Oklahoma. His website is at http://pdpaine.us.

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Copyright © 2005 Paul Paine/Log Cabin Chronicles/04.05