By Tim Sanders

I would be willing to bet that most of you, at least those of you with computers, regularly receive e-mail messages which begin like this:

"On the swarthy cranial knob, once intrusive yet figuratively unbeknownst as midweek grease with bearing interjection whilst irrelevant transistors multiply, enigmatic cold fiances pollute a staircase of nettles underneath scuba diving Episcopal cats in raw oysters; commemorating frivolous bipartisan research. DeWayne, DeWayne!!! Colorado once a behemoth now rodent only for the aroma of Limburger cheese polyglot narrowly escaping gaping mandibles of vile excess. Gaseous bovine. Severe cold front. The brigadier’s freezing privates retreat. Dancing monkeys acting the fool, frankly dividing, aloofly hoof. Gesticulate. Eureka! Oh, the humanity!"

And my guess would be that when you finish that convoluted introductory paragraph, your initial reaction is: "Hey honey, remember wacky old Aunt Doreen, who thought the ghost of Lady Bird Johnson had threatened to swoop down from her perch in the apple tree and peck her eyes out if she ever voted in another Republican primary? Well, she must be out of the institution now, because we just got an e-mail from her!"

But of course that is not your reaction, because you are no fool. You immediately realize that you have received spam. Knowing this, you:

a) run to the door to retrieve your complimentary can of the legendary Hormel luncheon meat, or

b) immediately delete the e-mail.

If you selected answer a, stop reading and go fix yourself a tasty sandwich. If you selected answer b, you may read on, because you know full well that spam is not just canned spiced ham, but also unsolicited commercial e-mail. And you know that at the end of that nonsense paragraph you will find that some wretched fly-by-night minion of Satan is trying to sell you a spectacular pharmaceutical product which is absolutely guaranteed to transform one of your favorite body parts from a Mini Cooper into a Buick Roadmaster. The reason for all of the introductory nonsense words is that many computers have spam filters, which recognize and block direct sales pitches like "Click here to purchase a month’s supply of Studly Buck’s Wildroot Emollient." These spam filters would not recognize that sales pitch, however, were it preceded by the kind of perfectly normal e-mail communication you get from friends and relatives every day, like "Goat renderings and Admiral Halsey’s zucchini now simmer on the panoramic grill, Maurice."

Some of these electronic junk mail weasels even go a step further, cleverly disguising their sneaky little ads with headings like, "Hey Enrique, Momma Juanita is on the mend, and we got V-I-A-G-R-A at wholesale prices." They are operating under the assumption that you and your computer will be fooled into thinking that you have recently acquired an Hispanic nickname and a mother named Juanita.

And it’s not just the e-mail pharmaceutical ads that bother me. The drugs they advertise on TV carry disclaimers which give you a list of possible harmful side effects long enough to make you forget what the drug was intended to treat in the first place.

"Warning, this drug should not be taken by women who are pregnant, or may become pregnant, or might have once been pregnant, or know someone whose second cousin was once pregnant, or by individuals with heart palpitations, liver problems, weak bladders, sleep apnea, St. Vitus dance, gout, asthma, jock itch, a history of mild or severe intestinal gas, restless legs syndrome, sinusitis, nosebleeds, toenail fungus, lazy eye, psoriasis, seborrhea, eczema, hives, shingles, or even tile roofing. In some cases, this product has been known to cause rickets, scurvy, massive strokes, myocardial infarctions, outfarctions, seizures, severe depression, bipolar disorder, the screaming meemies, flop sweats, loss of bowel control, projectile vomiting and the inability to remember your own phone number. A statistically significant number of patients, in fact, has spontaneously exploded while taking Damitol. If you experience any of these symptoms, or if you should explode spontaneously, please discontinue use and contact your doctor immediately."

And then there are those promotional items the pharmaceutical peddlers give to the doctors and their staff. My wife and I have a friend who works in a doctor’s office. She and her husband came over for dinner the other night, and she brought us a few complimentary ball point pens. Since she, her husband and two of their grandchildren will soon be traveling to Australia, and since she suspects that both Marilyn and I know how to write, I think it was a hint.

I was blissfully unaware that these were promotional pens, until I used one of them to write a note to myself about something or other, and saw an elegant inscription on the pen’s rather large, brushed metal pocket clip. What it said was–and believe me, this is too goofy to make up–"Diastat AcuDial (diazepam rectal gel)." Now I have carried a variety of pens over the years, pens advertising banks, car dealerships, and hardware stores, and not once have I felt the least bit uncomfortable. But never have I carried a pen advertising generic Valium in rectal gel form. I don’t understand that particular method of administering a sedative, and I don’t want to. What I do know is that it’s not the kind of pen I’d want to carry around with me.

"Say, Tim, have you got a pen I can borrow for a minute?"

"Uh ... no."

"What’s that in your pocket?"

"Oh yeah, that pen. Well ... oh here, take it!"

"Thanks. My Bic ran out of ink, and ... hey, this Diazepam Rectal Gel pen of yours writes like nobody’s business. I think I’ll get me one of these. And by the way, does that stuff do your butt any good?"

"Aw, shut up!"

"Hey, don’t get your tail in a knot. Of course, as long as you follow the doctor’s orders and take your diazepam gel regularly, I don’t guess that would be a problem, would it? HAHAHAHAHA!!"

So there it is: The pharmaceutical industry has designed an insidiously sophisticated marketing strategy based on bombarding consumers with really nutty ads from all sides until we finally surrender. Just thinking about it gives me a headache. I think I’ll go take a Tylenol; the oral kind.