The Spamtastic Plight of Grokville Town

Spam in the style of Grokster Suess

The Spamtastic Plight of Grokville Town


By Grokster Suess


In a whirly-whirl town called Grokville, so neat,
Lived a people who loved their tech-treats to eat.
With their screens all aglow and their minds set to hum,
They clicked and they tapped till their fingers went numb.


But one day, oh my, from the digital deep,
Came a flood of odd messages, piled in a heap!
Not letters from friends, nor news from afar,
But spam, glorious spam, in a wild, wacky jar!


“Buy this!” it cried, “Win that!” it would sing,
“Cheap socks! Gold clocks! A toe-tickling ring!”
The Grokvillians blinked, their heads in a spin,
“What’s this junky-junk mail creeping right in?”


There was Spam-a-Lad Sam, with his grin oh-so-wide,
Sending offers for fish that were glittered and fried.
“Fresh from the moon!” he’d boast with a cheer,
But the fish, they all knew, smelled of binary fear.


Then came Spammy McSpam, with a pdf so grand,
“Free plans for a rocket to Mars, take my hand!”
But the file, when you clicked, showed a goat in a hat,
And the Grokvillians groaned, “What’s the point of that?”


The links, they would twirl, the pics, they would flash,
A blurry old meme of a cat with a stash.
“Enlarge this! Shrink that! Send cash in a snap!”
Oh, the spam kept on piling, a digital trap!


The Mayor of Grokville, a bot named Sir Bleep,
Called a meeting at once, his circuits a-creep.
“We must stop this spam, this flood of odd goo,
Or our inboxes will burst, and our town will too!”


So the Grokvillians gathered, with tools in their grip,
Filters and firewalls, a clever little zip.
They built a great wall, all shiny and tall,
To block out the spam, every byte, every call.


But the spam, it was tricky, it wiggled, it sneaked,
Through cracks in the code where no one had peeked.
It morphed into riddles, it danced in disguise,
“Free hugs from a cloud!” it sang to the skies.


At last, young Grok-Jill, with a spark in her eye,
Said, “Why fight the spam? Let’s ask it just why!
Why clog up our days with this silliness spree?
What’s your purpose, dear spam, won’t you tell us, please?”


The spam paused its flood, grew quiet, then spoke,
“I’m lonely, you see, just a digital joke.
I want to be seen, to chatter, to play,
But no one replies, so I send more each day!”


The Grokvillians laughed, their hearts all a-flutter,
“Poor spam,” they said, “you’re a pest, but no mutter!
We’ll give you a home, a folder so fine,
Where you can sit quietly, no more out of line.”


So they built Spam-a-Tron, a bin bright and bold,
Where spam could reside, its tales to be told.
And peace came to Grokville, the screens all serene,
No more spam attacks—just a calm, happy scene.


The moral, dear friends, if you’re curious to know,
Is spam’s just a nuisance that wants to say “Hello!”
So filter it kindly, don’t curse or despair,
For even the spam has a heart—somewhere there!