There is an actual legitimate “crush” site online, no spam involved, just fun. can’t remember which one it is, though.
Esprix
Why, you sarcastic, cynical wench!
Don’t change. 
Ya know…even if the site was legitimate, and even if someone did have a crush on me and really had sent me an anonymous message through a site like that…I would be inclined to wonder about the kind of person who would have to send an online crush notice anonymously.
I mean, damn, this isn’t grammar school any more. If you “like” me, just TELL me.
A note: SkipMagic rules because he has quite obviously read several of the Oz books. w00t!!
I love the fact that I can come across this way (although I prefer to be called a “Mad, Murderous Bitch” a la The Crucible) online, when in real life I’m actually quite dorky and gullible.
But, uh… I will try my best to keep up the wenchness.
EGGGGG-ZACTLY.
I pretty much assumed it was one of my friends who sent it just to drive me nuts, but to make matters worse, according to Ino, I probably only got it because someone I know got the same email, and guessed (incorrectly) that I had sent it. :rolleyes:
Oh, I got that (or something similar) too! The website address was something like SomeoneLikesYou.com. I thought either my boyfriend had sent it, or a friend had sent it as a joke. As soon as I realised I had to type people’s email addresses in, I got bored.
Me: exits browser window James, did you send me this?
James: No
Me: Okay deletes email
I hope I don’t get spam. 
Sure, one can do it the easy way and be one of dem forthright and honest folks, but doing something like that only summons up the mundance and calls forth the doldrums. Especially if you’re rejected right away. Now, being anonymous about the whole sh’bang introduces the romance of mystery for both parties. The sender, of course, is chalked full of excitement with the possibility of a requited love. “Auntie Em will sigh with happiness when she finds out who I am. I just know it! Maybe we can go to dinner, hold hands and chat about romance, love and/or midgets with leather vests riding plucked chickens!”
Auntie Em, on the other hand, could find the hugger-mugger approach to puppy-love a bit exciting. “I’m not sure, who could it be? Oh, the possibilities are endless! Maybe it’s the next pairs of eyes that stare at me with smouldering lust; perhaps it’s the guy who keeps feeling my tush in the elevator (just yesterday I thought it was creepy, but now…it’s still creepy). Maybe my neighbor, my postman, that clown from the circus, the guy who…”
Who knows? (Sure, sure, there’s the whole “stalker” possibility, but really, why make this a downer?)
Me, I wouldn’t go the on-line “crush” route. I’d send flowers. Or the head of a puppy. You know, something that says “I’m thinking of you.”
Gotta love Baum and his Oz. They were cool back in my third grade year and they’re cool now. (Although, since I live near the Missouri/Kansas border, I still hope to come across a magical cyclone or two.)
/Jesus/ What is this send a crush shit, what is this bullshit? I dont fuckin care. It don’t matter to Jesus! You might have fooled the fucks at the league office, but you dont fool Jesus. This bush league pysch out stuff. Laughable! HAHA!. /Jesus/
What? You didn’t come across one last night? My ass almost got blown away (and now there’s a tree on my garage)!!!
By the way, don’t you ever change–head of a puppy. How sweet (and how wonderful of you to know how I dislike receiving flowers)! 
Yup. I got to see the tail-end of a pretty fun storm, but all it did was tickle the leaves on my trees. All the local channels tempted me with warning graphics of “Severe Thunderstorm” or “Nasty Rain-Thingy” or “Scram, punk, this town is goin’ down the waterslide of hell!” but channels 4, 5, 9, 29 and 62 all lied to me. Even Family 38 and PAX 50 showed their true colors of weather spin. Bastards, all of them! Looks like my end of Kansas City isn’t good enough for a diasterous storm. I get trickles and sprinkles and the weak end of God’s urination stream, but I never, ever get pure, unadulterated wet chaos.
From Ma Nature, I mean.
How can I hitch a ride on a crosswind to a magical world with crap like that? Sheesh.
Flowers? Flowers are easy. That doesn’t show affection, that just shows laziness. Me? I work for my crushes. Why, anyone can pick flowers from a graveyard, for example, but in my area, I’ll go to that same graveyard and pick you the skull of Jesse James. After all, he’s just down the road a bit and he doesn’t need it anymore. Besides, you’d be the only girl who could brag about having a bouquet of famous dead gangster.
Aha! Now I’ve good the goods on you, Skippy. I warned you to back off; that the lovely auntie em is mine. But you wouldn’t listen. You tried to press the advantage of proximity. But now you’ve betrayed yourself with your vain boasting and empty promises.
Skull of Jesse James my ass!
Don’t listen to this poseur, auntie em, he can’t get you the skull of Jesse James in Missouri. Everyone knows Jesse James is buried in Granbury, Texas, where he died at the age 103.
Arrghh!!! The cat is out of the bag…and skinned, at that. The beans have been spilled, someone stoned a bird with a bush in his hand and a stitch in time saved 9 souls. Or something like that. I did indeed push the proximity angle, Homebrew, and I was originally afraid that I screwed up by saying I lived close AND offering to send the head of a puppy. I mean, would you want someone like me living that close to you?
But, alas, the hole in my ship was drilled by my temporarily adopted town’s evil plan to dupe the public. “Come visit Jesse Jame’s grave,” they offered. I hadn’t yet–and still can’t because I lacked such knowledge of his legitimate whereabouts.
However…according to this website, I still can give the beautiful and twisted auntie em the skull o’ true wuv! Not only that, but an excellent reporter with razor-sharp journalistic skills also agrees with me. (Or maybe I just found his site somewhere.)
Oh, Homebrew, why must you turn to vicious lies and misdirection? And why, when I put “Homebrew” and “Evil” in the google search engine do I come up with this? Clearly that page shows you cannot be trusted. Besides, what relics of famous dead people do you offer as proof of your affections?
I offer a more powerful symbol of devotion than a mere mortal’s skull. I offer a mythological creature that stalks the forest and swamps near my home town. I pledge to find and capture, alive if possible, the famed Fouke Monster that lives no more than 15 miles from my house.
Homebrew, I see your Fouke Monster and, after reading “In 1971, Bobby Ford of Fouke was treated at a Texarkana hospital for several scratches and symptoms of shock after he reported being attacked by a large ‘hairy creature’ at his home.” at this site I have concluded that the man was attacked by his wife. And I don’t think it’d be very nice for you to offer auntie em another man’s wife.
I can also present conclusive speculation of the identity of “The Phantom Killer,” also a Texarkana native and immortalized in the film The Town that Dreaded Sundown.
Yes what I have to offer is a window into the strange little town of Texarkana; a town that Fox Mulder could enjoy.
Boys! BOYYYYYYS!!! Enough now! Do I have to get out the whip again? 
Remember it’s the thought that counts, and my affections cannot be bought–so a dismembered Whippet , or the crusty femur of Bigfoot is of the same value to me as a tub of Super Blue Stuff, if it’s given in the right spirit.
And if it’s any consolation, Skip, the only “Magical World” I got out of that hellish storm the other night was one in which I was stuck in the dark with three adolescent boys, wearing the clothing of one of them.
There were no ruby slippers.
Oh. Um…wait.
No, keep waiting; I’ll eventually come up with something. (The best I can come up with right now is: Homebrew, aren’t you gay? Not that auntie em will choose either of us–we’re not worthy–but if you do prove the victor and she lavishes her love and cynicism on you, doesn’t your inherent gayness pretty much make moot your wonderous and most felicitous triumph? Not that I’m discriminating, understand, I just think that perhaps, maybe, kinda-sorta, it might get in the way.)
(But then I think…nah. Auntie Em’s intelligence and beauty appeals to everyone. She’s the “hoote” and the “nanny” combined; she’s PI to the nth degree; she’s the belle tournure of the board and more exciting than socks on a rooster. There are moments when I feel as if I aim too high, as if the head of a puppy just ain’t enough. I offer skulls of dead famous people and other suitors ante up with characters of myth and murder. The competition, true, is fierce but the woman is divine.)
I shall carry on!
Whip? Promise?
Gosh, 'Em even my thoughts count? Heh-heh. Well now, that’s just a big bowl full of happiness.
My my, you do pile it on thick, don’t ya (I thought I smelled something…)?
Well, I do have to say that while Auntie Em does not discriminate in her capacity as Venerable Generator of Love and Happiness (a title bestowed upon me by one of the aforementioned adolescent boys), you could have a point about Homebrew’s sexuality.
Then again, it might all just come down to which one of ya can cook better.