In my work inbox was this Dada-esque spam message (with a link to a commercial site), obviously included to get the message past the spam filters:
wits. I proved that, too, over the last twenty-odd years, incidentally. Alger Hiss did better with greeting cards. I havent time to reminisce. The information, please. Oh, yes, of course. ... Well, first the money was delivered to me on the corner of Commonwealth and Dartmouth, and naturally I wrote down the names and the specifics you gave me over the phone- Wrote down? asked Gates sharply. Burned as soon as Id committed them to memory-I did learn a few things from my difficulties. I reached the engineer at the telephone company, who was overjoyed with your-excuse me-my largess, and took his information to that repulsive private detective, a sleaze if I ever saw one, Randy, and considering his methods, someone who could really use my talents.Yes, it's spam. But is it art?
Apparently not. I googled it, and it appears to be a quotation from a Robert Ludlum novel.
I think it works better out of context.