Spam does have a fan

I was shocked to see that Beck, in a manner that will make any spammer scream, like Sally Field accepting an Oscar, "you really do love me," today sends off these bon mots to the infinitude of spamdom. They are so sickly sweet that sugar crystals form on their surface. I can only sample a small bit, here breaking off just the end piece of the whole candy bar to give you a taste:

No evil to befall the rancid lot of you could possibly be too much. I want your children to kill you with croquet mallets, and then I want them all to get run over by trucks, and then your mother should fall down and break her hip at your funeral, whereupon your father's brain should liquify and run out his nose, permanently staining his socks, which should stick to his ankles so that EMT's have to burn them off with a MAPP torch, resulting in charred sticks of bone poking out of his wizened legs to the completely maddening horror of all his kin, who should then be chained to a gutter downspout out by the garage for the duration, so that feral dogs and assorted vermin may gnaw them to pieces in the night.