Using an LLM to write subject lines to make it past email client spam filters

I'm wedging this one in with a 4' long fibre optic shoe horn between my loosely contained words and the dirty probing fingers of google's naughty list software, which we all know is the best way of keeping those h0t s1ngl3s in your area who just won't take no for an answer out of the main inbox. We don't want to be lumped in with the singles, we're not hot and if we're going to pretend to be local to any area it'll be 51.

Dare I mention the news?

If there's one throughline in the mediocre drivel warmly referred to as the news lettuce it is surely the lack of any actual news. Canny readers might ask themselves why I refrain from commenting on current events and even cannier readers might not read it at all. To answer the question requires a modicum of introspection on my part, which I have now painfully endured in order to bring the healing light of truth to bear. Commentary on affairs is terrifying not least due to the ease of outing myself as someone who – by design – knows next to nothing about what's really happening and thus cannot possibly perform informed opining. I have no interest contributing to the Gell-Mann amnesia epidemic.

From a distance though

If there is one way to protect yourself from a blatant misinterpretation of the facts it is surely the defence of "from a distance though it looked like this other thing" and due to most of us being at a distance from the actual thing for most of the time, we're all allowed to have wonky donkey opinions about h0t s1ngl3s who are most definitely not in our area, where h0t s1ngl3s are news items just waiting for you to fire off a flirty opening salvo into the wind and just as Moses parted the red sea, you share hot takes on X with your modern day appropriation of liberated Egyptian slaves. When the arrows (replies calling you a *i**e*) block out the sun (your notification inbox), just log off and drink wine for a night or two. You deserve it.

The sorrow of the mined-out charity shop

There are few things more upsetting on a windy saturday than hitting up a couple of h0t s1ngl3s in your area – where h0t s1ngl3s are second hand shops – and finding that they are dry as a bone. Any vein of non-viscose dinner jackets has long since been gobbled up by Mr. Adani or Mrs. Rinehart and if you were thinking of scoring a pair of not-denim-natural-fibre pair of pants then I hope that you are shaped like Mr. Wobblyman from Toytown because there are no cotton corduroys below a 48 inch waist. This is a localised problem, if you live somewhere that isn't full of larping-as-broke fashionistas maybe you still stand a chance but I'm taking this personally and for the sake of the shops in my 3km radius the EU need to step in and ban Vinted for the sake of all thrifters (me). 

Hey there sports fans, it’s Father Bob Maguire. Recently I’ve been having a cracking good time listening to a Dutch band called Yīn Yīn. These white fellas really broke down barriers with their 2019 album The Rabbit That Hunts Tigers. This unique perspective on Thai Psychedelic Rock was probably only feasible because Jan, Ambroos, and Lars' were about 12 inches taller the average Thai. Blimey if it’s not best example of Oriental cultural appropriation since the Wu-Tang’s 36 chambers then cast me blindly unto the streets of Pattaya without my robe. Grab your headphones and prepare for an adventure, while listening you will see a live Pingpxng show, surf the spicy coconut waves of Thom Ki Ki, ascend Alpaca mountain, and BECOME The Rabbit That Hunts Tigers.

While you’re thanking old bob for this week’s little moment of god’s grace, check out the community playlist.

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