A Return to Spam
A can of Spam, like cologne, says a lot about a man. For instance, if you're on one of those "Naked Survivor" shows, after a couple of weeks in the wilderness with mosquito bites all over your body and nothing but bark for toilet paper, who looks good to you: that muscled up model from the "Bachelor" that can't catch food, or the other guy that has a secret stash of Spam he hid up in the mountains several years before he was on the show? Oh, now who looks sexy covered in mud? Survive? How about thrive? You'll leave that show fatter than you came on it! You're skin will be shinier, too. The producers won't know what hit them!
See people that eat Spam these days have been around. They know it's not good, but they also know you might just win an episode of "Chopped" if you have a couple of recipes for Spam quiche memorized...and there's also those "Walking Dead, True Blood, Dr. Who" zombie, vampire, aliens types out there just waiting to get us and we need to be prepared, just in case civilization comes tumbling down, which it will. People that have Spam in their pantry watch tv, carefully.
And, don't count us Spam types out just yet. Remember Hushpuppies? They were almost out of the shoe business till some whiny hipsters started wearing them in Seatlle and bingo... "Tipping Point"... All cool again. Enough said.