Tag: MAIL

7 Reasons Not To Have A Contact Form On Your Website

Okay, up above these words in the menu bar, there’s a page called Contact Us, and we’re beginning to believe that it’s more trouble than it’s worth. In fact, we’re beginning to think we should get rid of it altogether, and we’re coming round to the view that everyone else should too. Now we’re not self-appointed web experts or internet gurus; we’re humourists. If you have a website yourself, we can only advise you to free yourself from the tyranny of the contact form based on our own experience. And, from our experience of having one of the damned things, here are seven reasons to get rid of it.

1. You’ll Have A More Manageable Penis. One of the most frequent things that people use the contact form for is to attempt to sell us penis enlargement pills. And by frequent, I mean we get a lot of penis enlargement offers. In fact, if we don’t visit our inbox for a while it ends up chock-full of enlarged penises. We aren’t really interested in any of these offers (I have a child now, so I probably won’t even need mine for the next eighteen years or so), but it’s a lot of stuff to wade through and ignore. Well, I say ignore, I’m assuming that my writing partner Jon’s ignoring them too. Perhaps he isn’t, though. Perhaps Jon’s buying penis enlargement pills from everyone that’s offering them. It could be that since we’ve been running 7 Reasons, Jon has purchased so many of these pills that his penis has become a major Kent landmark. Maybe ruddy-faced locals in smocks are staring at his chemically-enhanced appendage right now and pointing up at it with awe. Perhaps it’s on Google Earth. Who knows? One thing’s for sure, it’ll be a major hazard to air travellers as the other thing we get offered almost every day is Viagra.

2. You’ll Get To Read Less Gibberish. When the contact form isn’t trying to enlarge our penises, it sends other stuff too. It sends gibberish. Most things containing the subject heading “7 Reasons Contact Form” look like someone just pressed many keys at once. Frequently, we get the message that “sdkjfkl;sdfjsjsdk;” wrote “sjklsdhfkjsdhfjksdfhsjdfhjlksfsdhthurthw”. This is not helpful. In fact, it’s quite scary that “mgklksfdlgjkhg” writes “mxvnbcxn,bvcxb,mvxc” and “hytfhtyhtfyh” writes “vbnmbmnmbnm” on such a regular basis. Our contact page is fairly dull, but it’s not soporific enough to make this many people doze off on their keyboards while they’re reading it. So perhaps this is just the law of averages. Perhaps one person a day actually falls down dead while looking at our contact form. They’re probably dying when they’re reading other posts too, it’s just that we won’t get to know about that. 7 Reasons could be killing them in their droves: We might be the greatest practitioners of genocide since Pol Pot*. Either that, or – I don’t know – but we only get stuff like this from the contact form, not via email or our comments section.

3. Your Life Will Contain Less Mystery. This morning, via the contact form, we received this question: “When does it start airing?” That’s it. That’s the entire message. But what does it even mean? When does what start airing? Is this an enquiry about my laundry? Is this an enquiry about Jon’s penis? 7 Reasons: The Panel Show? Who knows? Certainly not me, and I don’t want to wake up to a mystery of a morning; I’m not Quincy. I just want to wake up to find that it isn’t raining and that there are coffee beans in the house. I would be able to do that if it weren’t for the contact form.

4. Your Messages Will Go To The Right Person. Above our contact form we clearly direct people that wish to write for us to a different page containing a dedicated email address for guest post submissions. This is a (vain) attempt to try to limit the number of identical submissions we receive about car insurance (purportedly all from different people) and to get them sent directly to Jon – who’s in charge of guest post submissions – rather than to me. He’s more patient than I am. He’s calmer than I am. On receiving his ninth identical offer of a car insurance post in a day, Jon’s veins bulge, he turns red, he emits a sound that is part scream, part bellow and part mating call of a rhinoceros and begins to punch the nearest table or wall. I, on the other hand, don’t take receiving them nearly as well. So there’s no likelihood of these things getting used and we just end up getting rather worked up when we receive them. Well, I do.

5. You’ll Feel Better About Yourself. This is from the contact form:

***** wrote:

Hi

My name is *****.

I would like to ask you if its possible to buy the picture of the lemons in a

high resolution (300ppi 160mm x 200 mm).

And if you have it form a other place can you tell me where?

Greetings *****

This refers to a picture of lemons that – in the same way that approximately 99.99999999% of websites source their pictures – we got from Google Images. There’s no way of replying to this person (that amazingly managed to give us their own name three times during the course of a tiny message) without sounding sarcastic. “Dear *****, we did get it from another place. It is available here. Yours sincerely, the 7 Reasons team” would make us look rather mean.

We’ve also received this:

Do you stock a Thermos type water jug to use on invalids bedside, I can’t find one in cataloues.

That’s just heart-breaking. Could we, in all conscience, send a reply saying “sorry, as a humour website we carry no stock of thermal water jugs, could we tempt you with a mildly Francophobic t-shirt?” No. Of course not. So we either have to spend our time researching random queries from confused people or feel really bad about ourselves.

6. You’ll Hear Less About The Colour Of Hats. The other thing we frequently receive via the cursed contact form are offers of help. Technical help. Traffic driving help. Messages that variously offer to help us “engage strategic initiatives”, “harness value-added solutions”, “integrate visionary partnerships” and “orchestrate bricks-and-clicks infomediaries”. A recent message discoursed for so long about white hat SEO, black hat SEO and grey hat SEO that I almost lost the will to live and – had I been viewing the contact form – I would have been in danger of sending myself a gibberish message with my face. As it was, I began to think about purchasing a hat. What I wasn’t thinking about was taking anyone up on their kind offer to improve our website with their baffling and incomprehensible gobbledygook.

7. You’ll Receive A Better Standard Of Correspondence. Groucho Marx brilliantly and wittily advocated exclusivity when he famously said, “I wouldn’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member”, and this can be applied to the Contact Form too. Because the contact form makes us too accessible. It’s too easy to get in touch with us. If it were more difficult to get hold of us, then we’d get a better class of correspondence, because the act of having to do a tiny bit of research to find our contact details and paste them into an email program could well cut out the spammers and raise standards. Perhaps the extra time and effort that this will take will cause people to reflect on whether they really need to contact us at all.

It boils down to this: If you have a contact form, it’s a magnet for spam in all its forms: penis-related-spam; gibberish-spam; spam that consists of bizarre utterances from the mad; spam that shouldn’t even be going to you; spam that is just flabbergasting or heartrending in its naivety; spam about hats. The one thing we rarely receive from the contact us form is any sort of meaningful correspondence. That all comes via email or Twitter. We’re going to be brave; we’re going to be bold: We’ve looked at the correspondence we receive via our contact form, and we’re going to disable it. And if you have a website that has one, we recommend you go back through your inbox and have a look at how much worthwhile correspondence you’ve received through it. We’re guessing it’s not as much as you think.

*The level of interest in our latest competition bears this out.

July 18, 2011
7 Reasons That I Won’t Be Sending My Christmas Cards Until Christmas Eve

It’s almost Christmas and one of the aspects of the festival that I hate the most is writing Christmas cards. But I’ve come up with a cunning plan for dealing with them. This year, I won’t be sending any Christmas cards out until Christmas Eve. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Space. When you’re buying your stamps or posting your cards, the post office on Christmas Eve is a far more convivial atmosphere than the post office on December 18^th. When I’m posting my cards tomorrow, I’m going to be alone, with just the post office staff wearing their Santa hats and antlers, and eating their mince pies, (which they’ll probably share with me). And, instead of being stuck in a long mazy queue of grey people coughing, I’m going to have space to stretch my arms out and spin around. And that’s what I’m going to do; just because I can. And because it’s less cruel than swinging a cat.

2. Time. Leaving the cards until the last minute will have other benefits too. Had I written my cards early I’d have spent lots of time writing them out neatly, but I didn’t do that this year, and now that Christmas Eve is almost upon us, I’m doing the Christmas cards as a rush job. So that’s a lot less time that I’ve spent writing cards: Time that I was able to use more productively. I didn’t obviously, I spent it mulling things and playing Angry Birds. I also photoshopped a hat onto the statue of liberty. But it’s still time saved.

3. Inclusivity. It’s more inclusive if I send my cards on Christmas Eve. After all, I’m notoriously forgetful, but I know who I’ve received a card from because there’s a bushel of them in the living room. Or a gross. Or a flock (I have no idea how quantities of cards are measured), so it’s easy enough for me to work out who’s sent them and reply. So if you’ve sent me a card, you’ll get one in return: And if you haven’t, then you won’t. Obviously if anyone else is using the same system as me then that’s unfortunate, but if they are, that would benefit the…

4. Environment. That the Christmas cards I’ve sent won’t be received until after Christmas is good for the planet. Because no one sends out a Christmas card after Christmas, so people won’t send out any cards in reply to mine. So there’ll be less wasted paper, and I’ll have less recycling to do in January. Which is great, as the first recycling day of the New Year is usually like some sort of glass-themed labour of Hercules, but without Hercules and starring me instead.

5. Blame. And no one even need know that their cards weren’t sent until Christmas Eve (unless they’re reading this. Damn) because what’s the default opinion on the Royal Mail in this country? It’s that they’re hapless and inefficient. That’s not strictly true. Most of the time, they’re dedicated people doing a fine, and quite thankless, job, but they’ll automatically get the blame for the tardy arrival of my cards anyway. But that’s their problem and I don’t mind using it to my advantage. After all, I’ve never been stupid enough to change my name to Consignia and they have.

6. How To Win Friends And Influence People. When no card arrives before Christmas, friends, family and acquaintances will probably think “The bastard! He hasn’t sent us a folded over piece of paper with a picture of a fat, bearded man on the front and some illegible scrawl within! How could he do this to me?” But then, when the card turns up a few days after Christmas (“bloody post office”) they’ll feel loved and wanted again. And they’ll feel bad for thinking ill of me, which they’ll probably compensate for by being even more well-disposed toward me than usual. So if I keep doing this every Christmas, people will eventually feel so much affection for me that they will probably erect statues of me when I’m in my old age. I could get canonized! I could become the next Princess Diana!*

7. Finances. I won’t need to buy cards until the last minute, by which time I’ll know exactly how many I need. So none will be wasted. So I’ll be saving money. That’s money that I can spend on other Christmas things like candles that get brought out once a year that nobody ever lights, or those owl baubles that my wife saw (because nothing says Christmas more than a rodent-terrorising bird of prey hanging from a tree). By leaving the cards until the last moment, I’m going to be better off financially, and I’m going to benefit in many, many other ways too. I’m a genius! A mean genius. I’m a meanius!

*But my mother-in-law won’t be on the stamps.

December 23, 2010
7 Reasons to Embrace Junk Mail

Junk mail. No one likes it, but there are valid reasons to embrace it. We don’t mean give it a cuddle, that would be weird; we mean accept and enjoy it, because there are – fortunately for us – almost seven reasons to.

Junk Mail (Image courtesy of Stop Junk Mail)*

1. Wanted. There is something very comforting about the sound of your letter box opening and something dropping onto the floor. It makes you feel wanted and loved. If it’s a bill then it’s good to know British Gas care that you are still alive and if it’s junk mail – probably from the local estate agent asking you if you would like to consider selling your house to a family of five who have just moved to the area – well it’s good to know that they think you are friendly. You know, the kind of person who would consider moving for a family of five. The estate agents wouldn’t put the same letter through Lord Sugar’s letter box would they? No. Because he has evil in his eyes. And a guard dog.

2. New Experiences. One of the most regular pieces of junk mail that adorns house mats all over the country are those from local (and not so local) take-away restaurants. Whether it’s Indian, Chinese, Taiwanese, Bangladeshi, Italian or Chav, what a great way to start experiencing a different culture. It might only take you one chicken dansak to decide that you want to go and experience India for itself or it might only take one late pizza delivery by a teenager who calls you ‘boss’ to make you decide you are living in the wrong part of town.

3. Pens. They say that you can never have too many pens. And fortunately, charities have challenged this age-old assumption by providing them to us free of charge to us via the medium of junk mail. And it turns out that you can have too many pens. I write stuff every day, in fact you’re reading it now. I write far more than the average person and rarely use a pen. I require one pen, for the purpose of writing down random notes that I can’t read later on and eventually turn into paper aeroplanes. Fortunately though, there is an alternate use for all of the pens that charities send to me at a loss. I use them as legs for my four-legged (and six-legged) potato animals. I clearly have too many pens. And potatoes.

4. Rubbish. To be embraced heavily are those charity bags that get stuck in your letter box. You know, those that the charities ask you to fill with old and unwanted clothes. Well, if you do manage to remove them from the letter box without ripping them, they make brilliant bin bags. Don’t go walking down the street swinging one around in the breeze though, you’ll become a prime chugger target. You’ll get chugged. In a chugging.

5. Baldness. We don’t know everything about the 7 Reasons readership. The 7 Reasons team both have hair, and we imagine that our readers do too. But there may be some who are afflicted with baldness. And, if there should be such people reading, they might learn from this use of junk-mail. Because back – way back – in history, in a time almost lost to human memory there was once a thing, a sort of a big flaming ball of heat and light that dwelt in the sky. Some cultures worshipped it, some feared it, and it had many names. Here, it was known as the sun. And, in those far-gone days, when it lit up the sky, it was a menace to the follicularly challenged who lacked the natural protection from its rays that the rest of us take for granted. But with junk-mail there’s always a free emergency hat lying on their doormat, waiting to be origamied. Just in case the great orb in the sky should ever reappear, as unlikely as that seems.

6. Love. If this isn’t enough to satisfy your junk mail habit, then the final option is to create a junk mail-mache person. Then you can really embrace it if you are that way inclined. Or a pervert as it is more commonly known. Just make sure they are dry first.*

7. Lifestyle. As a guide to living, junk mail is invaluable. Want to know what not to eat or drink? All of that information is conveniently posted unsolicited through your letterbox. Whether it’s takeaways, highly dubious drinks delivery services, or the offers at your local branch of Londis. If a picture of something (these things are always pictorial) comes through your letterbox, then it’s disgusting and common and bad for you. Yet surprisingly tempting when drunk; which is how they get you, by the way. They expect you to read them when you’re lying face-down on your own doormat having just made it home from a big night out; when your guard is down. Why else would they put them there? Bastards.

*Because wet perverts are the worst kind.

You can also use it to make one of these!

*If you can’t find the love to embrace junk mail, check out Stop Junk Mail here.

December 10, 2010
7 Reasons That This Is Not A Circular

A buff envelope has arrived. It bears the legend, “THIS IS NOT A CIRCULAR”. But I already know that. I can tell.

I made this in Photoshop to protect confidential information and to prevent the internet from stealing my soul. (I am referring to the envelope. I did not construct Milton Keynes in Photoshop)

1. It Has A Puzzling Series Of Numbers And Letters Above My Name. No one receives circulars with baffling and impenetrable sets of numbers on them – unless they subscribe to a sudoko magazine – so it’s definitely not a circular. The reference numbers and letters are a puzzle in themselves though: Why are there so many of them? Does this organisation really need a forty-six character indexing system? Is it merely coincidence that my waist size and the amount of times I’ve eaten trifle in the past six months are contained within the numbers? Is this what happened to Dan Brown?

2. It’s From Rhyll. Circulars tend to be fun, exciting things that you’ve subscribed to, and are happy to receive. They don’t come from Ryhll: Home of nothing fun and exciting (It’s the town motto).

3. It Says “PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL” On It. It doesn’t just say “private and confidential”; it shouts it with great portent, in a bold, roman font in capital letters. This is presumably to instil terror into the heart of any ne’er do well that may be thinking of breaking into the letter. It commands non-addressees not to open it. The contents couldn’t be safer if they digitally encoded them and gave them to MI5. Really, they couldn’t.

4. I Can See That It’s Not A Circular. It’s got four corners. It’s a rectangular.

5. Because My Name Is Spelled Correctly. It’s an easy giveaway. No circular – The Chap magazine, the Isle of Wight Donkey Sanctuary newsletter, Tiramisu Consumers Monthly, the Rohan catalogue (as soon as I finish writing this, I’m going to subscribe to more interesting things, I promise) – ever spells my name correctly. It’s the law. Some of them (I’m thinking of you, Font Magazine) manage to spell both of my names incorrectly – and my address – though it is done very neatly and tastefully.

6. It’s In A Buff Envelope. No fun personal correspondence comes in a buff envelope. None. In fact, nothing exciting comes in a buff envelope. White envelopes, yes. Yellow envelopes, yes. Purple envelopes, yes…every colour other than buff, which isn’t even a colour, except on envelopes. Has anyone ever painted their house buff? No, they haven’t. That would be silly. And dull.

7. Because I Don’t Want To Open It. I feel an instinctive aversion to opening the envelope. It looks like it contains something really boring. This never happens with circulars, except the Toolstation catalogue (white envelope), which always reminds me that I should be hammering and banging at something, and that I don’t own enough power-tools (to build a nuclear submarine). If you want me to open the envelope print, “THIS IS A CIRCULAR” on it, or add a picture of a happy dog to the front. That may fool me. Then I won’t ignore it while I write about it before heading off to do something more interesting than reading it. Visiting a quilt museum, for example.

August 11, 2010
7 Reasons to Support the Postal Strike

1. There will be no post and, as a result, no bills will be delivered. This means that everything will be free. Your gas and electricity will be free. Everything you buy using a credit card will be free. There will be no bank statements so you can’t be overdrawn. Result!

2. My postman’s a whistler. He’s awful, he might be whistling tunes by The Average White Band, Perry Como or Beyonce, I can’t quite tell. Now I won’t have to.

3. The weekly letter addressed to “The Householder” from Virgin Media that offers you cheaper broadband and cable television will not arrive. There are 24.7 million households in the U.K. That means that there will be 24.7 million fewer thoughts per week about Richard Branson. That’s definitely progress.

4. The Royal Mail use red elastic bands. While there is no post none of these will be used. As a consequence the Royal Mail will order fewer red elastic bands. This will lead to a surplus which may prompt their manufacturers to put them on sale to the general public, thus making our elastic band balls more colourful (i.e. not light brown).

5. We won’t have to send birthday cards. This means that we can never forget to send a birthday card. Also, we won’t have to buy birthday cards so we will never have to visit a Clinton Cards ever again. We can just write “Happy Birthday chum” on a Facebook profile and be done with the whole business.

6. Better marital harmony. If you’re browsing on Ebay late at night, after a pint or two, the goods that you buy (which are now free, remember) will not be delivered, thus avoiding a row with my (sorry, your) wife (husband/spouse/partner/significant other/special friend/cat).

7. Postal workers are popular with dogs. Every year there are approximately 826 dog related injuries between the gate and the front door. It’s so needless. I used to live up the road from a dog. Bloody big thing it was. And it often went for the postal workers. No wonder they started disguising themselves as milkmen.

Do you have additional reasons, praise or insights? Share them with us in the comments section. All criticism and negative responses are taken far more seriously and can be posted to:

7 Reasons
P.O. Box 94
Bristol
BS13 4SR

October 29, 2009