after feeding it through sa-learn it did catch the example1.txt as
spam...
but now if I strip out the ad portion - it's still spam.
let's hope I don't have to many folks writing fiction around here.
- pat
UW - madison
>>> Dan Melomedman <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> 2/13/2004 12:24 PM >>>
Pat Noordsij wrote:
> I have one email that included 2 pages of text from Tom Sawyer.
>
> It didn't get caught.
There are also sentence-writing AI programs conveniently available for
spammers. Finally they found a way to foil Bayesian filters.
Congratulations.
Welp, time to find a new anti-spam mechanism. What is it this time?
MAIL FROM: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
RCPT TO: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
X-GWIA: Sun, 08 Feb 2004 19:40:40 -0600; mx78.expta.biz
Received: from mx78.expta.biz [64.143.184.78]
by web.gwmadison.wisc.edu; Sun, 08 Feb 2004 19:40:40 -0600
From: "Charter Operating" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: "person1 " <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: person1, Madison district 4.7% rates - lowest in the nation
Date: Sun, 8 Feb 2004 19:40:44 -0600
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He was regarded as a wonderful reader. At church "sociables" he was always
called upon to read poetry; and when he was through, the ladies would lift up
their hands and let them fall helplessly in their laps, and "wall" their eyes,
and shake their heads, as much as to say, "Words cannot express it; it is too
beautiful, too beautiful for this mortal earth."
After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned himself into a
bulletin-board, and read off "notices" of meetings and societies and things
till it seemed that the list would stretch out to the of doom -- a queer
custom which is still kept up in America, even in cities, away here in this age
of abundant newspapers. Often, the less there is to justify a traditional
custom, the harder it
is to get rid of it.
And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into
details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for
the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for
the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of
the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the
Government;
for poor sailors, tossed by seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under
the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the
light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear
withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a
supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor,
and be as seed sown
in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good. Amen.
There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation sat down. The
boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy the prayer, he only endured
it -- if he even did that much. He was restive all through it; he kept tally of
the details of the prayer, unconsciously -- for he was not listening, but he
knew the ground of old, and the clergyman's regular route over it -- and when a
little
trifle of new matter was interlarded, his ear detected it and his whole nature
resented it; he considered additions unfair, and scoundrelly. In the of the
prayer a fly had lit on the back of the pew in front of him and tortured his
spirit by calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its arms,
and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part company with the
body, and
the slender thread of a neck was exposed to view; scraping its wings with its
hind legs and smoothing them to its body as if they had been coat-tails; going
through its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly safe. As
indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab for it they did not
dare -- he believed his soul would be instantly destroyed if he did such a
thing
while the prayer was going on. But with the closing sentence his hand began to
curve and steal forward; and the instant the "Amen" was out the fly was a
prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act and made him let it go.
The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously through an
argument that was so prosy that many a head by and by began to nod -- and yet
it was an argument that dealt in limitless fire and brimstone and thinned the
predestined elect down to a company so small as to be hardly worth the saving.
Tom counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew how many pages
there had
been, but he seldom knew anything else about the discourse. However, this time
he was really interested for a little while. The minister made a grand and
moving picture of the assembling together of the world's hosts at the
millennium when the lion and the lamb should lie down together and a little
child should lead them. But the pathos, the lesson, the moral of the great
spectacle were lost upon
the boy; he only thought of the conspicuousness of the principal character
before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and he said to
himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was a tame lion.
Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was resumed. Presently
he bethought him of a treasure he had and got it out. It was a large black
beetle with formidable jaws -- a "pinchbug," he called it. It was in a
percussion-cap box. The first thing the beetle did was to take him by the
finger. A natural fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle
and lit on its back,
and the hurt finger went into the boy's The beetle lay there working its
helpless legs, unable to turn over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was
safe out of his reach. Other people uninterested in the sermon found relief in
the beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog came idling
along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer softness and the quiet, weary of
captivity,
sighing for change. He spied the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged.
He surveyed the prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe distance;
walked around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted his
lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it; made another, and
another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to his stomach with the beetle
between his
paws, and continued his experiments; grew weary at last, and then indifferent
and absent-minded. His head nodded, and little by little his chin descended and
touched the enemy, who seized it. There was a sharp yelp, a flirt of the
poodle's head, and the beetle fell a couple of yards away, and lit on its back
once more. The neighboring spectators shook with a gentle inward joy, several
faces went
behind fans and handkerchiefs, and Tom was entirely happy. The dog looked
foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his heart, too, and
a craving for revenge. So he went to the beetle and began a wary attack on it
again; jumping at it from every point of a circle, lighting with his fore-paws
within an inch of the creature, making even closer snatches at it with his
teeth, and
jerking his head till his ears flapped again. But he grew tired once more,
after a while; tried to amuse himself with a fly but found no relief; followed
an ant around, with his nose close to the floor, and quickly wearied of that;
yawned, sighed, forgot the beetle entirely, and sat down on it. Then there was
a wild yelp of agony and the poodle went sailing up the aisle; the yelps
continued, and
so did the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew down the
other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up the home-stretch; his
anguish grew with his progress, till presently he was but a woolly comet moving
in its orbit with the gleam and the speed of light. At last the frantic
sufferer sheered from its course, and sprang into its master's lap; he flung it
out of the
window, and the voice of distress quickly thinned away and died in the
By this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating with suppressed
laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead standstill. The discourse was
resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all possibility of
impressiveness being at an end; for even the sentiments were constantly being
received with a smothered of unholy mirth, under cover of some remote
pew-back, as if the poor parson
had said a rarely facetious thing. It was a genuine relief to the whole
congregation when the ordeal was over and the benediction pronounced.
Tom Sawyer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that there was some
satisfaction about divine service when there was a bit of variety in it. He had
but one marring thought; he was willing that the dog should play with his
pinchbug, but he did not think it was upright in him to carry it off.
Monday morning found Tom Sawyer miserable. Monday morning always found him so
-- because it began another week's slow suffering in school. He generally began
that day with wishing he had had no intervening holiday, it made the going into
captivity and fetters again so much more odious.
Tom lay thinking. Presently it occurred to him that he wished he was sick; then
he could stay home from school. Here was a vague possibility. He canvassed his
system. No ailment was found, and he investigated again. This time he thought
he could detect colicky symptoms, and he began to encourage them with
considerable hope. But they soon grew feeble, and presently died wholly away.
He reflected
further. Suddenly he discovered something. One of his upper front teeth was
loose. This was lucky; he was about to begin to groan, as a "starter," as he
called it, when it occurred to him that if he came into court with that
argument, his aunt would pull it out, and that would hurt. So he thought he
would hold the tooth in reserve for the present, and seek further. Nothing
offered for some little
time, and then he remembered hearing the doctor tell about a certain thing that
laid up a patient for two or three weeks and to make him lose a finger. So the
boy eagerly drew his sore toe from under the sheet and held it up for
inspection. But now he did not know the necessary symptoms. However, it seemed
well worth while to chance it, so he fell to groaning with considerable spirit.
But Sid slept on unconscious.
Tom groaned louder, and that he began to feel pain in the toe.
No result from Sid.
Tom was panting with his exertions by this time. He took a rest and then
swelled himself up and fetched a succession of admirable groans.
Sid snored on.
Tom was aggravated. He said, "Sid, Sid!" and shook him. This course worked
well, and Tom began to groan again. Sid yawned, stretched, then brought himself
up on his elbow with a snort, and began to stare at Tom. Tom went on groaning.
Sid said:
"Tom! Say, Tom!" [No response.] "Here, Tom! Tom! What is the matter, Tom?" And
he shook him and looked in his face anxiously.
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