Like the late Rodney Dangerfield, Spam does not get any respect. As far as you may be concerned, it lives its life there as just another can in your cupboard, waiting for the day when a craving for meat in your sandwich and nary a speck of it in your refrigerator forces you to broaden your search.
So you open your cupboard and spy its comfortingly familiar shiny blue can, welcoming you with open arms. “I won’t let you down. I’ve just been waiting to come alive by allowing you to fry me up, slather me with mustard and throw me down between two slices of bread, where you will then consume the very essence of my being, wash me down with a glass of milk, and then once fully sated, not acknowledge me again until you get another craving that leads you back to my shiny blue container.”
And you see, Spam is cool with that. That’s the thing about Spam- it’s just too damn easy.
Human beings, regardless of how they may appear in another’s estimation, are not. They are complex individuals, gradually growing and metamorphosing into less abbreviated versions of themselves over time.
Unlike Spam, you can’t leave them to sit indefinitely in their comfortingly familiar shiny can expecting them to lie in wait for your next moment of desolation, when a craving for something with substance- something to take the edge off your inner emptiness, leads you back to the familiar comfort they so freely offer.
Spam is intended to do that. It’s a Special Processed American Meat, preserved in a can for your consumption and enjoyment.
Human beings are not.
Not due to a lack of loyalty or reliability, and certainly not because they are unfeeling or lacking in love, but simply because they wise up and require more for themselves than waiting around to provide unreciprocated sustenance.
That’s a job best left to meat in a can.
fit BEYOND form 
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