Artificial Intelligence Progress as Measured by SPAM Literary Quality

As SPAM becomes ever more prevalent, we can at least take solace in the fact that, as literature, it's quality continues to increase.  SPAM today often tries to sell me nothing and provides provacative prose straight to my inbox.  Take the following recently received piece:

When the lover is righteous, a spartan tripod brainwashes the pork chop related to another crank case. Sometimes a turkey trembles, but a cowboy over a hockey player always pours freezing cold water on a surly hole puncher! Some asteroid over a rattlesnake plans an escape from the false reactor some vacuum cleaner. A cheese wheel self-flagellates, and the defendant feels nagging remorse; however, the polar bear pees on the cyprus mulch behind a cowboy. The ball bearing, a bartender near a turn signal, and a ravishing eggplant are what made America great!

A revered polar bear, a warranty, a revered polar bear. Furthermore, a recliner prays, and the blithe spirit related to some tabloid bestows great honor upon another senator toward a chess board. Another cloud formation over a minivan sanitizes the bullfrog. When you see the revered fighter pilot, it means that the cashier flies into a rage. The earring buries a moronic deficit. A roller coaster of a cowboy shares a shower with a mastadon.

How true.  How true indeed.  If only spam could sing, as SPAM now rivals even the legendary lyrics of great band "Rush".

(From Rush - 2112)

...'The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from the heart of every Federation city. I
have always been awed by them, to think that every single facet of every life is regulated
and directed from within! Our books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by
the benevolent wisdom of the priests...'

We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why

We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls

My inbox isn't just big.  Man, it's deep.