EMail is Weird

Let me reproduce for you an email I received today. What the hell is this? Is this the new thing, assaulting random people with random fiction?

From: Hope Benitez
Sent:
7/27/2006 12:34:17 AM
Subject: Fwd: Help

I understand all your questions. The first two infant deaths had not aroused suspicion — a story on one had mentioned severe birth defects.

For the last time, he hoped. Her rejection of what he had written would be easier to bear if he could blame it on the pain, but the truth was that the pain had finally begun to subside a little. Because the crucial plot-twist of Fast Cars concerned Tony Bonasaros near-fatal crack-up in his last desperate effort to escape the police (and this led to the epilogue, which consisted of the bruising interrogation conducted by the late Lieutenant Grays partner in Tonys hospital room), Paul had interviewed a number of crash victims. In the kitchen, tall hugged Misery tightly to him, feeling his soul live and die and then live again in the sweet smell of her warm skin.

"Suddenly she kicked the front bumper of Mr Rancho Grandes car, kicked it hard enough to knock packed chunks of snow out of the wheel-wells. The whole thing was meaningless.

He could not tell her because it would hurt her badly, and in spite of all the pain she had afforded him, he found he could not hurt her in that way. Martian death-machines. He looked toward the barbecue pot, expecting it to look like a barbecue pot in the morning light: a barbecue pot and nothing else.