Spammified.
an excerpt

“YOU’VE BEEN SPAMMIFIED!” Oliver Tobias Caspian the first proudly exclaimed to his high tech stainless steel covered computer as he did an enthusiastic victory dance in front of it. He then plopped down into his fantastically bright, mango tango colored swively chair -which had been specially bought for this specific purpose- and spun it all around the room while occasionally putting his long arms straight up in the air and yelling, “WEEEEEEEE!”
True, Oliver was not so much of a little kid anymore. He was tall and lean and had aged to approximately nineteen years, taking away any halfway liable excuse for acting so... so... I suppose a few words that come to mind are...hmm...childish? Of course. Did you even read what Oliver was doing? Spinning around in an amazing swively chair and WEEEEEEEE-ing? Yeah, very childish. And... how about immature? Basically the same meaning, but a different word. He was very immature for a guy of nineteen years; heck, he was immature for a five year old! Anyway, Oliver was about nineteen years old and had a thin and average face, much different from his five year old self. But did that really take away from the fact that he was still the same little Ollie, of the curly red hair and emerald-colored eyes and funny way of not having a clue of exactly what you were going to say before you even thought about saying it even when it was really obvious? Confusing, yes, but I don’t think so.
That very same little carrot top Ollie was WEEEEEEEE-ing at the top of his lungs when his shiny silver cell phone’s cheerful (and very intimidating) ringing voice broke into a particularly dizzying spin. “Aw man, who is it this time?” Oliver said aloud, shaking his head to try and stop the room from spinning all around. Yeah, he loved his job, but the almost constant phone ringing could get annoying real fast.
By the way, Oliver had the most amazing job ever in the history of amazing jobs (and all jobs, for that matter). No, really. His official name (as in the name he thought sounded the coolest) was Independent Competition Eliminator (ICE for short), which basically meant that companies paid him colossal amounts of cash to spam and prank call their enemies. That also included sending viruses to their computers and overall just ruining everything they had against his clients.
Oliver prized himself for his sneaky, ninja like behaviors- he had never even close to being caught and planned to keep it that way. Maybe what he did was partly or completely illegal sabotaging other companies and gaining money for it, maybe not, but who cared as long as it was fun and kept delectable food on the table and his customers happy? He sure didn’t.
Oliver Caspian was by no stretch of the imagination a man of strict morals. He enjoyed to shoplift (after keeping close tabs on when he would most likely not be caught among other factors, of course), drive fast (he would have accumulated a great mass of speeding tickets had it not been for his apparent innocence and natural charm along with the fact that he hardly ever drove, except for the occasional time he allowed himself to rent an expensive car and go gallivanting off to nowhere in particular), and, most shocking of all, win contests. Karaoke, modeling, writing, inventing...all were fair game when the fabulously handsome, singing genius called Oliver was around.
Anyway, Oliver was great at whatever he did, but didn’t always feel like working. He liked stealing, winning money and stupendous prizes, being admired, and all of that stuff, so why would he want to waste his natural talents on something which would take up all of his time? After considering his options for quite a while, it took him several painstakingly tough minutes about half a year before to come up with the ICE profession and began subtlety spreading the word around that he could get rid of competitors quick and easy.
All you needed was loads of cash and his name, and “We’ll be in business, brother,” Oliver always liked to say. It was in this way that Oliver lived his life. A few days a week, he’d take on jobs where all he had to do was copy and paste and click the little “SEND MAIL” button or put on a phony voice and call up a place. Pretty soon he’d roll in the dough and take a break while basking in all of the attention a hip happening guy like him so obviously deserved. There was only one thing Oliver demanded out of his job, besides the money part: entertainment.
He wanted to say silly rhymes and have them spoken hesitantly by the top officials of companies, he delighted in giggling and forcing the CEO of a major corporation to girlishly chuckle back. Oliver relished in the end of assignments when he could say “If you don’t repeat what I say then the deal’s off.” Ollie had the force on his side, and with that came tons of power. The power to make people do stuff, the power to hear important people beg on their wimpy hands and knobby knees, or they were pretty much dead meat, because Oliver could ruin their companies if they didn’t cater to his every demand. And he really, really liked that ability.