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From: Omaha Steak Selection <omahasteakse@funqubes.com>
Reply-To: omahasteakse@funqubes.com
To: bruce@untroubled.org
Subject: 0maha-Steaks Is Giving You A Steak SampIer - 500 Remain
Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2026 16:26:42 -0500
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The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long stripes across the wooden floor. I sat with my coffee, the steam curling in the quiet air. Outside, a bird was trying out a new song, a series of short, inquisitive chirps. It reminded me of learning to play the piano, those first tentative notes before a melody takes shape. The house was still, holding its breath before the day began. I thought about the book I was reading, a novel set in a coastal town where the weather was a constant character. The author described the smell of salt and pine so vividly I could almost taste it. My neighbor passed by the window with his dog, a cheerful terrier that always stopped to investigate the same patch of lavender. They had a routine, a comfortable understanding between them. I finished the last of my coffee, the cup now cool in my hands. The day ahead was full of ordinary tasks, but there was a certain peace in that predictability. Later, I planned to call my sister. We often talk about nothing in particular, just sharing the small details of our weeks. She had recently taken up gardening and was fascinated by the different types of soil. She described the texture of loam with the enthusiasm of a scientist discovering a new element. It made me smile. I got up to rinse the cup, the water from the tap surprisingly cold. The sound of it hitting the ceramic was sharp and clear. I looked out the window over the sink. The sky was a pale, endless blue, without a single cloud to mark its expanse. It felt like a blank page, a fresh start. I wondered what the post would bring today, usually just circulars and bills, but sometimes a postcard from a friend traveling. There’s something special about holding a piece of paper that has crossed oceans. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a reliable metronome for the morning. I decided to open the window and let some of the cool, fresh air inside. The curtain fluttered gently, a soft white flag in the breeze. It was going to be a good day.
Omaha Steaks
Exceptional cuts, delivered to your kitchen.
A Gourmet Sampler for You
Omaha Steaks is providing a selection of our premier cuts at no charge to participants. We have allocated 500 sampler boxes for this program.
You are able to receive one sampler per household. The sampler is provided at no charge; you will not be billed for these items. This opportunity concludes Tomorrow.
Our process ensures quality: each cut is hand-selected by our experts and immediately flash-frozen. This preserves the texture and rich flavor from our facility to your table.
See What's Included
Inside Your Box
Four Ribeye Steaks
Six Top Sirloin Steaks
Four New York Strip Steaks
Four Filet Mignon Steaks
The sampler is part of a limited program allocation. The contents are typically valued above six hundred dollars.
We appreciate your interest in Omaha Steaks.
The path through the woods was old, worn smooth by generations of footsteps. It was cooler under the canopy, the air smelling of damp earth and decaying leaves. I walked slowly, listening to the crunch of twigs underfoot and the distant call of a crow. My mind wandered to a conversation I had last week about constellations. A friend was explaining how different cultures saw different pictures in the same stars. She said the stories in the sky were like a global library, written in light. I liked that idea. A squirrel scampered across the path ahead, pausing to look at me with bright, curious eyes before darting up a tree. Its movements were quick and precise, a little dance of survival. I thought about all the unseen lives in the forest, the insects in the bark, the birds in the nests, the roots intertwining beneath the soil. It was a whole world, busy and complete, existing alongside my own. The path began to slope upwards, and I could hear the faint sound of running water. After a few more minutes, I reached a small stream. The water was clear, flowing over mossy stones. I sat on a large, flat rock near the bank. The sound of the water was constant, a soothing white noise that seemed to slow time. I remembered coming to places like this as a child, how a stream could be an ocean, a rock could be a ship. Imagination turned the ordinary into adventure. A butterfly, its wings a faded yellow, landed on a wildflower near the water. It rested there, opening and closing its wings slowly, as if breathing. I watched it for a long time, until a slight breeze stirred the flowers and it fluttered away. The sun had moved, and patches of light now fell on the forest floor in different places, highlighting ferns and patches of clover. It was time to head back. The walk home felt shorter, my thoughts quiet and settled. When I emerged from the woods, the open field was bright with afternoon sun. The grass was long and swayed gently. I stood for a moment at the edge, letting my eyes adjust to the light, feeling the warmth on my skin. It was a simple pleasure, being between two worlds—the deep, private woods and the wide, open field. Later, making tea in my quiet kitchen, I felt a deep sense of contentment. The day had offered no grand events, just a series of small, connected moments. The steam from the kettle rose in a straight column before dissipating into the air. I heard the mail slot clatter and the sound of envelopes hitting the floor. Ordinary sounds. Life sounds. I took my tea to the table by the window and watched the clouds begin to gather on the horizon, tinted pink by the approaching evening. They looked like soft brushstrokes on a pale canvas. The day was winding down, gently, and I was happy to let it.

http://www.funqubes.com/lkiuraqe

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<div style="display:none;font-size:1px;color:#ffffff;line-height:1px;font-family:Arial;max-height:0px;max-width:0px;opacity:0;overflow:hidden;mso-hide:all;">The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long stripes across the wooden floor. I sat with my coffee, the steam curling in the quiet air. Outside, a bird was trying out a new song, a series of short, inquisitive chirps. It reminded me of learning to play the piano, those first tentative notes before a melody takes shape. The house was still, holding its breath before the day began. I thought about the book I was reading, a novel set in a coastal town where the weather was a constant character. The author described the smell of salt and pine so vividly I could almost taste it. My neighbor passed by the window with his dog, a cheerful terrier that always stopped to investigate the same patch of lavender. They had a routine, a comfortable understanding between them. I finished the last of my coffee, the cup now cool in my hands. The day ahead was full of ordinary tasks, but there was a certain peace in that predictability. Later, I planned to call my sister. We often talk about nothing in particular, just sharing the small details of our weeks. She had recently taken up gardening and was fascinated by the different types of soil. She described the texture of loam with the enthusiasm of a scientist discovering a new element. It made me smile. I got up to rinse the cup, the water from the tap surprisingly cold. The sound of it hitting the ceramic was sharp and clear. I looked out the window over the sink. The sky was a pale, endless blue, without a single cloud to mark its expanse. It felt like a blank page, a fresh start. I wondered what the post would bring today, usually just circulars and bills, but sometimes a postcard from a friend traveling. There’s something special about holding a piece of paper that has crossed oceans. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a reliable metronome for the morning. I decided to open the window and let some of the cool, fresh air inside. The curtain fluttered gently, a soft white flag in the breeze. It was going to be a good day.</div>
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<h1 style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:42px;font-weight:normal;margin:0;color:#8a1c22;letter-spacing:1px;">Omaha Steaks</h1>
<p style="margin:8px 0 0;font-size:15px;color:#6d6d6d;font-style:italic;">Exceptional cuts, delivered to your kitchen.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
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<td style="padding:30px 20px;background-color:#ffffff;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<h2 style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:28px;margin:0 0 8px 0;color:#2e2e2e;line-height:1.2;">A Gourmet Sampler for You</h2>
<p style="margin:0;font-size:16px;color:#5a5a5a;line-height:1.5;">Omaha Steaks is providing a selection of our premier cuts at no charge to participants. We have allocated 500 sampler boxes for this program.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding-bottom:25px;">
<p style="margin:0 0 15px 0;font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#3a3a3a;">You are able to receive one sampler per household. The sampler is provided at no charge; you will not be billed for these items. This opportunity concludes Tomorrow.</p>
<p style="margin:0 0 20px 0;font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#3a3a3a;">Our process ensures quality: each cut is hand-selected by our experts and immediately flash-frozen. This preserves the texture and rich flavor from our facility to your table.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td align="center" style="padding-bottom:30px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0">
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<td style="background-color:#8a1c22;padding:16px 40px;border-radius:6px;box-shadow:0 3px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.08);">
<a href="http://www.funqubes.com/lkiuraqe" style="color:#ffffff;font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:18px;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;display:inline-block;">See What's Included</a>
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<h3 style="font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;font-size:22px;margin:0 0 15px 0;color:#2e2e2e;text-align:center;">Inside Your Box</h3>
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<td style="background-color:#faf6f0;padding:12px 15px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-bottom:0;border-right:0;font-size:15px;color:#3a3a3a;">Four Ribeye Steaks</td>
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<td style="background-color:#ffffff;padding:12px 15px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-bottom:0;border-right:0;font-size:15px;color:#3a3a3a;">Six Top Sirloin Steaks</td>
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<td style="background-color:#faf6f0;padding:12px 15px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-bottom:0;font-size:15px;color:#3a3a3a;">Four New York Strip Steaks</td>
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<td style="background-color:#ffffff;padding:12px 15px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;font-size:15px;color:#3a3a3a;">Four Filet Mignon Steaks</td>
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</table>
</td>
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<p style="margin:0;font-size:14px;color:#787878;font-style:italic;text-align:center;padding:15px 20px;background-color:#f9f7f3;border-radius:4px;">The sampler is part of a limited program allocation. The contents are typically valued above six hundred dollars.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
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<td style="padding:25px 20px;background-color:#f5efe6;border-radius:0 0 8px 8px;border-top:1px solid #e3dbd2;text-align:center;">
<p style="margin:0 0 10px 0;font-size:15px;color:#5a5a5a;">We appreciate your interest in Omaha Steaks.</p>
<div style="height:4px;width:120px;background-color:#9b1c22;margin:15px auto;border-radius:2px;"></div>
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<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:1.2;color:#f0e8dc;font-family:Arial;overflow:hidden;height:0;max-height:0;mso-hide:all;">The path through the woods was old, worn smooth by generations of footsteps. It was cooler under the canopy, the air smelling of damp earth and decaying leaves. I walked slowly, listening to the crunch of twigs underfoot and the distant call of a crow. My mind wandered to a conversation I had last week about constellations. A friend was explaining how different cultures saw different pictures in the same stars. She said the stories in the sky were like a global library, written in light. I liked that idea. A squirrel scampered across the path ahead, pausing to look at me with bright, curious eyes before darting up a tree. Its movements were quick and precise, a little dance of survival. I thought about all the unseen lives in the forest, the insects in the bark, the birds in the nests, the roots intertwining beneath the soil. It was a whole world, busy and complete, existing alongside my own. The path began to slope upwards, and I could hear the faint sound of running water. After a few more minutes, I reached a small stream. The water was clear, flowing over mossy stones. I sat on a large, flat rock near the bank. The sound of the water was constant, a soothing white noise that seemed to slow time. I remembered coming to places like this as a child, how a stream could be an ocean, a rock could be a ship. Imagination turned the ordinary into adventure. A butterfly, its wings a faded yellow, landed on a wildflower near the water. It rested there, opening and closing its wings slowly, as if breathing. I watched it for a long time, until a slight breeze stirred the flowers and it fluttered away. The sun had moved, and patches of light now fell on the forest floor in different places, highlighting ferns and patches of clover. It was time to head back. The walk home felt shorter, my thoughts quiet and settled. When I emerged from the woods, the open field was bright with afternoon sun. The grass was long and swayed gently. I stood for a moment at the edge, letting my eyes adjust to the light, feeling the warmth on my skin. It was a simple pleasure, being between two worlds—the deep, private woods and the wide, open field. Later, making tea in my quiet kitchen, I felt a deep sense of contentment. The day had offered no grand events, just a series of small, connected moments. The steam from the kettle rose in a straight column before dissipating into the air. I heard the mail slot clatter and the sound of envelopes hitting the floor. Ordinary sounds. Life sounds. I took my tea to the table by the window and watched the clouds begin to gather on the horizon, tinted pink by the approaching evening. They looked like soft brushstrokes on a pale canvas. The day was winding down, gently, and I was happy to let it.</div>
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