By Mark McFadden, (c) 2000
In a message dated 4/16/00 1:29:31 PM Pacific Daylight Time, firstname.lastname@example.org writes:
<< Well, research boffins in the UK recently proved that hands-free headsets are actually worse for you. Apparently they treat your whole body to a toasty microwaving, not just your brainpan.
At least, that’s today’s update on the Cellphone Cancer Scare Story… >>
When will these unfounded, highly suspect and dismissably ridiculous allegations and urban legends cease? I wear a Geargoyle(tm) HandsFree Liberator headset and phone accessory in several designer colors and styles available at all the finer stores, and I have never experienced anything like you are stating in a public forum except the usual everyday little insignificant negligible atmospheric static discharges (or “shocks” as you insist on calling them) that we have *all* been experiencing ever since El Nino, which authorities in reports have clearly stated as a fact were caused by normal volcanic activity. You’ve all seen the news reports, why do you insist in a public forum that this is the result of some evil conspiracy? Really, it all sounds like some *Oliver Stone movie* or something *Art Bell* or other paranoid delusionals would say. You don’t want to be like them, do you?
I suppose you are referring to the “findings” of that “research” that was paid for by those Lesbian Mothers Against Technology or whoever it was. Well, they can hardly be considered objective, can they? And I’m sure you can imagine as well as I can what their motives are. Because we all know what they are like.
Really, the owners of this forum should seriously consider making a public statement of their sincere beliefs regarding this silly flap over these urban myths. The entire thread is of course evidence in any *possible* litigation at any time in the future and must be archived without tampering. If we have any arguable reason to believe that this storage in perpetuem is not being performed, we will of course have to have the court seize all of the pertinent communications and continue to do so throughout the proceedings for however long whatever we decide we might want to do might take. Incidentally, you pay for the storage. That’s the law.
We can, of course, be persuaded to desist from these regrettable but inevitable actions given the proper enticement and a sincere public display of submission and fealty.
And since it is so essential that the identities of the libellers be separated from the innocent bystanders, the ‘lurkers’, we will of course need continual access to your address lists. I’m sure the majority of the list members would agree to that.
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The opinions expressed in the above message are in no way to be interpreted as the opinions or policies of Geargoyle Design. The opinions expressed in the above message are in no way to be interpreted as the opinions or policies of Universal Communications. The opinions expressed in the above message are in no way to be interpreted as the opinions or policies of Whole Earth Enterprises or any subsidiary of Whole Earth Enterprises. Symptoms include nausea, diarrhea, sleeplessness, depression and these really pounding headaches like I haven’t had since college. This offer not good in New Mexico, Mississippi, Minnesotta, Massachusetts, Missouri, Michigan, Manitoba, Mu, or Mars. Tennessee Williams called it the click in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. Paul Newman said he drinks until it clicks and everything gets all right. Information isn’t like that. It doesn’t need a fillup, it grows on its own and makes connections and then click it comes to you on the freeway that you hate them, you fucking hate them and you want to hurt them and you don’t want to settle for a bitch-slapping, you want to have your foot on their throats forever so you can scream at them that that’s what it’s like how do you like it tough shit lick my shoe and I’ll think about it, any time you want. I didn’t always feel like that. I love information but I really value privacy. I was born to do this. I didn’t peek, I wasn’t tempted. Or maybe I was. I sort of always knew it was an either/or sort of thing. Click. It was easy at first, it was a given that your mail was private. Then it wasn’t. Then it belonged to the company. And then it started. The requests for access, the demands for access finally demanding that I enable them to cover their tracks. Ghost post offices with parallel deliveries to mailboxes with no passwords. I told them to put passwords on them and keep them secret in Legal or HR or something but what did I expect? HR was a consultant hoteling in the bullpen and Legal was the usual profile. Twisting my arm two weeks later to remove password protection because they got tired of forgetting the word password. But I stayed out even when the constantly rotating chair fillers had carte blanche. I refused to look, I refused to be part of the problem. I do that in traffic, too. Those constant looky-loo jams so both sides of the freeway slow to a spastic conga line? I won’t look, I refuse to be part of the problem. Why would I want to look for blood anyhow? I’ll never understand it. I just gun it and get out of there, looking straight ahead. They might be dead or something, give them a little privacy. But they made me look. Motherfuckers you wouldn’t do the most simple housekeeping and you made me look you fuckers and you can’t take shit like that back you can’t hit reset and I am going to love every nanosecond I have you by your pathetic balls. And I don’t want to know any more about your hearts and minds. I know so much right now I have to spit in the wastebasket throughout the day to get the taste out of mouth. So simple, so obviously necessary. Mail was slowing down because attachments were getting too big. So I put limits on the gateways. I’d trap stuff too big and send a canned warning, told them to chop it into smaller bits. Incoming, too. So they tell me that business stuff has to get through so could I sort out the frivolous stuff and send the business stuff on its way and they really were behind me 100%. So I have to check content and I’m looking to get out of there. This rat can find more interesting mazes that offer tastier cheese. And there it was. You couldn’t tell from the Subject. I had to look. It seemed to be talking business and money, I saw figures and balances but I didn’t read them. So I looked at the attachment just to be sure and I’ll never get that out of my head. That eye, what was that, hydrostatic effect? Over 25 megs of that stuff. You fuckers I’m going to make this a work of art. I’ve got the strength of ten because those were kids you fuckers. Sending him down to head the Mexican branch didn’t fool me for a nanosecond. No jury in the world would convict me but it won’t ever get that far. TLC but CYA, that’s the Consultant’s Code. That’s the problem with this world, no code to live by. But I’ll tell you what I’ve got. Everything. You gave it to me. You cheap motherfuckers you understaffed MIS and duties overlapped. So did access. You wanted instant gratification and you gave me the keys to give it to you. Even if you change platforms you won’t change the passwords to the sessions that go through those firewalls, too much hassle. You told me. You made me turn off the password schedule. I’m all over you, I work for you, even if payroll knows I’m dead they forgot to tell anyone else. I’ll tell you what I want when I want it. If you want to talk terms, sent a note to yourself, I’ll get it eventually. I know I’m not the only one who has seen this shit. The guy who showed me this trick said this stuff never gets read, it just gets upgraded to the latest version. He said this will be sent out with every message from these parasites until the next millenium. He said that if he got fired for these stunts he’d explain it was all a joke and a satire of modern communications and he was a performance artist and gadfly and clean up on the lecture circuit. Or something. He didn’t want to be part of the problem anymore. He’s the one who mentioned the click. He said sometimes it’s like throwing a switch. Click. You’re sane. Now I’m part of the solution, I think.