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From http://www.trollaxor.com/2007/05/ein-tag-im-leben- von-michael-sims.html

05:45 The first strains of Das Lied der Deutschen surranged from Michael's speakers, shaking the headboard of his waterbed. Opening a bloodshot eye, Michael peeled the comforter off and crawled to the edge of his bed where he reached out and slapped the space bar of his keyboard. iTunes stopped the nationalistic hymn, leaving the room in a vacuumed silence. Turning to the window, Michael opened his Venetian blinds and inhaled as the sunlight hit him. It was going to be a fine day.

06:00 Michael was still damp from his shower. He'd had just fifteen minutes to soap, scour, and shave before he was due in front of his computer. Michael's rigorous routine was self-imposed as a method of keeping rigid discipline and utter efficiency. Otherwise, he would become soft and weak. He itched his scalp where he'd nicked himself shaving. The blood would stop eventually, Michael thought. The shallowest wounds always bled the most.

Michael loaded Safari and watched as his RSS feeds filled with new posts. He sneered as he proceeded to read the latest from Censoreware.net.

07:45 Michael stretched and cracked his neck. After almost two hours of scouring every site, blog, and post by Seth Finkelstein, Jamie McCarthy, and the entire Slashdot staff, he was stiff. He always tensed when he read the meandering lies of the poisonous vipers that had taken his rightful place on the Internet away from him.

In fact, he noted as iCal alerted him, he had an appointment at the dentist today to address his bruxism. Michael had been told he sounded like a trash compactor at night as he slept, slowly chewing his teeth apart. He only remembered his dreams of vengeance.

08:30 Reading the latest issue of Time magazine, Michael sneered at the media's latest attempt to besmear Adolf Hitler by likening Saddam Hussein to him. Hussein was just an amateur, Michael thought. Germany would have marched through Iraq and taken it without a shot if it hadn't been for the inept Italians losing North Africa.

His fantasy was interrupted by the cute blonde receptionist as she called him to follow her back to his exam room. As he clomped to the back of the building in his jackboots, he saw that her roots were just as blonde as her ends. Michael paid close attention to people's hair and clothes. How rare a thing real blonde hair was in New York nowadays, Michael mused. Too bad she was female.

11:00 Michael looked at the mouthguard his dentist had given him and recounted his bad luck. He blamed Finkelstein and Malda, the traitorous bastards that had backstabbed him so many times. Were it not for them, Michael deduced as he clenched the steering wheel of his VW bug, he wouldn't have to use this mouthguard. Or the testosterone shots. Or the Viagra. Or the special, embarrassing combo cock-ring condoms. He was worked up now, breathing hard and near tears.

Michael reached for his mobile phone and called Eric Raymond.

12:37 "This is not what you trained me for. Sitting and waiting while our own people disavow me was not part of the plan!" Michael whined into his phone at Eric

Michael was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't believe how even Eric Raymond, his mentor and commander, was shitting all over him. Any other time that would be just fine but not now. Not when Michael's fragile ego was taking a beating.

"Listen, Michael, I'm speaking at a Linux conference this weekend," Eric said. "If you can just settle your ass down and wait a couple days we can get together and talk things out. I know this must be hard for you."

Michael perked up, happy to hear his Teutonic gas-master would be in town soon. "Can- can we go out?" Michael asked, a tremble of hope in his voice.

"Sure, Michael, anywh

Ein Tag im Leben von Michael Sims

Ein Tag im Leben von Michael Sims

Ein Tag im Leben von Michael Sims

Michael Sims, Gay Nazi Conspirator
Why Slashdot Fired Michael

Michael Sims, Gay Nazi Conspirator
Why Slashdot Fired Michael

From Trollaxor

I received the email first thing in the morning from the IT department. Our network would be undergoing a major overhaul to correct the ad hoc growth it had experienced in the last year, and starting next week Internet access would be sporadic. There would also be a new firewall and security measures, replacing the old OpenBSD system I'd managed to get installed last Spring. Happy for the heads-up, I went to work right away to make sure Linux had no place on our network. This was not the first time that I had faced this threat.

About a year ago our network guy, the Open Source Mullet, was asked to draw up firewall plans. He was your typical GNU-slinger save that he had a cascade of flowing hair down the back of his head instead of a beard hanging from his face. And yeah, you can guess what he thought those firewalls were gonna run. I'd caught wind of the plans, however, and had charts, graphs, and comparisons written up detailing OpenBSD and Linux security. Since this GNU guy had a mullet and dressed like a slob, I got taken seriously. Not to mention my data impenetrable to any hippie logic. OpenBSD was more secure even to the beancounters and idiot management. So thanks to me, our firewalls happily ran OpenBSD and not Linux, which would have buffer-overflowed into no-man's land every other hour. The Open Source Mullet gave me a lot of dirty looks forever after, though.

Since the Open Source Mullet had been canned, a new threat had arisen at my workplace: the Fat Perl Hacker had assumed most of the Open Source Mullet's system and network administration duties, and it was no mystery to anyone at my workplace that he had a hard-on for Linux tucked away under his enormous, cascading gut. Since he was a major suck-up and workaholic, he had a lot more credibility than the Open Source Mullet -- this would be a real challenge for once. Dealing with the Open Source Mullet had been cake.

That night, I went to work on my strategy. First, I would document the changes in Linux and OpenBSD since a year ago when we last went with a security plan. Linux was still at version 2.4, while OpenBSD had raced from version 2.8 to 3.1 -- a major revision! This was good so far, and I included the relevant diffs for each. I wondered what the Fat Perl Hacker was up to and pushed ahead with my preparations.

Tuesday morning, I went to talk with the VP of Operations, who had final say on the network project. I wouldn't leave anything to chance. But after chatting with him for a few minutes, I learned of a major monkey-wrench I hadn't expected: instead of a Unix firewall system, he was planning on installing a dedicated firewall box -- running Windows XP. Thankful for my fortuitous social engineering, I went back to my desk and began making over my strategy to deal with this new threat. Not only would I have to deal with Linux, I'd have to eschew the Windows option now.

Sitting in front of my iBook after work, I realized that taking on Windows XP in the same manner I was going to deal with Linux would be foolish if not wasteful. Obviously the Windows option was not about numbers, anecdotes, or experience. It was a bean-counting decision and all of the security statistics in the world wouldn't matter. Since I hadn't the foggiest about how our accountants viewed the whole operation and didn't have time to learn, I'd have implement a rapid-fire real-life assault on the Windows box, which was sitting on the VP's desk awaiting its place on the network. It was time to put on my Black Hat, and that night I stayed up until 02:00 researching Windows XP vulnerabilities. Linux would have to wait.

With just two days before the network changeover was to take place, I marched into work Wednesday morning knowing that what I did in the next few hours would decide the fate of our network security. To my surprise, just moments after I had sat down, the Fat Perl Hacker asked me to join him for a cigarette outside -- away from the ears and

Rob Malda was tired, very tired. He had been getting little sleep lately, dividing his time between homosexually assaulting hairless young man-boys in his converted arcade game shell, fretting over the state of his LNUX stock, and drinking Jolly Rancher shooters with Hemos. But most of all, he was worried about what to do with Eric Raymond, who had spent the last eight hours trying to convince him to sell out a small part of his degenerate website to Intel. After eight hours, the discussion had settled into a predictable pattern:

"The only way to promote Open Source is through the support of America's corporate empires! We must join with them!" foamed Raymond, his beady eyes piercing into Rob's exhausted head.

"But won't that mean giving up our ideals of independent investigative jouralism and such? Did I put up with Jon Katz for nothing?!" squeaked Rob

Around and around it went. Finally, when it was past 2am, Rob suggested they both have a drink and change the subject, if only for awhile. Eric agreed, and they opened the bottle of Jägermeister he had brought with him, each of them taking swigs in turn. Before long, the bottle was empty and Eric was weeping.

"I'm poor!" he cried. "I'm destitute!"

"What do you mean?" Rob slurred

"I spent the last of my money on new LNUX shares, hoping they would turn around. Now, I'm so poor I can't even hire a transvestite to strip for me! I'm as poor as an ethnic minority!" the skinny hacker burbled, his mustache filling with mucus.

Rob felt pity on the red-haired defender of the 2nd amendment. Promising to relent on the Intel issue - even though that would only feed Eric's expensive sex-and-alcohol habits for a few weeks - he then told him he had a surprise for him.

Rob held Eric by the hand, and brought him across the room to his converted arcade-game shell which imprisoned a fearful hairless man-boy. The elder hacker's skinny penis slowly remembered its purpose and, with a grateful smile, Eric let go of Rob's hand, disrobed, and homosexually assaulted Rob's in-office sex slave.

I believe every word of that story, just like I believe Trollaxor's other stories involving Gay sex between Eric Raymond and Richard Stallman and Alan Cox forking Linux kernel.

I believe every word of that story, just like I believe Trollaxor's other stories involving Gay sex between Eric Raymond and Richard Stallman and Alan Cox forking Linux kernel.

Ha, I was thinking that too. That was some fucking funny shit, back in the day.

(Link for those who have no idea what we're talking about here)

Another Trollaxor.com exclusive!

All Mac users, until recently, were destined for Hell. If you owned or used a Macintosh, you were getting a one-way ticket to Sheol free of charge. But thanks to Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple and Mac Messiah, the Mac community maintained their grace. The dark part of the story, however, is that Jobs himself is the one who put Mac users' souls in danger to begin for the sole purpose of market share. It was Steve's gamble that made Apple what it is today, but things weren't always so sunny. And it all began during Apple's Dark Ages.

A Deal with the Devil

December 20, 1996 was a date fateful not only for Apple but also for the souls of 25 million Mac users. At this point, Apple's next-generation operating system, Copland, had fizzled and Apple purchased NeXT for its OS. Mac users and the rest of the industry waited with eager ears for news. By August of that year, it was clear: Jobs had taken back his company and was simplifying everything, focusing on the G3 and pushing Mac OS 8 through while work on a new OS derived from OPENSTEP began. Jobs slashed many projects at Apple. But, as Apple's market share had fallen to 3.3&#37, Jobs began new projects in the shadows. And as 1997 drew to a close, he put one of them into motion.

After weeks of meticulous planning, Jobs called an emergency board meeting. As the board members arrived, Jobs drew a magic circle and muttered in Old Latin. In a ritual that CFO Fred Anderson described as scarier than losing a billion dollars in one quarter, Jobs had summoned the Devil. Many of the board fell ill and had to leave while Jobs and Satan haggled over the future of the company, but by the end of the meeting Steve presented a three-year plan to save Apple. After thanking Satan, he flew home in his private jet. Jobs would later have to replace most of the board, now demented or ill from their encounter with the prince of darkness, with his cronies from NeXT.

First Sprouts of the Demon Seed

The first and most obvious sign of something devilish was at MacWorld Boston later that Summer. Steve Jobs announced the departure of Gil Amelio, a new board of directors, and a $500 million deal with Microsoft that featured future Microsoft Office updates. It wasn't hard to believe the Devil was behind this deal. And many in attendance at the Boston MacWorld that year said they could make out distinctly goatish features in Bill Gates's face during his address to the audience. Little did the world know how close to the truth they were.

Several months later, Apple debuted the iMac. And it was a hit. The iMac revolutionized industrial design, got Apple's feet back in the consumer market, and most importantly garnered massive media attention. Indeed, the iMac became a thing to remember about 1998. Within another year the iBook and the Blue White Power Mac G3 debuted, which were also hits with their stylish looks. Satan and Jobs's plan was coming along nicely so soon and they looked ahead to newer, faster systems and in late '99 the seemingly impossible happened: Motorola had completed and released a new PowerPC core without the help of IBM.

Granted, the PowerPC G4 was just a revision of the G3, but it was groundbreaking at the time and gave Mac users a huge speed-boost and something to brag about to their Pentium II-using coworkers. But then Motorola stalled, even with the Devil working behind the scenes, and the G4 was stuck at 500 MHz for 18 months in what Mac users called The 500 MHz Fiasco. This in turned caused Apple's board to see a weakening in Satan's side of the bargain with Apple and they began to mull litigation against Satan for breach of contract.

Devil Inside

As the 500 MHz Fiasco loomed, Apple was hard at work renegotiating with Satan. Since Satan's efforts had flagged, Apple pushed

Another Trollaxor.com exclusive!

All Mac users, until recently, were destined for Hell. If you owned or used a Macintosh, you were getting a one-way ticket to Sheol free of charge. But thanks to Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple and Mac Messiah, the Mac community maintained their grace. The dark part of the story, however, is that Jobs himself is the one who put Mac users' souls in danger to begin for the sole purpose of market share. It was Steve's gamble that made Apple what it is today, but things weren't always so sunny. And it all began during Apple's Dark Ages.

A Deal with the Devil

December 20, 1996 was a date fateful not only for Apple but also for the souls of 25 million Mac users. At this point, Apple's next-generation operating system, Copland, had fizzled and Apple purchased NeXT for its OS. Mac users and the rest of the industry waited with eager ears for news. By August of that year, it was clear: Jobs had taken back his company and was simplifying everything, focusing on the G3 and pushing Mac OS 8 through while work on a new OS derived from OPENSTEP began. Jobs slashed many projects at Apple. But, as Apple's market share had fallen to 3.3&#37, Jobs began new projects in the shadows. And as 1997 drew to a close, he put one of them into motion.

After weeks of meticulous planning, Jobs called an emergency board meeting. As the board members arrived, Jobs drew a magic circle and muttered in Old Latin. In a ritual that CFO Fred Anderson described as scarier than losing a billion dollars in one quarter, Jobs had summoned the Devil. Many of the board fell ill and had to leave while Jobs and Satan haggled over the future of the company, but by the end of the meeting Steve presented a three-year plan to save Apple. After thanking Satan, he flew home in his private jet. Jobs would later have to replace most of the board, now demented or ill from their encounter with the prince of darkness, with his cronies from NeXT.

First Sprouts of the Demon Seed

The first and most obvious sign of something devilish was at MacWorld Boston later that Summer. Steve Jobs announced the departure of Gil Amelio, a new board of directors, and a $500 million deal with Microsoft that featured future Microsoft Office updates. It wasn't hard to believe the Devil was behind this deal. And many in attendance at the Boston MacWorld that year said they could make out distinctly goatish features in Bill Gates's face during his address to the audience. Little did the world know how close to the truth they were.

Several months later, Apple debuted the iMac. And it was a hit. The iMac revolutionized industrial design, got Apple's feet back in the consumer market, and most importantly garnered massive media attention. Indeed, the iMac became a thing to remember about 1998. Within another year the iBook and the Blue White Power Mac G3 debuted, which were also hits with their stylish looks. Satan and Jobs's plan was coming along nicely so soon and they looked ahead to newer, faster systems and in late '99 the seemingly impossible happened: Motorola had completed and released a new PowerPC core without the help of IBM.

Granted, the PowerPC G4 was just a revision of the G3, but it was groundbreaking at the time and gave Mac users a huge speed-boost and something to brag about to their Pentium II-using coworkers. But then Motorola stalled, even with the Devil working behind the scenes, and the G4 was stuck at 500 MHz for 18 months in what Mac users called The 500 MHz Fiasco. This in turned caused Apple's board to see a weakening in Satan's side of the bargain with Apple and they began to mull litigation against Satan for breach of contract.

Devil Inside

As the 500 MHz Fiasco loomed, Apple was hard at work renegotiating with Satan. Since Satan's efforts had flagged, Apple pushed

Another Trollaxor.com exclusive!!!

ESR studied the document in his hand with interest. His brow, furrowed into numerous crap lines, was covered by his sweaty red forlock. His hands shook. He mouthed the words hoooh boy silently as he began a steady hyperventilation. Finally, after waiting for weeks and weeks, he had what he'd gone to sleep thinking about every night: the first issue of SCAT!, the magazine for poop fanatics everywhere, had fianlly hit the stands. Eric's heart burst with pride, as he had taken the last of his money made when VA Linux^H^H^H^H^HSoftware had gone public and invested in this private project of the Slashdot staff.

Running quickly to the back bedroom of his one-story shanty (and being careful not to trip on the heavy 386 PC cases or the myriad of cables, cords, dongles, and wires running in various directions across his dirt floor), Eric slammed the door and laid stomach-down on the bed. He opened to the boilerplate and read his pal's names with delights, kicking his feet back and forth against each other. He couldn't believe his dream had come true! But just as he was about to flip to the pictorial section (to examine how the GIMP performed at the cropping and scaling, of course) the phone rang. It was Jon Katz.

Eric, you son of a bitch! Where the Hell is my story? You promised me you'd publish my story in your God-damned worthless shit-fag mag! You double-crossing

ESR interrupted Katz. Whoa, whoa, I don't know what you're talking about. We agreed that I'd pick an article and have it be the cover story. I never said it would be yours. It just so happens the bois at Slashdot picked mine instead!

With a strangling, gurgling scream from Katz, ESR hung up the phone and sighed. He scratched his beer belly and thirsted for Jägermeister. Why did people always harass him? From RMS calling and reminding Eric that he was not a good a programmer as he, or Larry Augustin calling emailing death threats regarding petty cash theft from VA's offices after Eric's visits, or the trolls on Slashdot writing about his and his friends' personal lives, the Jäger was his only release. Perhaps after a few fifths of it he'd be calm enough again to dive back into his magazine.

Waking up hours later, ESR realized he'd drank too much (again) and had slept away... Well, what had he slept away? He couldn't even remember what time it was when he'd woken up or fallen asleep last. Between the early Winter Pennsylvania nights and his hacker's schedule it was so hard to keep track of what time of day, week, or month it was he might as well have been living in a cave. He remembered when he was, though, and thought warmly of his shanty built by hand from 55 gallon drums harvested from his local landfill. Over the drums ESR had filled clay, mixed from a nearby creek, and painted it brown to make it look like a log cabin. How proud he was indeed! Wouldn't you be?

ESR picked up the SCAT! magazine, unzipped his pants, and sat at his kitchen table humming with a cluster of 386s running Linux and enjoyed the rest of his freetime the way God intended: masturbating furiously to pictures of pale, skinny young men eating turds and smearing shit all over each other.

Dupe : http://trollaxor.com/text/surprised_by_free_softwa re.html

A Trollaxor.com presentation!

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for

A Trollaxor.com presentation!

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for

A Trollaxor.com presentation!

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for

A Trollaxor.com presentation!

Steve sipped his magic water, brow furrowed, listening with his head cocked to the side to the blather the record execs across the table were vomiting at him. The barfing had been ongoing for the better part of three hours, and Steve was bored. As he set his water bottle down, his mind meandered from the meeting to more interesting things. Dammit, Steve thought, this is my boardroom. It's about time they heard my speech!

Beside Steve in his stupor sat none other than Phil Schiller, mulleted and wearing his typical denim button-down, and John Rubenstein who was wearing a blue polo, collar-up, with iPod headphones snaking up over his hairy chest and pouring out the front of his collar. Not only was John the Senior Vice President of the iPod division, he was also a member.

As the meeting droned on, Phil noted the glazed look in John and Steve's eyes. Without moving a muscle, Phil fiddled with something underneath the table and a random burst of music exploded from John's neck. Before John could look down, however, the music stopped. Steve hadn't noticed and Phil looked over at John and smirked. John wondered when Phil had managed to take his Shuffle.

Clearing his throat, Steve rose from his chair, interrupting the record executives across from him. They looked up at Steve's blue-jeaned form, surprised. They watched as Steve strutted to the corner of the room and grabbed a new bottle of water out of a mini-fridge, uncapped it, and took a sip. He looked around him at all the expectant eyes, like baby birds held captive in a nest, and smiled.

"I have a little something to share with you today," Steve said, the fire coming back to his eyes. "We all do, in fact, and we're really excited to present this special Stevenote with you today."

Phil looked over to John and rolled his eyes. Having endured one too many Stevenotes, he wasn't what could be called very excited in the least. Stultified was probably a better term for what Phil was experiencing at the moment. John too had witnessed several private mini-keynotes where Steve Jobs had paraded around a boardroom and drove a point relentlessly home for hours on end.

Phil and John shrugged, helpless, and turned to Steve. At least it wasn't record company rhetoric.

"Gentlemen, today we stand here over two years after Apple and the recording industry made downloading music easy and legal," Steve began, not missing a beat. "And in two years we've grown in a really impressive way, and we've got some really impressive numbers to show you."

Without a word, Steve yanked a small device that looked like a black iPod Shuffle out of his pocket and clicked a button. Silently, metal armor appeared from the walls and covered the windows. The lights dimmed behind them, and a solid metal panel slid shut with a sucking sound over the doorway. One wall was lit by an unseen projector and down-tempo electronica started playing softly in the background.

The record executives looked around, frenzied, not sure what had just happened. Some grabbed for papers and shoved them into briefcases while others swung around in their chairs feeling for something to grab onto. They began muttering, asking one another what was going on, nerves on edge. One exec took his mobile phone out and opened it. He looked hysterical in the dim light.

"You'll see that your mobile phone's signal is jammed in here, as are all other means of external communication. Bluetooth and WiFi don't work, and the Ethernet cables to your laptops have been cut," Steve said to the executives. "You're all alone in here. All alone with just me, Phil, John, and the numbers."

Phil and John shook their heads in dismay.

Steve wasted no time in barraging the executives in an ejaculation of numbers. Tracks available thr

A Trollaxor.com presentation!

Steve sipped his magic water, brow furrowed, listening with his head cocked to the side to the blather the record execs across the table were vomiting at him. The barfing had been ongoing for the better part of three hours, and Steve was bored. As he set his water bottle down, his mind meandered from the meeting to more interesting things. Dammit, Steve thought, this is my boardroom. It's about time they heard my speech!

Beside Steve in his stupor sat none other than Phil Schiller, mulleted and wearing his typical denim button-down, and John Rubenstein who was wearing a blue polo, collar-up, with iPod headphones snaking up over his hairy chest and pouring out the front of his collar. Not only was John the Senior Vice President of the iPod division, he was also a member.

As the meeting droned on, Phil noted the glazed look in John and Steve's eyes. Without moving a muscle, Phil fiddled with something underneath the table and a random burst of music exploded from John's neck. Before John could look down, however, the music stopped. Steve hadn't noticed and Phil looked over at John and smirked. John wondered when Phil had managed to take his Shuffle.

Clearing his throat, Steve rose from his chair, interrupting the record executives across from him. They looked up at Steve's blue-jeaned form, surprised. They watched as Steve strutted to the corner of the room and grabbed a new bottle of water out of a mini-fridge, uncapped it, and took a sip. He looked around him at all the expectant eyes, like baby birds held captive in a nest, and smiled.

"I have a little something to share with you today," Steve said, the fire coming back to his eyes. "We all do, in fact, and we're really excited to present this special Stevenote with you today."

Phil looked over to John and rolled his eyes. Having endured one too many Stevenotes, he wasn't what could be called very excited in the least. Stultified was probably a better term for what Phil was experiencing at the moment. John too had witnessed several private mini-keynotes where Steve Jobs had paraded around a boardroom and drove a point relentlessly home for hours on end.

Phil and John shrugged, helpless, and turned to Steve. At least it wasn't record company rhetoric.

"Gentlemen, today we stand here over two years after Apple and the recording industry made downloading music easy and legal," Steve began, not missing a beat. "And in two years we've grown in a really impressive way, and we've got some really impressive numbers to show you."

Without a word, Steve yanked a small device that looked like a black iPod Shuffle out of his pocket and clicked a button. Silently, metal armor appeared from the walls and covered the windows. The lights dimmed behind them, and a solid metal panel slid shut with a sucking sound over the doorway. One wall was lit by an unseen projector and down-tempo electronica started playing softly in the background.

The record executives looked around, frenzied, not sure what had just happened. Some grabbed for papers and shoved them into briefcases while others swung around in their chairs feeling for something to grab onto. They began muttering, asking one another what was going on, nerves on edge. One exec took his mobile phone out and opened it. He looked hysterical in the dim light.

"You'll see that your mobile phone's signal is jammed in here, as are all other means of external communication. Bluetooth and WiFi don't work, and the Ethernet cables to your laptops have been cut," Steve said to the executives. "You're all alone in here. All alone with just me, Phil, John, and the numbers."

Phil and John shook their heads in dismay.

Steve wasted no time in barraging the executives in an ejaculation of numbers. Tracks available thr

The following exposé, written under extreme duress, is the result of an information leak out of ESR's SourceForge fortress that is the center of his refinery compounds and gas chambers within his insidious Gas Barony.

The information did not come cheaply, however, and that is why I believe that this story must be published: A troll, in the guise of a hired Hessian mercenary, infiltrated ESR's SourceForge compound with the fullest of confidence among the dread Slashdot Moderators and the loathed GNU Patrol. It is in this expose that I detail the significant information the document that the covert troll gave his life to bring me contained.

Eric S. Raymond: Arrogant Gas Baron

by Trollaxor on Sunday, June 24, 2000

I'll come to your meeting or presentation and donate my time. Yes, that's right, I'll do it for free (the first time, anyway).

Yes, that's right, folks, he'll do it for free (the first time, anyway)! See, ESR's time is so valuable, being that he can't be away from his home network of 386s running Linux, that he has to limit his time to one free presentation per group. Not that that's an unreasonable request for any other person... It's just totally arrogant because he pretends his time is worth enough to limit it to only one free presentation per group. Hell, if people were not so easily fooled by his Refinery wealth, they'd realize he should be paying them to even attend the presentations he currently speaks at. Please, someone, put a leak in this Petroleum Fiend's ego!

Anyway, on we go...

If you are not a local Linux user's group, you can make your request more attractive to me by scheduling a double-header with the local LUG...

Here we have another example of ESR's total blind arrogance. Assuming that he swings enough weight around to include his herds of unwashed Linux users at any event that he presents at.

Of course ESR knows he can, at a whim, call upon the GNU Patrol and Linux users and have them beckoning at his feet for orders (which usually are to buy cases of Jägermeister), and include them in any presentation's audience by sheer force of number... But ESR has darker plans behind the quote above.

The statement above is evidence that, simply, ESR is trying to spread the diseases of Linux zealotry, poor hygiene, and Communism, using the very organizations that pay for his lifestyle, dumbly hypnotized by his Black Gold wealth, as a catalyst for his viral teachings, in hopes of converting those caught in his wake. A wake of stench thick with idealism, crude oil, and BO.

(I'm free the first time. But if you're a profit-making entity and you decide you want my time on a regular basis, I'll have to think up a consulting rate.)

Ah, yes. He'll have to think up a consulting rate. ESR will estimate how much he wants paid to brainwash hapless victims.

ESR is obviously delusional as seen above: he doesn't have a consulting fee that he uses already simply because he's never consulted before. He's never held a regular job, in fact. Yet he thinks that there are those that would consider such a thing. Fortunately drug testing and hygiene codes have kept him out of the computer industry work force as of yet...

...I want my plane fare prepaid and pre-booked. If there's a hotel stay needed I want the room tab guaranteed, incidentals and meals and all (no chintzy base-rate-plus-tax-only stuff; I loathe having to argue with the front desk).

and

If you're a big company or a conference that charges admission, I expect you to pony up for business class or first class (so my travel exhaustion will be minimized) and I don't ever want to have to even look at the hotel bill.

Want, want, loathe, expect. Is there anything that is to ESR's liking? Can anything satisfy him? Only peopl

Use Linux.

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped. But Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

FWT...FHL...FHAND...And decided it was o.k. to break into a university network, and then infiltrate a personal and private PC...all because he was suckered into cybering a dude. So remember, remember the source. Reference threads and articlejust browse through at -1.
Documented for History. Lest we forget.

Steve sipped his magic water, brow furrowed, listening with his head cocked to the side to the blather the record execs across the table were vomiting at him. The barfing had been ongoing for the better part of three hours, and Steve was bored. As he set his water bottle down, his mind meandered from the meeting to more interesting things. Dammit, Steve thought, this is my boardroom. It's about time they heard my speech!

Beside Steve in his stupor sat none other than Phil Schiller, mulleted and wearing his typical denim button-down, and John Rubenstein who was wearing a blue polo, collar-up, with iPod headphones snaking up over his hairy chest and pouring out the front of his collar. Not only was John the Senior Vice President of the iPod division, he was also a member.

As the meeting droned on, Phil noted the glazed look in John and Steve's eyes. Without moving a muscle, Phil fiddled with something underneath the table and a random burst of music exploded from John's neck. Before John could look down, however, the music stopped. Steve hadn't noticed and Phil looked over at John and smirked. John wondered when Phil had managed to take his Shuffle.

Clearing his throat, Steve rose from his chair, interrupting the record executives across from him. They looked up at Steve's blue-jeaned form, surprised. They watched as Steve strutted to the corner of the room and grabbed a new bottle of water out of a mini-fridge, uncapped it, and took a sip. He looked around him at all the expectant eyes, like baby birds held captive in a nest, and smiled.

"I have a little something to share with you today," Steve said, the fire coming back to his eyes. "We all do, in fact, and we're really excited to present this special Stevenote with you today."

Phil looked over to John and rolled his eyes. Having endured one too many Stevenotes, he wasn't what could be called very excited in the least. Stultified was probably a better term for what Phil was experiencing at the moment. John too had witnessed several private mini-keynotes where Steve Jobs had paraded around a boardroom and drove a point relentlessly home for hours on end.

Phil and John shrugged, helpless, and turned to Steve. At least it wasn't record company rhetoric.

"Gentlemen, today we stand here over two years after Apple and the recording industry made downloading music easy and legal," Steve began, not missing a beat. "And in two years we've grown in a really impressive way, and we've got some really impressive numbers to show you."

Without a word, Steve yanked a small device that looked like a black iPod Shuffle out of his pocket and clicked a button. Silently, metal armor appeared from the walls and covered the windows. The lights dimmed behind them, and a solid metal panel slid shut with a sucking sound over the doorway. One wall was lit by an unseen projector and down-tempo electronica started playing softly in the background.

The record executives looked around, frenzied, not sure what had just happened. Some grabbed for papers and shoved them into briefcases while others swung around in their chairs feeling for something to grab onto. They began muttering, asking one another what was going on, nerves on edge. One exec took his mobile phone out and opened it. He looked hysterical in the dim light.

"You'll see that your mobile phone's signal is jammed in here, as are all other means of external communication. Bluetooth and WiFi don't work, and the Ethernet cables to your laptops have been cut," Steve said to the executives. "You're all alone in here. All alone with just me, Phil, John, and the numbers."

Phil and John shook their heads in dismay.

Steve wasted no time in barraging the executives in an ejaculation of numbers. Tracks available through the iTunes music store: 500 million. Pro

I have been running FreeBSD since the 3.x days. Right around this time Linux became popular but I stuck with FreeBSD for several academic reasons. At that point one was as good as the other, but as time went on this changed. Linux started gathering a huge following and it really hit its stride. The developers made leaps in bounds in hardware support. Meanwhile, FreeBSD crawled from 3.x to 4.x, which was a great improvement to be sure, but not as rapid or large as what Linux had been offering.

Being locked into FreeBSD by familiarity and investment at that point I wistfully watched the GNU community race ahead. I wish something would start a similar firestorm of FreeBSD development. I thought nothing of it when Apple bought NeXT in 1996. The Rhapsody project, which was basically just adding some Apple technology to OpenStep, didn't interest me. When Steve Jobs announced Mac OS X in 1999, however, my ears perked up at the mention of my favorite Unix. Apple was going to update the very cores of OpenStep into something new FreeBSD was going to be a huge part of that.

Since Mac OS X v10.0 was released in 2001, Apple has been filtering BSD code in and out of their kernel, userland, and libraries. This code then makes its way back to FreeBSD. Apple's pattern is to sync every major Mac OS X release with the latest major FreeBSD release. For example, Mac OS X v10.1 corresponded to FreeBSD 4.4 and Mac OS X v10.2 matched up with FreeBSD 4.7. By the time Apple released Panther, their contributions back into FreeBSD had amassed into a new FreeBSD milestone, the 5.x branch. Mac OS X v10.3 contained bits of both FreeBSD 4.9 and FreeBSD 5.1.

Look at it this way, only after Apple started modifying FreeBSD 4.x and submitting their modifications did FreeBSD progress to the 5.x branch. The advanced VM and SMP code that allows Mac OS X to run so efficiently is the very same code that finally put FreeBSD on the level with Linux. I run FreeBSD 5.2 on a four-way Xeon box at work and thank Apple every day. If it weren't for the Mach micokernel from Apple we wouldn't be able to do these nice things with FreeBSD now or probably ever.

It's also kind of ironic how such a big deal was made by Wind River Systems buying out both BSDI and Walnut Creek Software. (Does anyone remember this?) The plan was to merge BSD/OS into FreeBSD and sell a special enterprise edition of the operating system while still maintaining the Open Source project. Sadly this fizzled out. No one ever predicted that Apple, of all companies, would ride in with the cavalry and pick up the pieces. Apple has done much more than Wind River ever managed to.

After such a long and precarious history FreeBSD is finally going somewhere and we no longer have to worry about the latest hardware support of when the next release will be. We're firing on all cylinders now, and within a couple more years there will be more FreeBSD installs than Linux or Solaris! I'm not so proud that I can't see what is behind this. Apple saved FreeBSD and I have no problem admitting or accepting that. I doubt many others who use FreeBSD do, but I just wanted to point it out.

Thank you, Apple, for saving FreeBSD.

He was fired.

Monday, March 04, 2002

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Felchmale^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^HFetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

ESR pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

The Match.com Love-Letter Reply

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Today was shaping up to be a great day for Eric S. Raymond, Open Source figurehead and accidental anthropologist extraordinaire. He had finally received, after two years, a reply to his Match.com love-letter. Using Open Source tools such as Perl and Jägermeister, Eric had wired his entire house to his 386 running Linux. His shack had just lit up like a Christmas tree before his eyes the instant the reply hit his inbox.

Straining to read the dusty 13" monitor, ESR pulled out a soiled handkerchief and spat it in, eagerly wiping away the year

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped but Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

January 31st, 2005, was the last day that Michael Sims, Nazi editor of Slashdot, ever posted a story or indeed was ever heard from again. But what happened that day to Michael Sims? Did his embroilment in the Censorware.org conspiracy finally catch up with him? Or was he involved in a violent, and ultimately fatal, lovers' spat with his partner Jamie McCarthy? The truth, as we'll see, is much more perverse than fiction.

On New Year's Eve of 2004, the entire Slashdot staff was throwing a party to celebrate another year of Linux propaganda, homosexual recruitment, and the profits that their Microsoft ad banners had raked in for them. Eric Raymond, Emad, Roblimo, Hemos, Taco, Jamie, and Alan Cox all planned to rape Richard Stallman later in the night. Michael had shown up late, however, and was let in on the plans after they were made.

As it turned out, Jamie was to be leading the charge against the Free Software Foundation's founder and would be the first to penetrate Stallman's hairy unwashed ass. Michael, however, was jealous of this and made secret plans to thwart their nefarious venture of homosexual rape. The event was planned for zero hours, right as the ball dropped but Michael had other ideas.

Michael suggested they all toast their plan with Jägermeister, Eric Raymond's drink of choice that was in heavy supply that night, and the rest of the partygoers followed. While everyone downed their first shot, Michael slipped into the VA Software office's break-room, grabbing the syringe Raymond used to inject Rob Malda's semen with on the way. Michael leered at the case of Jägermeister, needle in hand.

Minutes later, Michael reappeared in the conference room with more Jäger, ready for more shots. Over the next couple of hours they indulged in several drinking and party games, spurred on by Michael, as they drank bottle after bottle of the dark brown herbal liquor. If one were to pay special attention to Michael, however, they would note that Michael drank much less than anyone else and only from his own bottle.

Emad and Roblimo were involved in a powerful sixty-nine cheered on by Hemos and Alan whose bent geek penises throbbed near Emad's head and Roblimo's bloated ass, waiting for an opportunity. Moaning, Emad diverted his wet mouth from Roblimo's butthole and took down Hemos and Alan's cocks in quick succession. Hearing the wet, sloppy commotion behind him, Roblimo lost control and glunked all over Emad's chest.

Across the room near the podium, Eric Raymond was man-handling Rob, jamming a handgun down the back of his pants and asking him if he remembered their special night in Holland. Rob was giggling like a school girl and squirmed with all his might against the cold steel. Eric rained a shower of Jäger over Rob's head which Rob greedily tongued up even as Eric's skinny red penis entered his ass cheeks, probing for the brown prize.

The conference room was awash in gay cum and chaos, Michael noted happily as he surveyed the carnage around him. Emad had now teamed up with Alan and Hemos to rape Roblimo's ass as Rob was being pistol-whipped to orgasm by Eric, all oblivious to the massive amounts of Rohypnol they were ingesting as they drank the Jägermeister Michael had given them. It wouldn't be much longer before the drug took effect.

Another half-hour into the night, Eric paused from raping Taco's mouth and sodomizing his anus with his Glock, short of breath. His head swam and he looked at his bottle of Jägermeister. I can usually down six of these babies, thought Eric, wondering why he was now farting uncontrollably. Rob's nose wrinkled as Eric's rectum expelled another gallon of aerosolized feces into the air. Stooping, Eric held on to the podium for support.

Across the way, Emad pulled his tiny Iranian dick out from between Alan and Hemos's in Roblimo's ass and doubled

WHAT happened to trollaxor.com???

http://www.trollaxor.com is running again (a hell of lot more refined than it was before) and it has a lot of the good trolls under the [ADULT] section.

Turd_Report still posts now and then.

I stopped posting for almost 2 years after the FUCKING TWO POST PER DAY LIMIT, but after a while I decided I'd post for a bit (damn it, it was funny when we could post unlimited posts) - So these days, I have a number of PC's I can post from, so I decided to fuck around again - yeh, it's all good fun until someone gets hurt - but then its FUCKING HILARIOUS

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Felchmale^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^HFetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

ESR pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

Here is a link to the original article with a bit more context, to add some background.

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Felchmale^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^HFetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

ESR pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

Nice one, Trollaxor!

Monday, March 04, 2002. Eric was just wondering how the singing magnets work, but not finding any satisfying explanation on Google and Wikipedia, he decided to finish one of the emails he was just writing. It seemed like a good idea to not think about science for a while and concentrate on something else.

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Fetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

Eric pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

Monday, March 04, 2002

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Fetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

Eric pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

Monday, March 04, 2002

I do the club scene a lot, some say I am a good dancer. I enjoy having a few drinks, usually ale or mead, and I have been known to cause a scene now and then...

Eric paused, breathing heavily. He'd never done this before and he wanted to make sure all of his best qualities were included in this email.

I am a geek, to be frank, and I enjoy hacking UNIX and maintaining Open Source programs such as Felchmale^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^HFetchmail and a bevy of FAQs regarding 386 sound internals and role-playing games. I've been doing this for 15 years though I've never held a job in my life.

Eric wondered if this woman he had found on match.com would be impressed with his talents. He decided to put more detail into the message.

I recently drove 24 hours straight, with but two stops for gasoline, from Eastern PA to Kansas City in an effort to destroy my two arch-nemeses. I would have succeeded except that I blew a head gasket as I was about to shoot one of them from my moving car on Route 69. I am an excellent shot and love guns in general.

ESR pondered for a moment, wringing out his soaked handkerchief, and continued with his typing.

So what languages do you know? I fancy myself quite an accomplished amateur linguist and know Anglo-Saxon and Old Icelandic inside and out. I often compose little riddles in them for fun and mental exercise. In fact, I'll include one for you now!

Chewing on his tongue and squinting, Eric pushed his mind into overdrive and produced a beauty of a riddle on the spot:

Windeth I towarde the skye
I haveth eye but blinde am I

Pleased with his linguistic talents, undoubtedly matched by no one, Eric then asked his potential love-conquest:

Can you guess the answer to that? In case you can not, the correct answer is "my erect penis." I hope you enjoyed that; I do this sort of thing all the time.

Eric exhaled slowly and rubbed his belly. It was growling and no doubt wanted its nightly bottle of Jägermeister. He decided to finish up the email in anticipation of the coming alcoholic stupor.

Well I don't want to make this email too long -- I have a lot of responsibilities in real life to deal with. My role-playing group is coming over and we are spending the next week holed up in the forest near my home in character playing out a possible scenario from Beowulf. I need to get dressed up and I can not find my bear-claw mittens.

Eric wondered how to wrap up the email, something that would hook the lady on him and make her want more...

I hope we can meet and have sex. Despite my cerebral palsy, I am a monster in the sack! Maybe you'll get to see for yourself, LOLOLOL! ;-)

Love,
Eric S. Raymond

Never before in the history of computing has the consumer had so much power and convenience available to him. What only ten years ago was viewed as a super-computing application is now freely offered to anyone with the hardware to support it genetic sequencing, video editing, 3D graphics, explosion reproduction. It is in this climate that we must ask ourselves what the next step will be, and where we will allow it to take us.

In 1996, SGI (formerly Silicon Graphics, Inc.) swapped out their home-grown operating system and processor IRIX and MIPS, respectively for commodity components Linux and IA32. Today, SGI is in the doghouse and fares little better than any other PC vendor. Into the gap left by SGI came Apple, who in 1996 themselves purchased what is arguably the most advanced UNIX in existance: OPENSTEP, aka Mac OS X.

Now with QuickTime 6.1 and Quartz Extreme, is there anything that can stop Apple's juggernaut-like race to be king of the high-end server market? Only lack of hardware to run their crown jewels on. The Mac is so good at what it does, Apple is pressing Motorola and IBM for PowerPC chips that can meet the exhaustive demands of new high-end customers. The best of both breeds, Apple offers scalable, high-end UNIX to the Fortune 500 clientele as well as ease of use and simplicity to its private consumers. With things going so well, Apple seems to be on an unstoppable rise.

Just asking.

Slashdot, a prominent news web log claiming to be News for Nerds, Stuff that Matters has claimed victory over the Gay Nigger Association of America (GNAA).

With GNAA's trolls resorting to stale material which was relevant for five minutes about three months ago and enabling anyone to cut and paste a press release using the Open Source philosophy has led to GNAA's demise. Netcraft confirms it.

GNAA's founder timecop was seen locking up the headquarters one last time. An unassuming outdoor mens room deep in the heart of Tennessee was once host to numerous sessions of blowjobs, anal and creampies attended only by homosexual African-Americans. I reckon I jest likes fuckin' girls. White girls. [note broken link] was the only statement given to the press at this time. Former lovers and Windows users Lysol and Roloffle were found standing at half-mast upon the sad but inevitable occasion.

Robert W. Malda shared his feelings regarding the event. Oog the Caveman (a pioneer of ALL CAPS == TEH FNY), The Glorious Meept, Trollaxor, The Turd Report, WIPO Troll, Recipe Troll even goatse had something to contribute to our forums. GNAA is populated solely by crybaby attention whores who wouldn't know a rpm if it bit them on their tender, velvety asshole which is barely covered by a fine mist of downy, pre-pubescent hairs. After a brief reverie Mr. Malda conceded At least GNAA uses valid xHTML instead of dicey HTML 3.2

About GNAA: GNAA (GAY NIGGER ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA) was a troll organization known for its cut and paste style of trolls which are written once every six months. It was founded in July 2001 by timecop, found its heyday with ROR JEWS DID WTC and slowly faded into the background radiation. Its namesake, a Danish humor movie, is freely available via BitTorrent.

About Slashdot:
Slashdot is the first website dedicated entirely to duplicate articles, groupthink and brilliant trolls. Under the aegis of News for Nerds, Stuff that Matters and its connections with Open Source Lobbyists has ensured its continued presence on teh intorweb.

Do you have an Email address ? Do you have a computer ? If you answered Yes to all of the above questions, then Slashdot is exactly what you've been looking for! Join Slashdot today, and enjoy all the benefits of being a full-time Slashdot member. Why not? It's quick and easy - only 3 simple steps!

• First, you have to obtain a copy of Linux and attempt to install it. You can download the operating system using BitTorrent.
• Second, you need to succeed in First Post on slashdot.org, our website.
• Third, you need to join the official S

Copy & Paste is empowering, isn't it?

Slashdot, a prominent news web log claiming to be "News for Nerds, Stuff that Matters" has claimed victory over the Gay Nigger Association of America (GNAA).

With GNAA's trolls resorting to stale material which was relevant for five minutes about three months ago and enabling anyone to "cut and paste" a press release using the Open Source philosophy has led to GNAA's demise. Netcraft confirms it.

GNAA's founder timecop was seen locking up the headquarters one last time. An unassuming outdoor mens room deep in the heart of Tennessee was once host to numerous sessions of blowjobs, anal and creampies attended only by homosexual African-Americans. "I reckon I jest likes fuckin' girls. White girls. [note broken link]" was the only statement given to the press at this time. Former lovers and Windows users Lysol and Roloffle were found standing at "half-mast" upon the sad but inevitable occasion.

Robert W. Malda shared his feelings regarding the event. "Oog the Caveman (a pioneer of ALL CAPS == TEH FNY), The Glorious Meept, Trollaxor, The Turd Report, WIPO Troll, Recipe Troll even goatse had something to contribute to our forums. GNAA is populated solely by crybaby attention whores who wouldn't know a rpm if it bit them on their tender, velvety asshole which is barely covered by a fine mist of downy, pre-pubescent hairs." After a brief reverie Mr. Malda conceded "At least GNAA uses valid xHTML instead of dicey HTML 3.2"

About GNAA:

GNAA (GAY NIGGER ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA) was a troll organization known for its "cut and paste" style of trolls which are written once every six months. It was founded in July 2001 by timecop, found its heyday with "ROR JEWS DID WTC" and slowly faded into the background radiation. Its namesake, a Danish humor movie, is freely available via BitTorrent.

About Slashdot:

Slashdot is the first website dedicated entirely to duplicate articles, groupthink and brilliant trolls. Under the aegis of "News for Nerds, Stuff that Matters" and its connections with Open Source Lobbyists has ensured its continued presence on "teh intorweb".

Do you have an Email address? ?

Do you have a computer ?

If you answered "Yes" to all of the above questions, then Slashdotis exactly what you've been looking for!

Join Slashdot today, and enjoy all the benefits of being a full-time Slashdot member.

Why not? It's quick and easy - only 3 simple steps!

• First, you have to obtain a copy of Linux and attempt to install it. You can download the operating system using BitTorrent.
• Second, you need to succeed in First Post on

Don't believe me? Look at his depraved website. And yes, the whois info is still in his name:

Registrant:
Grant Hayes
946 Massachusetts Street
Lawrence, Kansas 66044-2868
United States

Registered through: GoDaddy.com
Domain Name: TROLLAXOR.COM
Created on: 23-Jan-02
Expires on: 23-Jan-06
Last Updated on: 04-Dec-03

Administrative Contact:
Hayes, Grant trollaxor@juno.com
946 Massachusetts Street
Lawrence, Kansas 66044-2868
United States
7857497676 Fax --
Technical Contact:
Hayes, Grant trollaxor@juno.com
946 Massachusetts Street
Lawrence, Kansas 66044-2868
United States
7857497676 Fax --

Slashdot has an interview with security legend Fyodor, admin of the famed insecure.org and author of the world's most affordable port scanner, nmap.

The best part of this interview is that Slashdot does not often interview criminals. Many Slashdot readers know that Fyodor used his tool to illegally attack a college student in 2002, for his personal amusement but also to the benefit of Slashdot's admins. For those that don't know the story, I will present a brief summary.

*Those individuals interested in independently verifying the facts presented in this article should skip to the "Verification" section near the end.

Sdem had created a hoax account entitled electricmonk, and used it to post this comment pronouncing that we was actually a cute Linux booth babe. "electricmonk" left an email at Yahoo and encouraged Slashdot readers to get in touch.

Fyodor proceeded to do so, boasting of his previous exploits with women he'd met online. He was even helpful enough to attach a picture.

This is where the story turns ugly. Sdem responded with a truthful email, in which he advised Fyodor that the whole thing was a hoax. After that, sdem posted a log of his exploits to sid=20721 (trolltalk), mentioning that he had tricked Fyodor and referring to many of the biters as "wankers". This apparently really set Fyodor off, and he began to plot criminal revenge.

First, Fyodor dug through insecure.org's referrer logs to find what IP address had requested the picture of Fyodor & his paramour. Using this information (and the logged User-Agent), Fyodor knew from the get-go Sdem's IP address and O/S. From this point, he launched nmap against Sdem's box and was greeted with the holy grail of sorts for BlackHats: an open X windows server on port 6000.

Sdem had been running an X-windows server for Windows on his Win2k box. Fyodor was able to bypass the authentication on the X-windows server and used the X-windows server to take complete screen captures of Sdem's machine whilst sniffing and recording keystrokes.

Fyodor proceeded to take hours worth of screen captures, including information on a "secret troll irc server" that sdem was using. Fyodor wrote a detailed writeup of what he observed, including an irc robot used on the server to detect new Slashdot stories for the purpose of early posting. Fyodor also mined and posted as much information about Sdem as he could find, including his real name and contact information. Jamie McCarthy used this illegally obtained information shortly after it was posted to log on to the irc server, monitor the bot, and modify Slashdot in order to break the story monitor.

Fyodor even submitted his "troll hunting" story to Slashdot, though it was rejected.

After he was done hacking Sdem's computer, Fyodor posted his screen captures and a log of his breakin to www.insecure.org/tmp/trolls. The content was removed 24 hours later. He went on to boast in sid=20721 about his "troll hunting finale". While sid 20721 is regularly cleaned, a cache of Fyodor's boasting about his illegal break-in is available here. Very interesting reading.

So, while Fyodor's interview is no doubt very interesting, I think that, as an accomplished (and due to the lack of prosecution very successful) criminal, the nature of questions given to Fyodor in the interview don't do justice to the type of expertise this man has in illegally penetrating computers across state lines and getting away with it. I'm sure that many companies would like to have

Some people would leave it at "YHBT" and walk away. This is S.O.P. on Slashdot. So when I posed as a hot LinuxWorld booth babe in a Slashdot poll [slashdot.org] (if you'll read that comment, you'll see that it wasn't even remotely credible-sounding) and left an email address, I got quite a few messages from lonely Lunix geeks hoping to hook up. Wanting pictures, naked pictures, etc., the kind of tactless crap you'd expect from someone who's still alone in their mid-30s.

And so I recieve the email from Fyodor, out looking for love. I emailed him back, letting him know he'd been trolled. "Don't feel bad, it happens to the best of us." So he emails me back telling me, among other things, that he regularly trolls mailing lists for women and that chances are, sooner or later, he'll find a willing warm body. So, like, the odds are in his favor. So he tells me. Anyway, he sounded none too happy.

So I mentioned him as one of the respondents on Trolltalk, with something like "look at the bunch of wankers I got who actually believed me enough to email me!". Apparently, this is enough to justify hacking my computer and invading my privacy for 9 hours, according to him. This happens a week or two down the road from the original posting in Trolltalk. So I load Trolltalk one day to find out he's made an entire webpage filled with screenshots from my computer and lots of personally identifying information (my full name, home address, everything) while telling me that I'd better change all my passwords quick, because he stole those too.

All this for getting suckered in by an obvious troll and getting called a wanker as a result. Earth to Fyodor: grow the fuck up. Sheesh, what a sociopathic crybaby.

For reference, you can see an archive of Trolltalk from the period here [trollaxor.com]. Scroll down a little to find Fyodor's posts and the subsequent responses.

Is your company running tools written by malicious hackers [slashdot.org]?