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One Answer To Spam: Sell Your Interruption Time
An anonymous reader writes "A recent article in the IBM Systems Journal describes an innovative solution to curb both spam email and telemarketing. In short, the potential recipient of a message/call advertises the potential cost of contacting him uninvited. If the sender agrees to pay that cost, it acquires a token that it includes in the message/call and the message/call is accepted. The recipient decides to collect the fee or not, while recipients in a white list are not required to carry a token. The author also provides for a more detailed description."
first post! Oh yeah! rED Heads RocCK!
Will it have Karma too? :-(
Hmmm... Ok.. Chivas on the rocks.
Just wanted to let you all know.
I also masturbate with ketchup.
Flummers!
It was dark in the Holland, Michigan office nestled deep within Slashdot's Geek Compound. Shifting and moaning, ESR laid sprawled over his filthy desk. Dried spittle stuck several Post-It notes to his cheek. His PC, running Linux, silently printed swap error after swap error to the screen, lighting ESR's sickly form. As he burped several times he attempted to recall the night before that had led to this stupor. Holding his head in his hands, he was interrupted by lights and doors slamming-- someone was in the office!
As Rob "CmdrTaco" Malda walked past ESR, he noticed the several empty bottles of Jgermeister and what appeared to be fecal stains on the floor and walls surrounding the recovering ESR-- nothing new. He also noticed the some semen bubbling in the cracks of ESR's chafed lips.
"Another all-night office orgy, Eric?" Rob asked coyly.
Tilting his head gingerly toward Rob and raising his eyebrows slowly, ESR spoke softly. "Oh shit. Is that what happened last night? I believe I blacked out at some point-- I can't remember anything. Who was here last night?"
"Well, CowboyNeil got there a little late last night, but he said that by the time he got there that Alan, Emad, Jamie, Michael, and Signal 11 were already pretty drunk," Rob said just a little too loudly for ESR's tender head.
Closing and opening his eyes gently, ESR muttered to himself about having not invited Signal 11. He also started sniffing the air and licking his lips. "I can smell dried feces on a dick a mile away. Just where were you last night, Robbie? You get a piece of ass last night and decide to ditch my party?"
"What's it to you? Your breath smells like semen and you don't hear me asking whose it is," Malda shot back.
ESR smiled and swiveled with a gleam in his eyes. "Ah, but you see, this is my own sperm!"
"And it must taste specfuckingtacular!" Rob shot back.
Eric interjected before Rob could go on. "Ah yes. You see, I like to add a shot of Jger to it to give it a little kick."
"No," Rob replied with anger rising in his voice, "you fucking raging alcoholic. Your semen tastes like unchanged 15,000 mile-old motor oil. I think you may have ruptured both of your testicles and now your colon is shooting diarrhea out of your cock-hole."
"What!? You little fudge-packing piece of shit!" ESR threatened, "Ditch one of my office parties because Hemos calls up and says he's lonely, will you? I bet that's what happened. Well, guess who I'll be recommending we lay off at the next LNUX board meeting? How do you like that, Taco?"
"Whatever, Eric. You don't scare anyone except your parents," Rob said as he stormed out of ESR's office, his green plaid flannel whipping in the wake behind him. "You would be nothing without Slashdot."
ESR stammered and shook. Ever since the LNUX stock had plummeted, things were so tense around the office. Relations were falling apart between he and the Slashdot admins. Last night, Michael and Jamie had pounded each other exclusively, ignoring ESR's crooked, erect penis, and Eric had to convince Emad and Alan to restrain CowboyNeil before he could engage in homosexual intercourse with him.
With a flick of his wrist, ESR popped a dozen extra-strength Bayers down his stinking gullet and washed them down with some Jger from the bottle he had woken up holding. Depressed, aching, and on the verge of vomiting up the entirety of last night's semen binge, ESR cried silently and went back to sleep at this desk, ignoring the pile of work that sullied the landscape of his desktop.
Clapping twice to darken his office, ESR curled into fetal position as best he could and rested, preparing to do it all over again later that night.
Informative? Who the hell moded this up? He hasn't even understood the concept!
To the moderator who marked this flamebait : What are you, some idiot spammer?
Cited references and note
1. SPAM is a registered trademark of Hormel Food Corporation,
referring to a family of ham-like products. The use of the
word "spam" to refer to unwanted e-mail is of obscure origin,
but may have something to do with a comedy sketch by the
Monty Python group depicting a restaurant in which every dish
contains spam.
Woopty Doo Basil, what does it all mean?!
In Soviet Russia you read stories on Slashdot first!