Slashdot Mirror
Spam Blackhole Lists Redux
tsu doh nimh writes "Are spam blackhole lists good, bad or indifferent? That appears to be the question they're tackling in this Washington Post story. It has some interesting back and forth between supporters of the lists and those who claim they condone censorship."
J adds: Brad Templeton recently
offered some comments
on the most extreme pro-blacklist position.
black holes rock
Santa came to with a start. His head was throbbing and his eyelids felt like they had some fine grit trapped under them that made opening his eyes more than a little difficult. He groaned and yawned. "There must have been something strange in those cookies on the mantle,'' he thought as he struggled to recall where he was and what he had been doing when he blacked out. "Or maybe it was something in that glass of milk . . . "
He realized that he was sitting up in a chair. Not only that, but he was feeling a distinct draft. Suddenly he realized that his cozy fur-trimmed red suit was gone.
He squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the details of the dungeon-like room in which he sat. He wanted to rub his eyes to clear his vision but he couldn't raise either of his arms. As his eyes slowly focused, he saw that his arms were strapped to the arms of the heavy wooden chair in which he sat. What's more, his hands and arms were sheathed with tight black rubber gloves that ended about eight inches above his elbows!
As he struggled to clear his vision, he noticed that his clothing had, in fact, been entirely stripped from his ample body, which, incidentally, had been shaved as hairless as an infant's tummy. It was not surprising that he felt chilly: instead of his cuddly red and white Christmas suit, his torso had been cinched mercilessly into a thick rubber corset that was laced so tightly that it pinched his flabby stomach into a ridiculously narrow wasp's waist of only about 28 inches. At the top of the shiny black garment, the generous white flesh of his chest had been bunched up into two mammoth and very feminine looking breasts which mounded out of the rubber cups of the corset's built-in brassiere.
"What in thunder is going on?" the stunned elf muttered aloud in shock. "What has happened to my clothes? How did I get wedged into this infernal rubber girdle?"
He tried to move his feet but found that they, too, were immobilized. In the darkness he could see that nylon stockings had been carefully pulled up his legs and clipped to heavy-duty rubber garters that were attached to the corset's bottom. He could not see his feet - they appeared to have been strapped to the legs of the stout chair, which was bolted securely to the floor. However, he could tell by the odd position they were held in that they had been strapped into some very tight shoes with extraordinarily high heels.
Clearing his throat, he called out for help. For a few moments, he heard nothing. Then, in the distance, he heard the click-click-clicking of a woman approaching in high-heeled shoes.
There was a door some twenty feet away from the chair that confined him, and the light that poured through as it opened temporarily blinded him. He heard a click and the room was flooded with brightness.
"Good! You finally woke up! Now we can finish you up," came a woman's low and smoky voice as he blinked his watering eyes and struggled to see.
The woman who stood before him was an Amazon who towered more than six feet tall in her incredibly high-heeled black patent platform boots. Her hair fell black and straight to her wide hips, past a perfectly proportioned upper body with the most gigantic breasts he had ever seen. Her waist was nipped in sharply and her exaggerated torso was snugly nestled into a jet black rubber dress that ended halfway down her thighs, about four inches above the tops of her skin tight boots. Her hands and arms were concealed with opera length black latex gloves like those on Santa's own arms, and in one hand she held a foot-long cigarette holder with an ultra-long filtered cigarette already flaring in its end. She raised it and took a deep drag, letting the smoke slowly stream from the moue of her mouth. Her lips were well-formed and painted such a dark red that they almost seemed black against the porcelain whiteness of her skin, but they were so huge they appeared grotesque - like a parody of a normal woman's features.
The rest of her face w
YOU FAIL IT!
I've got a black hole in my pants. The suction is good, but I can't tell if I'm coming or going.
So why now? Why did *BSD fail? Once you get past the fact that *BSD is fragmented between a myriad of incompatible kernels, there is the historical record of failure and of failed operating systems. *BSD experienced moderate success about 15 years ago in academic circles. Since then it has been in steady decline. We all know *BSD keeps losing market share but why? Is it the problematic personalities of many of the key players? Or is it larger than their troubled personalities?
The record is clear on one thing: no operating system has ever come back from the grave. Efforts to resuscitate *BSD are one step away from spiritualists wishing to communicate with the dead. As the situation grows more desperate for the adherents of this doomed OS, the sorrow takes hold. An unremitting gloom hangs like a death shroud over a once hopeful *BSD community. The hope is gone; a mournful nostalgia has settled in. Now is the end time for *BSD.
Mind if I ask you something? What's the search warrant for that you link to? I take it there's a story behind this? Can you share it?
No idea what it's for or why it's on Slashdot's image server. Probably hosting for one of the editors' friends, or maybe it was related to a story at some point. I'd love to know, though.
I've got a few other degrees, in somewhat diverse fields, and more on the way. As for being interesting... I'm a biased source for that opinion.
That's not necessarily the case. My journal entry mentions doing some karma whoring, and maybe I do a little, but no more than anyone else. I wrote that shortly after registering my account, and I may have been somewhat wrong. However, I will not remove/edit any of my journal entries... I just think it's more ethical to leave everything in its original form (even if I may have been mistaken). I'll readily admit if/when I'm wrong, and won't hide that fact (unlike a certain spook). As a general rule, I don't actively set out to karma whore. Nor do I typically intend to be a troll or to post flamebait.
Down with Saudi Arabia!!!