Actually, WorldCom won't survive, I hope. My bet is that wcom will go chapter 11, they will sell off everything except UUnet and MCI, then once things get setled, UUnet and MCI will become seperate companies. The WorldCom name will just go away.
I was talking to my friend and he told me that England made the most cheese of any country in the world. If this is true, why are you guys teeth all messed up and moldy? Wouldn't the direct contact to all that calcium tend to sink in and prevent the orthodontal nightmare that is the UK?
Oh, slashdot will still be around. I am sure all the slashbots will have a pledge drive and suck enough dick to keep the site up. Tro.lls will descend on he site like a shit-hurricane.
Blah blah blah old movie blah. Older than dirt blah blah blah. Blah dull as dirt too blah blah, blah. Blah blah waisted his life reconstructing it blah blah. No one cares blah blah. No one misses it blah blah blah. Wank wank wank....
Fucking newbie. First posts are s'posed to be just that. First fucking posts you damn ass munching, dick licking, turd sniffing, acerebral, OSX using, pea-brained, snot nosed, limp dicked, donkey rimming, fag humping, goat fletching, smelly, rancid, boil on an infected zit on a dead rats ass.
Do they give illegals discounts or some shit? The parking lot at the one up the street is like atending a Mexican Parade. They cruise the lot and drink 40s.
He wants you to 'install' your penis in there. If you are a little boy, Katz will want to check your anus for viruses and parasites with his meat probe.
Slashdot Mirror
Fuck those Euro-peons; fuck them right in the ass.
Actually, WorldCom won't survive, I hope. My bet is that wcom will go chapter 11, they will sell off everything except UUnet and MCI, then once things get setled, UUnet and MCI will become seperate companies. The WorldCom name will just go away.
Oh well. One open proxy down a quarte million to go. :)
I was talking to my friend and he told me that England made the most cheese of any country in the world. If this is true, why are you guys teeth all messed up and moldy? Wouldn't the direct contact to all that calcium tend to sink in and prevent the orthodontal nightmare that is the UK?
Oh, slashdot will still be around. I am sure all the slashbots will have a pledge drive and suck enough dick to keep the site up. Tro.lls will descend on he site like a shit-hurricane.
No I didn't know that. I guess that just shows that Taco would sell his grandmother's panties, if he felt like he could make a buck.
*wet fart noise* What is that funk?
They smell the same, it is nifty
Some say it is coincidence
But, maybe God is just thrifty.
Thank you
I guess FatBrain's check bounced. All the book ads^H^H^H reviews now plug B&N. Sell-out bitches.
Do you use disposible ones? I hear Katz will Pay up to $20 for a pair of soiled undies. More if you are under 12.
It needs to be a Hip-hop Opera. P-diddy and Chuck D need to be in on it.
Blah blah blah old movie blah. Older than dirt blah blah blah. Blah dull as dirt too blah blah, blah. Blah blah waisted his life reconstructing it blah blah. No one cares blah blah. No one misses it blah blah blah. Wank wank wank....
No shit. What a fucktard. But, if was Taco's scat slave, I'd be messed up too. Oh,well at least LNUX will be delisted soon, then they'll go bankrupt.
Why do niggers smell like fucking shit? thnx.
Dude, I am from Virginia. Word up homey.
My gf says that anal sex feels like taking a big dump, is that right? plz discuss. tnxs
Fucking newbie. First posts are s'posed to be just that. First fucking posts you damn ass munching, dick licking, turd sniffing, acerebral, OSX using, pea-brained, snot nosed, limp dicked, donkey rimming, fag humping, goat fletching, smelly, rancid, boil on an infected zit on a dead rats ass.
Discuss
Irc is for fags and shut-ins.
Aren't cats s'osed to be clean freaks? Mike smells like shit.
Woah there. Some of us don't like getting fisted, thank you. Just call Michael for all your fisting needs. He is like tring to fist a truck tire, tho.
We weren't following any news of the outside world. None of it really affected us, and we were too busy tocare about it anyhow. Officer Anderson told us anything that had to do with prisons or corrections or slavery, that kind of thing, but beyond that we didn't ask a lot of questions. For me, it was good to get away from the Outside. The only Outside thing I cared about was sports. I knew that Officer Anderson would always let me watch his TV if I asked him, but I didn't have much time for it. I was happy just being with my friends and learning all the things I was learning about how Jackman operated and what we were all gonna do in it. It was good to have a job where I could be around Officer Anderson almost all the time. I wasn't like Justin; I didn't want to BE Officer Anderson, but I kept getting more and more attracted to him. It's not that I was losing my attraction for Paco or the other guys, but Officer Anderson had this special thing about him, and it never went away, any more than my attraction to Paco ever went away. Just the way his uniform fell over his pecs and lay there, green and sort of glowing against his abs, and the way it rippled when he moved and stretched, and the way it felt when I opened it to kiss his nipples, and the way he smelled after he showered and shaved and stiffened his hair with that slippery stuff he used, and the sound his boots made when he walked down the hallway to take me out of the cage and into his bedroom, and the way his cock looked under his trousers, like a huge snake moving under the dark green forest ... I liked to watch him and listen to him and touch him and taste him and smell him, and I got to do it all day long.
I think I got a little carried away in telling you all that, but the point is, I wasn't exactly following the news of the world. So it came as a surprise when Officer Anderson came to the morning meal and opened a newspaper and pointed to an article that said: "APPEAL DENIED FOR DRUG CONSPIRATORS." "Here," he said. "I
think that you'll all be interested in this." So we all stood around the table and read:
"Appeals for the four defendants in the Clay County drug conspiracy trial were rejected yesterday by the 3rd Circuit Court of Appeals, and defendants' attorneys indicated that their clients had exhausted all possibilities of further appeals. The decision marks an end to the well-publicized case, which has been bouncing from one court to another throughout the year. Thomas T. Larson, lead defense attorney, held a press conference late Monday and announced, 'Sadly, it
appears that we have reached the end of the line. The
lower court is now free to impose final sentence.'
"The case involves four socially prominent young men,
convicted of cultivation of illegal drugs, sale of
illegal drugs, and conspiracy to sell illegal drugs.
Under provisions of the Uniform Sentencing Act and the
Personal Responsibility Youth Acts, the four--Mark
Etherege, 23, Peter French, 24, Steven Bentley, 22,
and Troy Hudson, 21--are expected to receive
enslavement for life."
"God Almighty!" David said. "I can't believe it!"
"Oh man!" Paco said. "They've got em! I used to
wonder what Mr. French was doin with all that weed he
had in his field!"
"Mark Etherege!" Justin exclaimed. "The Prom King!"
I'd never seen him so excited. "And this Steven guy ... he must be the one, you know, the guy that ... the
guy that was there when you ... when they did those
things to you, David! And he's the son of a bitch
that used to work the auctions here, the one that ...
Hey! Is he really 'socially prominent'?"
"No, 88," Officer Anderson said, sort of chuckling at
him. "That's just the newspaper. Newspapers never
really say the truth, even about something as simple
as that. It's the other three of these convicts that
are socially prominent."
"Convicts"! Troy was now a convict!
"I can't believe it!" David repeated. "It doesn't
seem possible!" Then something else occurred to him.
"They're comin to Jackman, man! They're all comin to
Jackman!" David and Justin were hugging each other
and jumping up and down.
Paco and I looked at each other. I didn't know what
he was thinking. All I could think was, "Troy is a
convict! Troy is a convict!" Then Paco smiled and
turned to Officer Anderson. "Sir," he said, "I hope
you don't mind me asking you ... how long have you
followed this case, Sir?"
"No, 85, I don't mind your asking. And I'll give you
an answer. I've been following it since before it
started."
"Sir?"
"Not so mysterious. You'll notice the time
indication in the article: 'throughout the year.' The
investigation started soon after you returned from
your work at French's farm, where, as I recall, you
noticed certain indications of illegal conduct."
"Sir Yes Sir!"
"I would not have been concerned with these ...
indications if I had not been so interested in their
peculiar context, as reported by you. Of course, I
had already received reports from 88 and 89 about the
other young ... gentlemen. By that time, Mr. Bentley
had left his job with our auctioneer, presumably to
follow a more remunerative occupation. But there was
no trouble tracking him down. As 88 pointed out, he
wasn't socially prominent, but his business associates
were, and it wasn't difficult to find out what they
were doing. I didn't need to bring up any of the
things they were really doing, despite the fact that
it was those things that interested me the most,
personally. I am thinking about their sexual and
personal betrayals. I believe that those patterns of
action had begun quite a while before. Am I right,
86?"
"Sir Yes Sir!" I said.
I was standing on the street, on that night three
years before. Troy was persuading me to get into that
car. It was only a moment ago, that moment when I
thought I was free .... Had I told Officer Anderson
about that moment? Suddenly I couldn't remember ...
Because I was thinking about that night, and thinking
about Troy ...
"You may think," Officer Anderson continued, "that
your friend Troy Hudson has been convicted of a number
of inconsequential drug violations. But that is only
superficially true. His real offense was betraying a
friend. That is not how the charges read, but that is
WHY he was found and charged and convicted." He laid
his hand on my shoulder. "I want you to know that,
86." He stopped to let me catch up to what he was
saying. Then he went on. "There's something even more
interesting, though. The effect of his betrayal was
to bring you here, where you belong."
"Sir Yes Sir!" I said. Yes, I thought, that's the
interesting thing. So interesting, and so strange.
Maybe Troy didn't want to destroy my life. Maybe he
was just using me, using me as a sidekick, a servant,
a ride to a party, an escape from the cops, and then
something to laugh at and make jokes about. Or maybe
he did want to destroy me, destroy the person I was.
Well, that person was gone, if he ever existed in the
first place. "Jeremy Morgan." Even the name sounded
strange. I'm not sure I ever liked that person.
Maybe I didn't like him any better than Troy did. I
was sure I didn't miss him anymore....
I was doing what I usually do when I think. I had my
arms folded across my chest, and I was looking down at
my chest and arms. They were covered with stripes.
White stripes. Black stripes. Black and white
convict stripes. Across my chest was a set of black
numbers: 10586. Underneath it, I knew, was the same
set of numbers, tattooed across my skin: 10586.
10586: that was me. But just mention the name Troy
Hudson, and I had to remind myself of who I was. And
now Troy Hudson was coming to Jackman.
It was impossible. But it was true.
I looked up. All the others were watching me. Paco
was looking thoughtful and worried. Justin and David
were looking like wolves that just turned up a herd of
deer. Their eyes were glistening; their lips were
wet; they were sweating with pleasure. You could see
they were thinking about everything that remained to
be avenged.
Mark's betrayal and enslavement of Justin.
Mark's, Steve's, and Troy's rape of David.
Troy's betrayal of me.
Peter and Troy's betrayal of Paco and Aaron. Peter's
torture of Paco and Aaron.
Steve's humiliation of all of us.
Now it was time for revenge. The only question was,
why wasn't Jeremy rejoicing? That's what their eyes
were asking me.
"All right, form up!" Officer Anderson ordered. So
we stood at Attention. "Now listen. You too, 86.
You've all got a job to do. These four offenders will
be sentenced today. They should arrive at Jackman
sometime this afternoon. I've dispatched a special
van for their last ride--I don't want people that
important to have to wait. I'll be notified in
advance of their anticipated time of arrival. You
four are the welcoming committee. Work out the
arrangements for yourselves. 88 will be in charge."
"Sir Yes Sir!" Justin said. He was like a kid at his
own birthday party.
Then Officer Anderson turned to me. "This is your
chance, 86," he said. "You're coming full circle."
"Sir?" I said.
"You'll know what I mean," he said.
What could I say? "Sir Yes Sir!"
"And don't look so sad, 86. I want you to enjoy
this."
"Sir Yes Sir!" It was the first time I'd ever been
ordered to enjoy something. But I wasn't sure that I
could.
Officer Anderson went into his office, and the four
of us sat down and started making plans. There wasn't
a lot to plan, really. It was all pretty obvious,
once you thought about it. The only thing that wasn't
obvious was how you looked at it.
While the other guys talked, my mind kept wandering.
I thought about Troy and me when we were in junior
high school. I was a skinny little kid. We were both
that way, but I was skinnier. Anyway, there was a kid
in our class that was twice my size. That's the way
it seemed, anyhow, and he liked to pick on me. One
time he tripped me, and I fell halfway down a flight
of stairs. He stood at the top of the stairs laughing
at me. So I got up and ran after him. He was so
surprised that he ran away. I never caught him, and I
don't know what I would have done if I had. Probably
he would have beat my ass. Anyway, I went over to
Troy's place after school that day, and I told him
what happened. He looked bored. "So what?" he said.
"Who cares? Even if you'd caught him and hit him or
something, it wouldn't mean that he didn't knock you
down the stairs." I thought about that for a minute.
Then I said, "But things like that aren't supposed to
happen. When they happen, you're supposed to do
something." "Who says?" he asked. I thought about
that, too. Then I answered, "I guess that I say."
"But you're not gonna DO anything, are you, fishbait?"
He used to call me "fishbait." He got that from a
movie we saw once. "Well, are you? Are you?" "No," I
said, "I guess I'm not." And that was the end of it.
I hadn't thought about it since it happened. Now I
thought about it, and this strange, excited feeling
came up inside me.
The other guys had finished their plans, and now they
were laughing and making jokes about what was gonna
happen later that day. Everyone had something to say
about the prisoners that were getting sentenced. They
were grinning and looking down at their laps, the way
guys do when they're really, really happy. Then
Justin started singing that old song he liked: "We are
a band of brothers, and native to the soil.... " Good
song, but I couldn't listen. That strange feeling was
growing inside. It's hard to describe; it was like I
wasn't really with them, it was like I was living at
some other time, and I wasn't sure what time it was.
I looked at Justin. This was the skinny, scared kid,
chained up in the prison bus, wearing a nice tie and a
belt with a little silver clasp, and his shoes all
shined..... Now he was a muscular, self-confident
guy, excited and happy, leaning over to kiss his lover
David. David was another strong, self-confident guy.
He didn't look much like the dopey, privileged young
dude who was so surprised when his dick got hard in
the Processing line. Then there was Paco. He was the
one who seemed to have changed the least. He was
still my strong, quiet Paco--but he wasn't a lost,
unlucky kid anymore. He was a guy who was used to
running things in a big important outfit.
They had all stopped to look at me.
"C'mon, 86," Justin said. "Get with the program! This
is our day to howl!" Lately he'd been calling me 86,
the way Officer Anderson did.
"But what's the purpose?" I said."What good will it
do to whack these guys?"
"It's justice, Jeremy," Paco said."That's what we're
here for. Justice."
"I don't know, Paco," I said."It just feels strange,
enjoying a thing like that." Because I was enjoying
it. I was definitely enjoying it. I was enjoying it
even more than I enjoyed chasing that bully in junior
high. Just imagining what was about to happen made me
almost as high as Justin was.
"You mean," Paco asked, "you shouldn't enjoy doing
something that's right?"
"No," I said. "I don't mean that." So then I was
ready.
We had to wait until mid-afternoon before we heard
from Officer Anderson that the prison van was on its
way, and it was hard to get through that last hour of
waiting. We went down to the loading dock about half
an hour early. There was another van being unloaded,
and that was the typical busload of new fish--scared
young guys, fresh out of a county courthouse, trussed
up in irons and reeling from the judge's voice
sentencing them to life as convict slaves. As usual,
a lot of these guys that thought they were so tough a
few hours before had tears running down their faces,
and most of them looked like they were about to puke.
When the Officers started putting them through their
paces, though, they stepped out of their clothes
pretty lively, and within a few minutes they were
lined up naked, ready to be marched inside and put on
the chain. It was then that Paco stepped up to the
Officer in charge and told him that Officer Anderson
had scheduled another delivery for the afternoon.
"Shit, 85!" the Officer said. "I'll never get home
today!" So Paco made himself a hero by telling him
that Officer Anderson had ordered us four to take over
the last processing of the day, and if he and the
other Officers would please just take the latest
arrivals inside and clamp them onto the chain, we
would take it from there. The Officer sort of
half-saluted, the way they'd started to do with us,
and soon they were marching the new fish through the
big steel door. We were left alone on the loading
dock.
It had rained that afternoon, and looking out through
the steel mesh gates we could see the bright green
lawn and the fields beyond still glazed with water,
and a ray of sunlight coming out of the clouds in the
western sky. "It's a great day to be alive, isn't
it?" David said. "Trite but true," Justin answered,
and gave him a kiss. Then we saw the white van coming
down the drive. The gate rolled up; the van pulled
in; the driver hopped out of the cab, gave us that
half-salute, and went back to roll the little ramp
down from the door. This was it. It was time. My
heart was jumping. I had never been so nervous and
excited, even on the day when I was the one inside
that van.
We heard the usual shouts and curses and scuffling
sounds that meant that the Officers were rousting the
convicts out of their cages, cuffing them, and
marching them down the little corridor. There was the
sound of feet rumbling along the floor. Then a body
fell out the back, onto the pavement. It lay there
like a beached animal, trying to figure out how to get
up, now that its legs were shackled securely together
and its hands were cuffed securely behind its back.
One of the Officers climbed down from the door and
looked at the body. "Fucker didn't even hit the
fuckin ramp!" he said. "Git up, you stupid FUCKER!" He
pulled the body up by its hair, then he kicked it in
the ass and it hurtled passed us. It was the first of
the four new fish, and it was not a pretty sight. We
saw a fat, sweaty young man, with a stream of blood
and snot running out of his nose.
"Peter French," Paco said.
So this was the guy that had owned Paco, the guy that
had tortured Paco. The guy heard his name, so he
looked in that direction, the way people do when they
hear something different and they think things may
change. I knew from experience that there'd been no
use of names since he'd heard that judge say, "Peter
French, I sentence you to penal servitude for the rest
of your natural life." He looked at Paco; then his
face turned white. "I want you to stand over THERE!"
the Officer yelled, kicking him on the rump again. "By
the LEFT SIDE of the VAN! Move it, fat boy!" French
stood by the left side of the van. He was staring at
Paco, and his legs were shaking.
Then there were some more curses and another rumble
of feet in the van, and the next convict popped out of
the back. This one managed to find the ramp. He was
tall and handsome, with dark hair swept back from his
forehead, still nicely combed and gelled. He was
wearing a dark suit and a dark tie and a white, white
shirt, and he was coming out of the van with as much
dignity as a guy can have when his limbs are locked in
a set of steel restraints. His eyes roamed swiftly
around the dock. Then they found Justin, and he
staggered backward. I looked sideways. Justin was
smiling and licking his lips. "Mark Etherege," he
said. "Get your ASS in the fuckin LINE!" the Officer
screamed, and his boot landed on another butt.
The third convict out the door was a man that all of
us recognized, although at first, I don't think he
recognized any of us, because he'd fucked with so many
guys in his time. It was Steven Bentley, the auction
boy. The spikey hair, the earring, the crooked little
automatic grin--Steve still had all the equipment. He
had too much style to wear a coat and tie, even to
plead for mercy in the courtroom. Instead, he was
wearing khakis and an open shirt, and a pair of
alligator boots. It'll be real nice, I thought, to
see those boots come off. But first there was
something that Paco wanted to do, in honor of what
Steve had done to me when I met him for the first
time, in conditions not much different from these.
Steve had gotten to "the fuckin LINE" without being
kicked or paddled or dragged by his hair; and he was
standing there with that look that means, "so far, so
good." Then Paco walked up to him and yanked down his
zipper. Steve's eyes got wide, and before he knew
what he was doing he shouted "hey, dude! watch it",
like he could still do something to back it up,
standing with his hands locked behind his back in a
prison loading dock. Paco took a minute to smile at
him; then he reached in and dragged out his dick. It
was hanging down, limp as a fish, and its owner was
gazing down at it with a hopeless expression on his
face. No threats. No jokes. No cocky smile.
"That's how convicts should be seen in public--ain't
it, Steven?" Paco said. "At least that's what you
taught my boyfriend. Remember him? He's the guy right
over there. I don't think you remember so good. So
I'm just gonna let this thing hang out for a while.
You can go back and find your happy memories, and the
rest of us can admire your manhood--convict." The
rest of us snickered and pointed, and a deep red stain
spread across Steve's face. It was a beautiful color.
Even Mark Etherege looked down and started to
snicker--until he remembered where he was. Then he
didn't look so happy.
Finally the fourth fish came out of the van. It was
Troy Hudson.
The last time Justin saw Troy, it was through the
bars of a cage. Justin was on the inside, and Troy
was on the outside, making him suck his dick. The
last time David saw Troy, David was chained on his
back in Troy's apartment, and Troy was making him lick
his ass. The last time Paco saw Troy, Paco was on his
knees in front of Peter French's slave shed, sucking
Troy's dick while Troy smacked him and strangled him.
The last time I saw Troy, I was crawling on my hands
and knees in the parking lot of a roadside rest stop,
grabbing for my convict cap while an Officer paddled
my butt and Troy sat in his sportscar, laughing.
But when was the first time I saw Troy Hudson? I
couldn't remember. I didn't know. Troy had always
been there. Troy at the drive-in after the game. Troy
in the weight room, spotting me. Troy at my fifteenth
birthday party, the only guy that wasn't an absolute
geek. And now it was Troy bending his head at the
door and lumbering down the ramp of a prison van. He
was in chains like the others, and he was shuffling
like a convict, but he still looked like my friend,
Troy Hudson. He looked better. His hair was longer
than I'd ever seen it, his tan was deeper, his muscles
were heavier. He's grown up, I thought. Now he's ripe
for prison.
I thought that, and I wondered if it made any sense;
and then I knew that my heart was beating too fast for
me to think. I forgot about the cuffs and the chains
and the convict shamble. All I could see was the blue
eyes and the diamond glinting from the ear. All I
could see was the yellow tie and the deep blue shirt.
He'd always liked that shade. "Lake blue," he'd tell
the sales clerk, and he'd be pissed if the store
didn't have it. He was right--it was the perfect
color for him. The blue shirt rippled down from his
pecs like a soft cold stream, and his tie flowed with
it like a vein of gold. He shuffled slowly forward,
looking down at his feet. He didn't want to miss the
end of the ramp.
Then he was on the concrete, walking toward me. He
didn't need to look at his feet anymore--so he looked
up. And when he looked up, he saw me. I don't know
what he was expecting when he got to Jackman. I
wonder if he was expecting me. Maybe he wasn't
thinking about me at all! When he looked at me, it
was like a movie running backwards. I could see him
not remembering, starting to remember, then going
further and further back into the past, remembering
more and more.... And finally he got to Jeremy
Morgan. Only what he saw in front of him wasn't
Jeremy Morgan, it was a black and white striped
convict with 10586 stamped on its chest. His feet
stopped. His eyes widened. His mouth came open. It
was like he was pondering a mystery. Then he lurched
forward. There was somebody paddling his butt.
"Don't STAND there, ASSHOLE! Git your fuckin BUTT in
gear and line up with the other FISH!" The Officer
knew what he was doing. There were never any
unnecessary delays in unloading the van. Troy Hudson
moved his fuckin butt. He lined up with the other
fish.
"We'll take it from here, Officer," Justin said. The
Officer handed him the transfer files, asked him to
sign for the four new fish, and exited through the
Officer's door of the dock. He was on his way home,
and he was walking fast. Now it was just the four of
Us. Facing the four of Them.
Yes! Way to go. Eat shit ACs! CLiT, coming back in 2002, with something new. Dropping mad troll science!
Rotten bitches. CLITs up, ACs down! Word to your muthas! Daayam!!!11!1!
He wants you to 'install' your penis in there. If you are a little boy, Katz will want to check your anus for viruses and parasites with his meat probe.