Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
Capital of Nasty Vol. 04 Issue 17
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume IV, Issue 17, AD MCMXCIX
Monday, November 29, 1999
ISSN 1482-0471
-------------------------------------------
"In the Beginning there was nothing, which exploded".
-- Melissa De Wilde
-------------------------------------------
"I just upgraded to a 16 gigs harddrive, I've got 64 MB of RAM, a new
3D video card, and now I am saving up for a 19-inch, non-interlaced,
high resolution monitor"
-- A virgin.
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
2. Legal Hog Calling
3. Job Interviews
4. Who did you talk to?
5. BOFH
6. Poem: Damn you
-------------------------------------------
This week's Golden Testicle award:
The Testi-Brothers
http://www.joecartoon.com/cartoons/testi/testi1.html
submitted by Neil (the Bootstrap user)
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
By CoN Staff
BAD NEWS, MS. JONES. THE RABBIT IS DEAD:
Kimberly Mouser writes:
> 16. Eddie Rabbit - no one really cares that he "Loves a
> Rainy Night."
Eddie Rabbit is dead. Died last year, 1998!!!
AN "N" WORD. IT'S DEFINITELY AN "N" WORD:
Kalman M. Nanes writes:
Guys-
> CoN: platu verata necktie.
I just happened to notice this at the bottom of the issue and
started cracking up... but seriously... the rest of the issue
was quite good too... the drug article was quite hilarious.
Keep up the good work!
I DIDN'T SAY EVERY SINGLE SYLLABLE, NO, BUT PRETTY MUCH, YES:
William Mark writes (from the organization of the purple rabbit
runners, no relation to Eddie Rabbit):
> CoN: platu verata necktie.
I have been presented a challenge. Something that makes no sense on
the surface, yet does. Maybe it's the word "necktie." Seemingly
English, while the first two words are gibberish.
First we do a search for the first word, platu. Cool sounding, at
least in my mind, which is probably getting the pronunciation all-
wrong. The search turns up many references to a sailboat called
platu. So the first word must be something about a sailboat.
Second word, verata. Having a v in it makes it interesting too,
since I feel it is not used nearly enough. A web search turns up
various things, and using my superior intellect (I'm smarter than the
rats) I have deduced that it refers to a construction consulting
company.
The third word stands on it's own, referring to an instrument of
torture modern man is sometimes forced to endure for periods of
approximately 9 hours a day. For enduring this, he is often rewarded
financially.
Sailboat construction necktie. How is CoN anything like an
instrument of torture worn while building a boat?
AT LEAST HE'S NOT ASKING US ABOUT THAT QUOTE AT THE END
IGNORE the HYPE rants:
Hey, Leo
Great issue of CoN and now I offer my 2 cents worth (take them with a
grain of salt)...
In the article Drug Underdose, Jason MacIsaac said:
> There is a segment though of the casual user demographic
> that doesn't think at all.
Just as there is a segment of the casual devil's advocate demographic
that doesn't think at all either...<g>
I'm not a drug user but I consider myself informed. There is a whole
lot more to the legalize hemp movement than spoiled white middle
class kids.
Check out http://www.capnasty.org/taf/issue7/elkindex.htm and
http://www.capnasty.org/taf/issue7/hempindx.htm for some indepth info
on the subject.
> It gets them writing smug little essays and keeps them
> off the streets.
hmmm...like writing "Drug Underdose" kept you off the street? hehehe
> I could add a pretentious quote about opium by Marx here,
> but I won't.
Good. Because the quote would be completely out of context - but you
already knew that.
So there you go - time to get your collective C.C.C.P. nutsacks
flippin' in a frenzy of dickplay ... or just take my comments as a
devil's advocate type of rable rousing for my own amusement....<g>
Regards,
neil
-------------------------------------------
2. Legal Hog Calling
By BJ Sutton
Sometimes people here in France ask me about the litigation situation
in North America. They've all read about, for example, the genius
who won millions from MacDonald's after she spilled their coffee on
her lap and it was HOT. Now she's the richest litigant on her block
because MacDonald's neglected to explain that if she tried to drive
and eat plastic muffins and apply Maybelline Superlash and drink hot
coffee all at the same time, she might spill something on the tender
inner thigh region.
My favourite litigation story is the guy who tried to commit suicide
by throwing himself in front of a NY subway train. The train didn't
kill him but did manage to cut off both his legs. He subsequently
sued the NY Transit Authority, not for bad aim, but for NOT STOPPING
him from jumping in front of the train. He won something like 8
million dollars, which will buy a lot of peglegs and subway tokens.
Basically, I agree with the principle of North American civil law:
that any wronged person can have his or her day in court trying to
correct, or seek compensation for, that wrong. Pretty admirable
sentiment. But the more deserving cases these days seem to get lost
and delayed in a system overloaded with whiners and talkshow hopefuls
looking for an upgrade on their riding mowers.
The Napoleonic Code, which is the basis for law in France and
Switzerland, does not allow such plebian plundering; as near as I
can figure, the Napoleonic Code could be summed up as: You're guilty
so don't come crying to us. The presumption of guilt over innocence
makes people here give the legal system a lot of personal space.
That's partly because the only foie gras you get in jail comes out of
a CAN.
The real culprit in the litigious society is the contingency fee
system. That's when a lawyer gets a third, sometimes even a half, of
what is won in a lawsuit (plus costs and the plaintiff's firstborn
male progeny). Most suits get filed on this basis. Lawyers know
that insurance companies will urge their clients to settle rather
than drag through a long court battle, so the odds are in favour of
those who file (and, surprisingly, their attorneys). They recently
tried to introduce this clever contingency arrangement in the UK, but
it was nixed in favour of new Malibu-Barbie-style wigs for Queen's
Counsel.
I like those people who sued tobacco companies because they got lung
cancer from smoking. I mean, why stop there? Why not sue your
elementary school for not teaching you how to read, since the warning
has been written on the pack for at least 20 years...? Why not hunt
down the kid who urged you to take your first puffs behind the bushes
at the playground? Or all those people at work who used to put up
with you cadging their Camels every 10 minutes? I mean, what does it
take to get through to some people.
But the thing that really annoys me about litigation in the US is
that it has resulted in a seemingly idiot-proof society and/or
environment. Personal choice and freedom have moved to the back of
the bus so that moronic behaviour (or personal choice and freedom)
won't result in even more crippling lawsuits. On the rare occasions
I find myself in the States, I quickly begin to feel suffocated by
all the rules and forbidden zones and warning posters and labels and
windows that won't open and safety features and chain link and verbal
frontiers.... Of course this is nothing new; when Jean-Paul Sartre
visited the US shortly after WWII, he wrote that he felt like he was
being watched and corrected by a sort of omnipresent maiden aunt.
It's a national tic, grown to hysterical proportions in recent years
and exacerbated by litigation.
I feel much more comfortable in Europe, where you can smoke all you
want and no one interferes or complains, where you can make jokes
about Belgians and everyone understands, and where men and women can
still flirt without a hissy fit going down in the Personnel Office.
There's an unspoken assumption that you're responsible for your own
shit and everyone else for theirs: this is the backbone of
existentialism and the ticket to personal freedom. No one's going to
file a suit if some wingnut decides to fall off a cliff, no one's
going to tell you what to do with your body (unless they want to
touch it), and if you spill hot coffee on your lap, well... everyone
will just laugh at the stain on your trousers.
-----
Quand je cherche un mot pour remplacer celui de musique, je ne trouve
jamais que le mot Vnise. -- Nietzsche
--------------------------------------
3. Job Interviews
By Lilith DemHarels
There comes a time in everyone's life when they feel the need to go
find a job. Yeah, work sucks after a little while, but the desperate
need for money keeps pulling you back to the Old Grind. It's like a
bad addiction; you don't do it because you want to, you do it because
you have to.
Those hippies who live in communes and provide everything themselves
without the need for Capitalistic Chains are starting to appeal to
me.
My driving need for money overcame my desire to fulfil my 'career
plans'(some day I'm gonna write books and raise babies), so I started
looking for a job.
Signed on at the local employment agencies, let friends know I was on
the market, and browsed the weekend edition of The West Australian.
Hmmm.... scant pickings for someone of my talents. The Y2K lockdown
in October hasn't been kind to computer geeks like me.
A month later, I'm down to applying for secretarial positions. Not
that I don't mind, it's just that the pay isn't as good as geek jobs,
and I have to answer someone else's phone.
I had an interview last week. Now, I've had interviews for so long,
they're just another To Do in my diary.
But not this one. For some reason, I was super-stressed about this
interview. I don't know why. Perhaps I really want this job.
I talked with the HR person over the phone. She gave me the address
and told me it was on the 'upper floor'. (Note: In Australia, the
'upper floor' means the upper ground floor, as opposed to the lower
ground floor on a split-level entry to a building. First floor is
one floor up from ground floor. Upper floor does not mean the eighth
floor in an eight-story building.)
I step out of the elevator onto the eighth floor. It was deserted,
but for one office, and that wasn't the office my interview was at.
Still, they may have a clue.
I went inside, as asked them if they knew where SoAndSo office was.
They didn't know. "Why do you ask?" they wondered.
At that point, I broke into tears. "Job interview," I sobbed.
They took pity on me. "Here, sit down. Have a tissue. Want a cup
of coffee?" I accepted the tissue and turned down the coffee, though
I did take glass of water.
Of course I turned down the coffee. The last thing I needed was to
be buzzed with caffeine if I ever did find my job interview.
I gave them my story of how I was interviewing for a position in an
insurance company. They thought they'd look it up in the phone book.
It wasn't there. I didn't have a phone number, having been contacted
through email.
Finally one bright lass remembered that a new insurance company had
moved in downstairs, on the upper ground floor. She went to check.
Ten minutes, three tissues and four glasses of water later, she
returned with the good news that it was indeed the company I was
looking for, and they were willing to wait until I got myself
together.
So I made it to my interview, albeit a few minutes late.
I shouldn't have had so many cups of water before I went in. Halfway
through the interview, I had to go. But all I could do was cross my
legs tightly and hope it didn't start coming out of my eyes.
(<blink> <blink> "Why, sure, I can type eighty wpm!")
For the most part, the interview went well... I hope.
We'll see in a few days. Either they'll call me back for further
interviews, or they'll send me a nice little note on company
letterhead, saying how they were glad to meet me, but unfortunately,
I wasn't what they were looking for at the time and good luck in
further job searches.
I'll add it to my extensive collection.
---
Lilith DemHarels is an American bunny living in Perth, Western
Australia. In between a job, her novels and everything else going on
in her life, she likes to take a brief moment to remember she is a
member of Generation X.
-------------------------------------------
4. Who did you talk to?
By cult hero
I forget if it was a bank or Credit Card Company or the phone
company that I was 'talking' with. I think anyone nearby would have
classified it as an argument from the tone and volume of my voice.
Until this phone call it never really hit me how often this happened,
and how much anger it brought out of me. The snotty 'service agent'
on the other side had asked me a single question, designed
exclusively to give them a reason not to help you. "Do you remember
who you talked to?"
Of course I didn't. Whatever agent I had spoken to three
months ago might as well have been a conversation seventeen years
ago. The conversation today reminded me that during the previous
conversation, the other agent had explicitly told me of a policy or
something else they were able to do for me. The agent today said
otherwise. At this point I stopped my sarcastic replies and realized
that this question was asked of me more and more.
It's amazing that despite the incredible technology we have,
large companies still do little tracking in regards to customer
interaction. When you call in to make a change in your account or ask
about one thing or another, the company will often log it.
Unfortunately, few will log who you talked to. This is absurd since
they will dutifully quiz you on just that during subsequent calls. If
you make a call in January and talk to Sue, she may tell you that the
bank will credit your account or that the car rental place will let a
24-year-old rent a car. When you check your statement or try to rent
the following month, problems arise.
Now you find yourself talking to Bob who shows no record of
any such credit, or any such exception to policy. It's a matter of
minutes before Bob will ask the loaded question: "Do you remember who
you spoke to"? This is done under some stupid pretence that the given
name of who you previously spoke with will magically resolve the
situation. Bob acts like this name can be put into the computer and
results will pour forth.
When the question is asked, you really have three options in
answering this believe it or not. Each has its own merit:
1. If the person is reasonable, you can try the logic
approach. "Bob, there are over ten thousand employees
in your organization right now. Do you really know
them all by first name? Will me giving you some arbitrary
name really resolve my problem?" The downside to this
approach is that you are admitting you don't remember
whom you spoke with.
2. Turn the question back on Bob. "Gee Bob, your customer
tracking system should show who I spoke with since she
failed to give her name." I would hazard a guess that
often times they DO know who you spoke with, they just
don't want to volunteer that name since it does nothing
to resolve the current problem.
3. "I talked to Jane." Of course Bob knows Jane right? And
no, you didn't get her last name. Let Bob figure that
part out. When Bob comes back to you with continued
failure to resolve the issue, you can explicitly say that
customer satisfaction will only come if you can talk to
Jane or if Bob can honour Jane's promises.
Each answer's mileage will vary based on who you are speaking to. The
fundamental thing to remember here is that question is designed to
give the company an 'out' for providing customer service. Don't let
this tactic throw you off or weaken your argument. Be prepared to
fire back with your own shots. Manage their expectations and customer
service is still attainable.
So if these companies start to stick you with the blame simply
because you were so irresponsible and forgot a name, take a deep
breath and continue. Put sarcasm aside (as tempting as it may be to
flame the ever loving hell out of them) and play the part of the
innocent customer.
A customer that is very sure of himself and remembers with 100%
certainty that he spoke with 'Jane' so long ago. Let them figure the
rest out.
---
cult hero looks like an ordinary, over worked, computer genius know-
how. However, deep undercover, he and the followers of his cult,
spread fear and terror in the hearts of spammers.
-------------------------------------------
5. BOFH
By the BOFH
The Bastard Operator from Hell #1
It's backup day today so I'm pissed off. Being the BOFH, however,
does have its advantages. I reassign null to be the tape device -
it's so much more economical on my time as I don't have to keep
getting up to change tapes every 5 minutes. And it speeds up backups
too, so it can't be all bad can it? Of course not.
A user rings
"Do you know why the system is slow?" they ask
"It's probably something to do with..." I look up today's excuse "..
clock speed"
"Oh" (Not knowing what I'm talking about, they're satisfied) "Do you
know when it will be fixed?"
"Fixed? There's 275 users on your machine, and one of them is you.
Don't be so selfish - logout now and give someone else a chance!"
"But my research results are due in tomorrow and all I need is one
page of Laser Print.."
"SURE YOU DO. Well; You just keep telling yourself that buddy!" I
hang up.
You'd really think people would learn not to call..
The phone rings. It'll be him again, I know. That annoys me. I put on
a gruff voice
"HELLO, SALARIES!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I've got the wrong number"
"YEAH? Well what's your name buddy? Do you know WASTED phone calls
cost money? DO YOU? I've got a good mind to subtract your wasted
time, my wasted time, and the cost of this call from your weekly
wages! IN FACT I WILL! By the time I've finished with you, YOU'LL OWE
US money! WHAT'S YOUR NAME - AND DON'T LIE, WE'VE GOT CALLER ID!!"
I hear the phone drop and the sound of running feet - he's obviously
going to try and get an alibi by being at the Dean's office. I look
up his username and find his department. I ring the Dean's secretary.
"Hello?" she answers
"Hi, SIMON, B.O.F.H HERE, LISTEN, WHEN THAT GUY COMES RUNNING INTO
YOUR OFFICE IN ABOUT 10 SECONDS, CAN YOU GIVE HIM A MESSAGE?"
"I think so..." she says
"TELL HIM `HE CAN RUN, BUT HE CAN'T HIDE'"
"Um. Ok"
"AND DON'T FORGET NOW, I WOULDN'T WANT TO HAVE TO TELL ANYONE ABOUT
THAT FILE IN YOUR ACCOUNT WITH YOUR ANSWERS TO THE PURITY TEST IN
IT..."
I hear her scrabbling at the terminal...
"DON'T BOTHER - I HAVE A COPY. BE A GOOD PERVY AND PASS THE MESSAGE
ON.."
She sobs her assent and I hang up. And the worst thing is, I was just
guessing about the purity test thing. I grab a quick copy anyway, it
might make for some good late-night reading.
Meantime backups have finished in record time, 2.03 seconds. Modern
technology is wonderful, isn't it?
Another user rings.
"I need more space" he says
"Well, why not move to Texas?" I ask
"No, on my account, stupid."
Stupid? Uh-Oh..
"I'm terribly sorry" I say, in a polite manner equal to that of Jimmy
Stewart in a Weekend Family Matine Feature "I didn't quite catch
that. What was it that you said?"
I smell the fear coming down the line at me, but it's too late, he's
a goner and he knows it.
"Um, I said what I wanted was more space on my account, *please*"
"Sure, hang on"
I hear him gasp his relief even though he'd covered the mouthpeice.
"There, you've got *plenty* of space now!"
"How much have I got?" he simps
Now this *REALLY* *PISSES* *ME* *OFF*! Not only do they want me to
give them extra space, they want to check it, then correct me if I
don't give them enough! They should be happy with what I give them
*and that's it*!
Back into Jimmy Stewart mode.
"Well, let's see, you have 4 Meg available"
"Wow! Eight Meg in total, thanks!" he says, pleased with his
bargaining power
"No" I interrupt, savouring this like a fine red at room temperature,
with steak, extra rare, to follow; "4 Meg in total.."
"Huh? I'd used 4 Meg already, How could I have 4 Meg Available?"
I say nothing. It'll come to him.
"aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhH!"
I kill me; I really do!
The Bastard Operator from Hell #2
I'm sitting at the desk, playing x-tank, when some thoughtless
bastard rings me on the phone. I pick it up.
"Hello?" I say.
"Who is this?" they say
"It's me I think" I say, having successfully attended a telephone
skills course
"Me Who?"
"Is this like a knock knock joke?" I say, trying anything to save
myself having to end this game.
Too LATE! I get killed.
Now I'm pissed!
"What can I do for you?" I ask pleasantly - (one of the key warning
signs)
"Um, I want to know if we have a particular software package.."
"Which package is that?"
"Uh, B-A-S-I-C it's called."
clickety clickety d-e-l b-a-s-i-c.e-x-e
"Um no, we don't have that. We used to though.."
"oh. Oh well, the other thing I wanted to know was, could the
contents of my account be copied to tape to I have a permanent copy
of them to save at home in case the worst happens.."
"The worst?"
"Well, like they get deleted or something..."
"DELETED! Oh, don't worry about that, we have backups!" (I'm such a
*shit*) "What was your username?"
He gives me his lusername. (What an idiot)
clickety clikc
"But you haven't got any files in your account!" I say, mock surprise
leaping from my vocal chords.
"Yes I have, you must be looking in the wrong place!"
So first he spoils my x-tank game, and *now* he's calling me a
liar...
clickety click
"Oh no, I made a mistake" I say
Did he mutter "typical" under his breath??!? Oh dear, oh dear..
"I MEANT TO SAY: That USERNAME doesn't exist"
"Huh? *wimper* It must do, I was only using it this morning!"
"Ah well, that'll be the problem, there was a virus in our system
this morning, the... uh... DE VINCI Virus, wipes out users who are
logged in when it goes off."
"That can't be right, my girlfriend was logged in, and I'm in her
account now!"
"Which one was that?"
He tells me the username. Some people NEVER learn..
"Oh, yeah, her account was just after we discovered the virus."...
clickety clikc "..she only lost all her files"
"But..."
"But don't worry, we've got them all on tape"
"Oh, thank goodness!!!"
"Paper tape. Have you got a magnifying glass and a pencil? SEE YOU IN
THE MACHINE ROOM!!!! NYAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I'm such a prick!
The Bastard Operator from Hell #3
So I'm working so hard I barely have time to drive into town and
watch a movie before I told people their printing will be ready. The
queue's WAAAAAY too long to have everything printed (and sorted) by
the time I told them, so I kill all the small jobs so there's only 2
left and I can sort them in no time.
Then, after the movie, (which was one of those slack Bertolucci ones
that takes about 3 hours till the main character is killed off in a
visionary experience) I get back and clear the printouts.
There's about 50 people waiting outside and I've got two printouts.
That's about average for me. I thought I'd killed more tho. Anyway, I
put out the printouts and walk slooowly inside, fingering the
clipboard with "ACCOUNTS TO REMOVE" in big letters on the back. No-
one says anything. As usual.
. . .
I'm sitting back in the Operations Armchair, watching the computer
room closed circuit TV, which just happens to be connected to the
frame-grabber's Video player (sent off for repair, due back sometime
in '97) when the phone rings. That must be the 2nd time today, and
it's really starting to get to me!
"Yes?" I say, pausing the picture.
"I seem to have accidentally deleted my C.V!" the voice at the other
end of the line says.
"You have? What was your username?"
He tells me. What the hell, I AM bored.
"Ah no, you didn't delete it - I did."
"What?"
"I deleted it. It was full of shit! You didn't ever get more than a
B- in any of your subjects!"
"Huh?"
"And that crap about being a foreign exchange student, that was your
girlfriend and we both know it!"
"Huh?!!"
"Your academic records. I checked them, you were lying.. Besides
which, you forgot to include your criminal record.."
"How did y.." He clicks. "It's you isn't it? THE BASTARD OPERATOR
FROM HELL!"
"In the flesh, on the phone and in your account.... You shouldn't
have called you know. You especially shouldn't have given me your
username.." clickety click "Neither should you have sent that mail to
the System Manager telling him what you think of him in such graphic
terms..."
"I didn't send any.."
clickety click......
"No, you didn't did you? But who can tell these days? Not to worry
though, It'll all be over VERY soon.."
clickedy clikc "..change my username back, and..."
"b-b-b.." he blubs, like a stood-up date
"Goodbye now" I say pleasantly, "you've got bags to pack and a life
to start over..."
I hang up.
Two seconds later the red phone goes. I pick it up, it's the boss. He
mumbles the username of the person I was just talking to, mentions
something about a nasty mail message, and utters the words "You know
what to do...", with the dots and everything.
Later, inside the Municipal Energy Authority Computer, as I'm
modifying the poor pleb's Energy Bill by several zeros, I can't help
but think about what lapse of judgement - what act of heinous
stupidity - causes them to call. Then, even later, when I'm adding
the poor plebe's photo image over the top of the FBI's online "MOST
Wanted Armed and Dangerous, SHOOT ON SIGHT" offenders list, I realise
I'll probably never know; but then life goes on.
A couple of hours later, as I see the SWAT vehicle roll up outside
the poor plebe's apartment I realise that for some, it just doesn't.
But tomorrow is another day.
---
The Bastard Operator From Hell is courtesy (and copyright) of the
BOFH himself, Simon Travaglia. You can read more at his page at:
http://prime-mover.cc.waikato.ac.nz/Simon.html
-------------------------------------------
6. Poem: Damn you
By Seinrrha Iceheart
[Ed. Note: yes, we know 90% of people on CoN have told us that they
hate poetry, but I thought: "hey, why don't they shut up and stop
whining like dogs in heat, and let that 10% be happy, for once?"
Please?]
DAMN YOU
Damn you for not loving me
To hell with you for being blind,
How can you never see me?
Why can you never be mine?
Damn you because I love you.
When love and hate is all the same,
One is a winner, the other is a fool,
You leave me wallowing in pain.
Damn you for your indifference,
With you, I waste a lifetime.
Damn you for your innocence,
I should stone you for your crime.
Damn you for your beauty.
Let me forget your face!
Damn you for capturing me,
Free me from this death embrace.
Damn you for not seeing,
You imbecile of a little boy,
Damn you for not understanding,
And damn me for being your toy.
---
Seinrrha is a 17-year-old senior high school student from the
Philippines. She hates school and sports and writes poetry and sci-
fi/fantasy novels in her spare time.
-------------------------------------------
CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
CoN: I wonder how many people know what an aphorism is.
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome
http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471
A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost
electronically.
Available on Usenet newsgroups alt.zines and alt.ezines. This mailing
is sent exclusively to those poor souls who chose to subscribe to the
Capital of Nasty mailing list.
Spread the word! If you have friends who would like to receive CoN,
ask them to send email to join@capnasty.org. If you'd like to
unsubscribe because such email aggravates your tolerance towards...
oh, I don't know, something, simply send an empty message to
leave@capnasty.org.
Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat)
Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett
<leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org>
ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
