From: robinson@psyvax.psy.utexas.edu (John G. Robinson)
Subject: Re: Homina Homina!
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin
Followup-To: alt.flame
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1992 04:20:16 GMT
X-Posted-From: psy29.psy.utexas.edu
X-Posted-Through: sol.ctr.columbia.edu

8:05 a.m. in the morning, and one A. Solberg trudges groggily into his
office.  "Thank God for coffee and Usenet," he muses, "or I'd have quit
this damn job years ago."

He pours himself a fresh cup of java, plonks down at his terminal, and
brings nn up on the screen.

"F**king newbies," he says as he pages through the unread articles. 
"Pro-abortion.  Anti-abortion.  Who-gives-a-shit-about abortion.  God, what
I wouldn't give to see 'em all fry in hell."

Mechanically tapping the space bar, his eyes begin to blur; then:

n Andrew J. Solberg  25  I Badly Need Your Advice

"Wh... What th... What the F***K?"

-----

Then, he reads the news.

>Oh, Golly!  Now what do I do?
>
>I took a shower (tee-hee!) without wearing my frilly bathing cap, and
>now my pointy little head is all wrinkly and prunelike!  Help me, Oh
>net.weasels, for I am in a DREADFUL bind!
>
>Also: Can anybody tell me where I can post some good jokes?  Like, how
>about this one:  
>
>Q: What did the sheep say to the alt.flame crew?
>A: Die, Rat BAAAAAAAAAstard!
>
>HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW

"God DAMN it!  Who in the hell got on my terminal?  It must've been Joe the
janitor, he's the only one out here that damn late.  Sounds just like him,
too, that fifth-grade-educated sack of shit!  Man, I am gonna have his ass
on a platter for this!"

He gets up, lights a cigarette, and paces the floor, eyes fixed on the
glowing, damning screen.

"Shit!  It might've been Lisa the secretary.  She's the only one with a key
to the office who hates my guts enough to do something like this."

He continues pacing and fuming.

"Wait a minute," he moans, pausing in mid-stride.  "What if it was The
Boss?  Oh, God, whatamigonnado?"

As he stubs out his smoke, his eyes glaze over with a firm resolve.  "I'll
bide my time, that's what!  Whichever waste-of-human-sperm did this to me
is bound to give himself away eventually.  And then he'll wish he'd
_never_been_born_!"

A. Solberg sits at his desk, logging in and out of nn with a determined
grimace.  Coworkers are worried.

"Hey, Andy, you OK?"

"Shut up and get out of my face!"

A couple of lame followups; "Are they ignoring me?"

Then, the next day,...

>	How about this one, Andrew?
>
>Q: What happens to alt.flame veterans after they are inactive for a while
>   and return to find the group taken over by the "wacky gang of rebels"
>   we see here today?
>A: They lose it.
>

"Ah HAH!  I should have guessed!  That stupid bastard drove down here,
broke into my office, cracked the password..."

"..."

"Oh SHIT!"  He quickly comes out of the shell and changes his password from
'ratbastar' to 'bFX#49*qP."

"Damn!  I gotta write that down!  I'll never remember...  Wait!  I can't
write it _down_!  HE might find it!  DAMN it, what am I gonna DO?!"

As his fist slams down on the keyboard (or maybe a millisecond after; our
friend will swear later that happened a millisecond before), a message
comes on the screen:

ILLEGAL COMMAND.  CORE DUMPED.

"SHITSHITSHIT!  How can I get 'im back now?"

He lights a smoke, stares at the obstinate screen, and thinks.

Suddenly, a lightbulb appears in the darkness.

"I've got it!  Turnabout's fair play.  I'll drive up there, break into his
office, post on his account, and make him look like the newbie, worthless
fool he is!  Hell, their main building stays open all night, should be a
piece of cake!  I even know his office number; he used to put it in his
.sig before he started warlording..."

Thinks.

Thinks harder.

Tears open his desk drawer.  "Where the hell did I archive that shit?" 
Floppies spill on the floor. He becomes more and more desperate.  "Gotta
find it.  Gotta _find_ it!"

A floppy stares forlornly up from the floor.  'Buffum, vol. 2,' it says.

"Yes!" he cries, grabbing the floppy and fumbling for his car keys.

He cackles maniacally as he drives north, going over in his head all the
senseless newbie crap he has read over the years, and sorting through the
choicest gems.  Parking behind the main building, he stealthily approaches
Buffum's office, and quickly jimmies the door.  He seats himself at the
terminal, and begins to crack the password.  After hundreds of attempts and
blistered fingers, he comes upon it:

"MMMDI"

Giggling dementedly, he posts...

>	Boring?!  Hah!!  This is the greatest newsfroup ever, and someday
>I hope to be a FlameLord!!!
>
>	Andrew Solberg is a ninny!!!!  I hope you learned your lesson,
>you twit!!!!!
>
>	Is there anything more satisfying than ripping a good one off,
>like Steve Chaney?!?!?!
>
>	This is the most fun I've had since high school!!!!!!!
>
>					Steve.

---
The end?

**********
John G. Robinson
robinson@psyvax.psy.utexas.edu