From: trn@warper.jhuapl.edu (Tony Nardo)
Subject: Re: Robert Nagy is a thief! *PLEASE READ* (was Re: Bagging a Net schnook)
Keywords: thief, ripoff artist, asshole
Organization: Johns Hopkins University
Date:  8 Apr 92 14:09:03 GMT

sether@cae.wisc.edu (Steven Sether) writes:

>In article <1992Apr7.193049.10813@husc3.harvard.edu> abbey1@husc9.harvard.edu (Joshua Abbey) writes:
>>
[...]
>Flame on Nagy deleted
>>
>>
>>						Sincerely,
>>						Joshua L. Abbey
>>						abbey1@husc.harvard.edu
>>	                 		     	--------------(==

>I just tried fingering Mr. Abbey, and it says he does not exist.  I then tried
>mailing him and it bounced.  Mr. Nagy does actually seem to exist.

Either that, or your local gateway is experiencing the technical condition
sometimes referred to as AFU... :-)
***
warper.103% finger abbey1@husc.harvard.edu
[husc.harvard.edu]
Login name: abbey1                      In real life: Joshua Abbey
Office: Eliot D-13, carrier pigeon              Home phone: 4932359
Directory: /sc9a/student/a/abbey1       Shell: /shells/csh.8.9
On since Apr  8 10:05:49 on ttyp5 from scxysd.harvard.e
Plan:
         The plaintive scream cut through the silence of abandoned ruins like a
      chainsaw through a cheerleader.  As one man, the group froze, their
      attention torn from the peculiar inscription on the altar that
      Professor Bockmeyer had been examining, like a teenager drooling over a
      smuggled copy of Playboy.
 "Perhaps these ruins aren't as abandoned as you think, eh?"  Callaghan
 straightened up with a wry smirk, and drew his revolver.
         Without further comment, we walked toward the dark opening behind the
      altar, from which the agonized cry had shot like an tracer shell from
      an anti-aircraft gun.  At the end of a corridor littered with broken
      statuary, crushed pottery, and bleached bones, an eary green light
      flickered like an oversexed firefly on an August evening.
 "Excuse me," said Callaghan, "but shouldn't that be 'eerie'?"
      The party crept... Huh?  What was that?
 "Eerie," he repeated.  "E-E-R-I-E.  Not E-A-R-Y.  You mis-spelled it."
      Oh, right, yeah.  Thanks.
 "No sweat."
         The party crept toward the light, weapons clutched in sweaty hands like
      so many gigolos between their lovers' thighs.  Callaghan stood
      suddenly, an annoyed look on his face. 
 "Look, could you cut the extended metaphors and get on with the action??"
         Now wait a minute, *I'm* the narrator.  You're just a character.  You
      can bloody well wait until I'm ready!
 "Think so, buckwheat?  And just how far do you think you're likely to
 get without me?"
         Ha!  And what do you think you can do about it... Hey!  Callaghan!  Get
      back here!!  You can't do that!
 "Hm, sort of a sticky one," mused Bockmeyer, scratching his head.
"Perhaps one of us can fill in for him?"
         You shut up!  Callaghan!!!  Damn you, Callaghan, I'm going to re-write
      the first chapter and make you a transvestite homosexual claims
      adjuster with leprosy and bad breath!  CALLAGHAN!!
 
      Callaghan?
      
      Shit.
warper.104% mverify abbey1@husc.harvard.edu
Joshua Abbey  abbey1
***
Looks like that account exists as far as I can tell.

-- trn
Newsgroups: rec.games.video