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dawn of new ( yet old ) Computer Humor! I give you...THE BOF
This is where you can discuss your homework, family, just about anything, make strange sounds and otherwise discuss things which are really not related to the Lancer-series. Yes that means you can discuss other games.
33 posts
• Page 2 of 3 • 1, 2, 3
Thu May 15, 2003 12:55 am
Okay here I am, in less time that it takes a engineer to figure out how to plug in a VCR!
The Bastard wreaks his terrible revenge ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a few days away I always attempt to come in slightly early to catch up. So when I roll up at 11 o'clock I find the place ominously quiet. This could mean two things; either my understudy didn't make it through my time off, or he's been brainwashed by the boss and they're both hidden away staring at the monitor of the closed-circuit BOFH-watching system that they somehow installed while I was away. A quick scan of all the suitable camera points shows that nothing quite so technical has happened (perhaps the boss remembered that it didn't work first time they tried either), so I wait for the knock at the door.
I'm not disappointed.
"Morning, operator," booms the boss as he strides in.
Odd, the boss and I are on first name terms, he usually calls me 'the bastard'.
Hang on, this is a different boss.
"You're probably wondering who I am."
He's on the ball, this one.
"You could say that," says I. "What happened to the previous generation?"
"Nasty business. Installing security cameras or something according to the paramedics. Something went 'bam' and there they both were, all kind of charred and surprised-looking. Still, I'm still around, so look on the bright side."
Nasty. Ah, so they did try the cameras. Lucky I remembered to wire up all the video cable to the three-phase supply.
"While you've been away, we've decided to make a few changes," says the boss.
"We?" (What I really hate is someone trying to change my system).
"We've noticed that the systems around here are slow," he continued, "and that we need some new kit to to keep up with everything. It seems that the new stuff they bought last month just can't cope with all the software we run on it."
For a minute I thought I smelled trouble; but it seems that my clock-chipping exercise paid off. Neat bit of lateral thinking that - buy the box the supplier recommends, clock it down from 133MHz to 13MHz, and wait for someone to reason that they need something ten times faster to do the work. Not only that, but the supplier gets sued for selling us unsuitable kit.
"Really?" I inquire cheerily. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, we figured you would be in the best position to tell us what to buy, since you're the one who understands the technology."
He's damned right; not just anyone understands how I get the pictures from the stationery store to the TV in the coffee room at that quality, especially with Nicam Stereo sound and zoom facility. "Leave it with me," I reassure him. "I'll see if I can milk a bit more performance out of this lot first." With a bit of luck I can get a couple of thousand a week for a couple of months for 'upgrades' and wind the clock back up a bit every Friday night (that's what they mean by incremental upgrades isn't it?). By the end of it, I'll have enough for that new 52-inch 'console display', which has a wide-screen TV and a built-in satellite decoder. AND The boss will be happy that he's saved a couple of hundred grand.
I sometimes wonder how I get away with it.
Unfortunately that just leaves the more mundane jobs of the day. The e-mail filter is disappointing; perhaps the CEO and the girl from Accounts are starting to catch on and are using code.
I flick through the excuse book. Oh no, not lunar disturbances; who will believe that?
The phone rings. Damn, that was careless, I forgot to have it diverted.
"Computer room."
"Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry. Really, terribly, awfully sorry."
That's nice, but perhaps a little less than descriptive.
"Could you elaborate?"
"I just broke the mainframe."
Interesting. We don't have one of those any more. I downsized it to something with faster graphics when Doom II came out.
"How did you do that?"
"I just added an entry to our mailshot with a spelling mistake in it, and now the mainframe won't respond. It's only my second day here and I broke the computer."
"Where are you calling from?"
"Marketing."
It all becomes clear. She's on the segment that's 'accidentally' shorted for the next half-hour. That reminds me, I must put in a random-fault-duration feature before someone notices that I fix every network fault in precisely twenty-nine minutes.
"OK, don't worry. How long ago did you send the entry?"
"About two minutes."
"No problem. Because it's your boss's database, the mainframe contacts an automatic system on his PC which has to confirm the transaction before the mainframe will accept it. As long as you get to his office in the next ...er ... 23 seconds, and pull out the network plug, the transaction won't have had time to get there for confirmation."
"Oh thank you, thank you. How can I ever thank you enough?"
I can think of a few ways, but she's dropped the phone and run for it, and I find myself shouting "It's the yellow wire" to nobody.
I wait for the phone to ring. Given that it's a 20 second run, and a further 15 seconds for her boss to comprehend why a secretary should suddenly barge in and rip out all the wires from his computer I take the opportunity of a quick 'grep' of the FTP log. Ten GIFs and fourteen JPEGs, they'll take a while to download, so I'd better just allocate myself a bigger slice of the Kilostream...it won't do them any harm to share 8Kbps for a while.
The phone rings, three seconds early.
"Computer room?"
"Yes?"
"Can you explain why my secretary just charged in here and wrecked my PC, saying that you told her to?" he demands.
No, surely I couldn't get away with it. He's got to see through it...
"Lunar disturbances."
The sudden aura of sympathy at the other end of the phone tells me I've got away with it again. Not just a pretty face, more a Bastard Astronomer from Hell ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard establishes his territorial boundaries ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm sitting at my desk, reconfiguring my network monitor, when the phone rings. Caller-ID tells me it's one of the consultants in the Bean-counter department on the sixth floor. I pick the receiver up, say "Wrong Number", and hang up.
I know it's a wrong number - mine isn't listed internally. The number that is listed rings through (I believe) to a locked storeroom in the basement. Popular rumour has it that it was once answered... Network Engineering, like a major credit card, has it's privileges.
The phone rings again and I'm getting concerned. Twice in one day is a little excessive.
"Hello?" I ask, not wanting to give any clues away.
"Is that the network engineer?" a voice asks.
This concerns me even more. There's only one person who knows my extension number - that's the system operator, and he knows better than to divulge it to a user. At least, I thought he knew better.
"Yes?" I reply.
"I've got a little problem with my connection," the voice says.
"Call the helpdesk," I reply, and drop the receiver back into its cradle
Yet again the phone starts ringing.
"I already rang the helpdesk!" the voice wails. "They told me to call you!"
Oh dear. There are three things wrong here: one, a user knows my extension number, which means: two, the helpdesk has been talking to the operator again; but more importantly: three, the operator is giving out my extension number to people.
This is not a good thing. If I'd wanted calls, I would have put an advert in a personal column. I'd best get to the very bottom of this before things get out of hand.
"Why did the helpdesk tell you to call me?"
"Because they don't know what the writing on the patch-panels means."
My network monitor is now beeping at me, which brings the concern level into the upper percentiles.
"On my patch panels?" I say.
"No, the ones up here in our section on the sixth floor."
"Yes. My patch panels. The ones I lock away from everyone," I fume.
"Well, I ... "
"Just a minute. One question. What were you doing in the Comms Cupboard?"
"Well, my connection went dead, so I ..."
"So you broke into the Comms cupboard?"
"No, not broke into - the operator gave me the key."
"The ex-operator gave you the key?"
"Yeah."
I grab the phone, go to the inspection window, and get the operator's attention. He exits to the corridor heading in my direction.
"And you've touched something haven't you?" I ask down the phone, knowing the worst.
"Uh ... I ... er"
"You got drawn in by the pretty lights, and you touched something. Don't bother denying it, I know you did, and you know you did. And pretty soon, if I'm not mistaken, most of your division will know you did too. What did you touch?"
"Well, I thought the router might have crashed, so I ... "
"Wait! Another question. Where did you hear the word 'Router'?"
"I read it in a manual that I got at Dil... "
"WHAT?! You've been reading forbidden literature as well?"
"It's not forbidden to read ... "
"Stop! The book was in the technical section wasn't it?"
"Well, it ... "
By this time the operator has arrived at my office and has realised the significance of the tones coming from the network monitor.
"What were you doing in the technical section? You know you don't belong there! But let me piece this together. You skim-read a technical tome, wait for your chance, impress the gullible ex-operator with a host of buzzword lies, then, under the false impression that the router had gone down, rebooted it. Didn't you?"
"Uh ... Yes. Sort of. I didn't know which of the three routers was at fault, so I ... "
"You booted them all didn't you?"
Sure enough, my screen shows the sixth floor as a sea of red.
"Uh, yes. I was just wondering if there's anything else I should've done."
Looking directly at the 'ex' operator, I reply: "Well, come to think of it, yes there is. Usual procedure after causing a major network outage is to collect your personal effects from your desk and work area, not forgetting your coffee mug, then sit in a large open area until security comes to escort you from the building."
"But I ... "
"Oh, and make sure they don't have to search you for your keys or ID card. I've heard people have nasty accidents that way. Bye now! Oh, and if you've written my extension number down anywhere, I'd advise you to dispose of it carefully."
He hangs up, and I prepare to show our operator why the electric stapler has all those warning signs about keeping the body clear.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard negotiates around 'budget constraints'...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I'm at my first budget meeting of the month, which has one and ONLY one purpose - to increase the size of our modem pool by 10 modems.
Small potatoes on the budgetry scale, but it does set a precedent for future meetings, a fact which is never overlooked.
Normally I'd get about a quarter of whatever I ask for (due to 'budget constraints' - ie the technical managers want the latest flashy status-symbol toys), however today I'm feeling lucky for some reason.
"Well, I still don't see what the problem is," Technical Manager One says. "It's not as if the modems are used 24 hours a day!"
"No," I say, "But at peak times they are 100 per cent utilised causing us problems."
"Perhaps our staff should be educated in modem use?" Tech One says smarmily.
The other Tech Managers fall into line with this statement with lapdog-like nods.
Time to play the ace up my sleeve.
"Yes, education is an answer, however it achieves little when modems are in use for excessive periods of time..."
"Meaning?" Tech Two asks, smelling a rodent-type creature in the immediate vicinity.
"Mainly people downloading large files from Internet's Usenet News..."
"Ah," Tech Two chips in quickly, "Perhaps there is a measure of expansion needed."
"...Large downloads," I continue, "Probably picture files of some description."
"Yes yes, I'm sure there's no need to go into extraneous detail on this."
Tech Two interrupts sweating slightly...
"No, you're right," I say, "None whatsoever. But newsgroups are only one problem. There are a lot of heavy image downloads from Web-Sites as well."
Tech One is suddenly fully awake. He knows (as do I) just which sites I'm talking about here and what images. AND what they depict. AND more importantly, who's downloading them...
I continue...
"Of course, should 'budget constraints' require usage statistics from our News host and Web-cache server, I'm sure I can dig up what articles and images were downloaded, when and by whom. In fact one site is getting fairly heavy access by only one user at our site and..."
"Yes, yes. Shall we move along? " Tech One pleads, "I believe you have a valid point and I am fully behind he move to get more modems."
"I would agree," Tech Two adds.
The Technical Lapdogs once more fall into line...
"Certainly," I say, "I think those 15 modems will be most helpful."
"FIFTEEN!" Tech One says "Your proposal was for TEN!"
"True, but on second thoughts, I feel it prudent to leave room for expansion in this area. Don't you agree?"
The moment of truth. Will he fold or not? Better safe than sorry...
"ESPECIALLY if modems are going to be used to access sites that have dubious relevance to the purpose of the company, such as..."
"ALL RIGHT!" Tech One cries, "Fifteen seems quite... reasonable."
I'm out of the meeting a record two hours eight minutes and back in my office in time to hear my phone ringing. What the hell, I answer it.
"Network Engineer."
"Hello is this the Network Engineer?"
"No, I'm sorry this is the Mail Room. Please hold, I'll put you through."
I forward the user to the talking clock and look over the error reports that have accumulated in my absence.
I grab one at random to give the impression of service. I ring the user.
"Hello, Payments"
"Hi, I'm Simon the Network Engineer. I gather you had a problem with telephone call-pickup."
"Yes, I can't pickup the phones in the office like everyone else."
"And you logged this as a Priority One call?"
"Well it's quite important!"
"OK, your problem is obviously an... EEPROM CONFIG CHARGE LOSS."
"Uh?"
"The battery that saves your phone's information is flat."
"But it's just new!"
"Of course. But it's been sitting for months in a storeroom."
"Oh. Should I get a new battery then?"
"No, no," I chuckle, "It's rechargeable! Just whip down to the basement car park and borrow the vehicle jump starter. Put one of the big clips on either side of the battery and press the red button. In seconds your battery will be back to new."
"OK, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Five minutes later I'm sitting in the comms room by the exchange. One of the line level LEDs glows very brightly for a fraction of a second then goes out.
Some users have it coming. I'm just a delivery mechanism.
The Bastard wreaks his terrible revenge ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a few days away I always attempt to come in slightly early to catch up. So when I roll up at 11 o'clock I find the place ominously quiet. This could mean two things; either my understudy didn't make it through my time off, or he's been brainwashed by the boss and they're both hidden away staring at the monitor of the closed-circuit BOFH-watching system that they somehow installed while I was away. A quick scan of all the suitable camera points shows that nothing quite so technical has happened (perhaps the boss remembered that it didn't work first time they tried either), so I wait for the knock at the door.
I'm not disappointed.
"Morning, operator," booms the boss as he strides in.
Odd, the boss and I are on first name terms, he usually calls me 'the bastard'.
Hang on, this is a different boss.
"You're probably wondering who I am."
He's on the ball, this one.
"You could say that," says I. "What happened to the previous generation?"
"Nasty business. Installing security cameras or something according to the paramedics. Something went 'bam' and there they both were, all kind of charred and surprised-looking. Still, I'm still around, so look on the bright side."
Nasty. Ah, so they did try the cameras. Lucky I remembered to wire up all the video cable to the three-phase supply.
"While you've been away, we've decided to make a few changes," says the boss.
"We?" (What I really hate is someone trying to change my system).
"We've noticed that the systems around here are slow," he continued, "and that we need some new kit to to keep up with everything. It seems that the new stuff they bought last month just can't cope with all the software we run on it."
For a minute I thought I smelled trouble; but it seems that my clock-chipping exercise paid off. Neat bit of lateral thinking that - buy the box the supplier recommends, clock it down from 133MHz to 13MHz, and wait for someone to reason that they need something ten times faster to do the work. Not only that, but the supplier gets sued for selling us unsuitable kit.
"Really?" I inquire cheerily. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, we figured you would be in the best position to tell us what to buy, since you're the one who understands the technology."
He's damned right; not just anyone understands how I get the pictures from the stationery store to the TV in the coffee room at that quality, especially with Nicam Stereo sound and zoom facility. "Leave it with me," I reassure him. "I'll see if I can milk a bit more performance out of this lot first." With a bit of luck I can get a couple of thousand a week for a couple of months for 'upgrades' and wind the clock back up a bit every Friday night (that's what they mean by incremental upgrades isn't it?). By the end of it, I'll have enough for that new 52-inch 'console display', which has a wide-screen TV and a built-in satellite decoder. AND The boss will be happy that he's saved a couple of hundred grand.
I sometimes wonder how I get away with it.
Unfortunately that just leaves the more mundane jobs of the day. The e-mail filter is disappointing; perhaps the CEO and the girl from Accounts are starting to catch on and are using code.
I flick through the excuse book. Oh no, not lunar disturbances; who will believe that?
The phone rings. Damn, that was careless, I forgot to have it diverted.
"Computer room."
"Oh, I'm terribly, terribly sorry. Really, terribly, awfully sorry."
That's nice, but perhaps a little less than descriptive.
"Could you elaborate?"
"I just broke the mainframe."
Interesting. We don't have one of those any more. I downsized it to something with faster graphics when Doom II came out.
"How did you do that?"
"I just added an entry to our mailshot with a spelling mistake in it, and now the mainframe won't respond. It's only my second day here and I broke the computer."
"Where are you calling from?"
"Marketing."
It all becomes clear. She's on the segment that's 'accidentally' shorted for the next half-hour. That reminds me, I must put in a random-fault-duration feature before someone notices that I fix every network fault in precisely twenty-nine minutes.
"OK, don't worry. How long ago did you send the entry?"
"About two minutes."
"No problem. Because it's your boss's database, the mainframe contacts an automatic system on his PC which has to confirm the transaction before the mainframe will accept it. As long as you get to his office in the next ...er ... 23 seconds, and pull out the network plug, the transaction won't have had time to get there for confirmation."
"Oh thank you, thank you. How can I ever thank you enough?"
I can think of a few ways, but she's dropped the phone and run for it, and I find myself shouting "It's the yellow wire" to nobody.
I wait for the phone to ring. Given that it's a 20 second run, and a further 15 seconds for her boss to comprehend why a secretary should suddenly barge in and rip out all the wires from his computer I take the opportunity of a quick 'grep' of the FTP log. Ten GIFs and fourteen JPEGs, they'll take a while to download, so I'd better just allocate myself a bigger slice of the Kilostream...it won't do them any harm to share 8Kbps for a while.
The phone rings, three seconds early.
"Computer room?"
"Yes?"
"Can you explain why my secretary just charged in here and wrecked my PC, saying that you told her to?" he demands.
No, surely I couldn't get away with it. He's got to see through it...
"Lunar disturbances."
The sudden aura of sympathy at the other end of the phone tells me I've got away with it again. Not just a pretty face, more a Bastard Astronomer from Hell ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard establishes his territorial boundaries ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm sitting at my desk, reconfiguring my network monitor, when the phone rings. Caller-ID tells me it's one of the consultants in the Bean-counter department on the sixth floor. I pick the receiver up, say "Wrong Number", and hang up.
I know it's a wrong number - mine isn't listed internally. The number that is listed rings through (I believe) to a locked storeroom in the basement. Popular rumour has it that it was once answered... Network Engineering, like a major credit card, has it's privileges.
The phone rings again and I'm getting concerned. Twice in one day is a little excessive.
"Hello?" I ask, not wanting to give any clues away.
"Is that the network engineer?" a voice asks.
This concerns me even more. There's only one person who knows my extension number - that's the system operator, and he knows better than to divulge it to a user. At least, I thought he knew better.
"Yes?" I reply.
"I've got a little problem with my connection," the voice says.
"Call the helpdesk," I reply, and drop the receiver back into its cradle
Yet again the phone starts ringing.
"I already rang the helpdesk!" the voice wails. "They told me to call you!"
Oh dear. There are three things wrong here: one, a user knows my extension number, which means: two, the helpdesk has been talking to the operator again; but more importantly: three, the operator is giving out my extension number to people.
This is not a good thing. If I'd wanted calls, I would have put an advert in a personal column. I'd best get to the very bottom of this before things get out of hand.
"Why did the helpdesk tell you to call me?"
"Because they don't know what the writing on the patch-panels means."
My network monitor is now beeping at me, which brings the concern level into the upper percentiles.
"On my patch panels?" I say.
"No, the ones up here in our section on the sixth floor."
"Yes. My patch panels. The ones I lock away from everyone," I fume.
"Well, I ... "
"Just a minute. One question. What were you doing in the Comms Cupboard?"
"Well, my connection went dead, so I ..."
"So you broke into the Comms cupboard?"
"No, not broke into - the operator gave me the key."
"The ex-operator gave you the key?"
"Yeah."
I grab the phone, go to the inspection window, and get the operator's attention. He exits to the corridor heading in my direction.
"And you've touched something haven't you?" I ask down the phone, knowing the worst.
"Uh ... I ... er"
"You got drawn in by the pretty lights, and you touched something. Don't bother denying it, I know you did, and you know you did. And pretty soon, if I'm not mistaken, most of your division will know you did too. What did you touch?"
"Well, I thought the router might have crashed, so I ... "
"Wait! Another question. Where did you hear the word 'Router'?"
"I read it in a manual that I got at Dil... "
"WHAT?! You've been reading forbidden literature as well?"
"It's not forbidden to read ... "
"Stop! The book was in the technical section wasn't it?"
"Well, it ... "
By this time the operator has arrived at my office and has realised the significance of the tones coming from the network monitor.
"What were you doing in the technical section? You know you don't belong there! But let me piece this together. You skim-read a technical tome, wait for your chance, impress the gullible ex-operator with a host of buzzword lies, then, under the false impression that the router had gone down, rebooted it. Didn't you?"
"Uh ... Yes. Sort of. I didn't know which of the three routers was at fault, so I ... "
"You booted them all didn't you?"
Sure enough, my screen shows the sixth floor as a sea of red.
"Uh, yes. I was just wondering if there's anything else I should've done."
Looking directly at the 'ex' operator, I reply: "Well, come to think of it, yes there is. Usual procedure after causing a major network outage is to collect your personal effects from your desk and work area, not forgetting your coffee mug, then sit in a large open area until security comes to escort you from the building."
"But I ... "
"Oh, and make sure they don't have to search you for your keys or ID card. I've heard people have nasty accidents that way. Bye now! Oh, and if you've written my extension number down anywhere, I'd advise you to dispose of it carefully."
He hangs up, and I prepare to show our operator why the electric stapler has all those warning signs about keeping the body clear.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard negotiates around 'budget constraints'...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I'm at my first budget meeting of the month, which has one and ONLY one purpose - to increase the size of our modem pool by 10 modems.
Small potatoes on the budgetry scale, but it does set a precedent for future meetings, a fact which is never overlooked.
Normally I'd get about a quarter of whatever I ask for (due to 'budget constraints' - ie the technical managers want the latest flashy status-symbol toys), however today I'm feeling lucky for some reason.
"Well, I still don't see what the problem is," Technical Manager One says. "It's not as if the modems are used 24 hours a day!"
"No," I say, "But at peak times they are 100 per cent utilised causing us problems."
"Perhaps our staff should be educated in modem use?" Tech One says smarmily.
The other Tech Managers fall into line with this statement with lapdog-like nods.
Time to play the ace up my sleeve.
"Yes, education is an answer, however it achieves little when modems are in use for excessive periods of time..."
"Meaning?" Tech Two asks, smelling a rodent-type creature in the immediate vicinity.
"Mainly people downloading large files from Internet's Usenet News..."
"Ah," Tech Two chips in quickly, "Perhaps there is a measure of expansion needed."
"...Large downloads," I continue, "Probably picture files of some description."
"Yes yes, I'm sure there's no need to go into extraneous detail on this."
Tech Two interrupts sweating slightly...
"No, you're right," I say, "None whatsoever. But newsgroups are only one problem. There are a lot of heavy image downloads from Web-Sites as well."
Tech One is suddenly fully awake. He knows (as do I) just which sites I'm talking about here and what images. AND what they depict. AND more importantly, who's downloading them...
I continue...
"Of course, should 'budget constraints' require usage statistics from our News host and Web-cache server, I'm sure I can dig up what articles and images were downloaded, when and by whom. In fact one site is getting fairly heavy access by only one user at our site and..."
"Yes, yes. Shall we move along? " Tech One pleads, "I believe you have a valid point and I am fully behind he move to get more modems."
"I would agree," Tech Two adds.
The Technical Lapdogs once more fall into line...
"Certainly," I say, "I think those 15 modems will be most helpful."
"FIFTEEN!" Tech One says "Your proposal was for TEN!"
"True, but on second thoughts, I feel it prudent to leave room for expansion in this area. Don't you agree?"
The moment of truth. Will he fold or not? Better safe than sorry...
"ESPECIALLY if modems are going to be used to access sites that have dubious relevance to the purpose of the company, such as..."
"ALL RIGHT!" Tech One cries, "Fifteen seems quite... reasonable."
I'm out of the meeting a record two hours eight minutes and back in my office in time to hear my phone ringing. What the hell, I answer it.
"Network Engineer."
"Hello is this the Network Engineer?"
"No, I'm sorry this is the Mail Room. Please hold, I'll put you through."
I forward the user to the talking clock and look over the error reports that have accumulated in my absence.
I grab one at random to give the impression of service. I ring the user.
"Hello, Payments"
"Hi, I'm Simon the Network Engineer. I gather you had a problem with telephone call-pickup."
"Yes, I can't pickup the phones in the office like everyone else."
"And you logged this as a Priority One call?"
"Well it's quite important!"
"OK, your problem is obviously an... EEPROM CONFIG CHARGE LOSS."
"Uh?"
"The battery that saves your phone's information is flat."
"But it's just new!"
"Of course. But it's been sitting for months in a storeroom."
"Oh. Should I get a new battery then?"
"No, no," I chuckle, "It's rechargeable! Just whip down to the basement car park and borrow the vehicle jump starter. Put one of the big clips on either side of the battery and press the red button. In seconds your battery will be back to new."
"OK, thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Five minutes later I'm sitting in the comms room by the exchange. One of the line level LEDs glows very brightly for a fraction of a second then goes out.
Some users have it coming. I'm just a delivery mechanism.
Sun May 18, 2003 7:46 pm
The Bastard dislikes his boss's use of foul language ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not impressed. The Boss has just said the "C" word, and with no provocation either.
"What did you say?", I ask, still not believing what my ears tell me I'm hearing.
"Oh, don't put on the shocked look. I thought you'd enjoy having a consultant to play with; it'll take your mind off annoying the users."
Me?? Annoy users?
"So when is our new friend coming then?"
"First thing after lunch"
Yes, that should give me enough time.
"And might I ask who ... errr ... 'invited' him?"
"Well, the Finance Director did actually. He's worried that we're open to hacking, and that people might get at confidential and potentially damaging financial information, so it was decided that an outside opinion was the best thing. In fact, the FD recommended this chap himself".
Ah, I knew the bean-counters had to have a hand in it somewhere. I've known for some time just how much they spend on hotels for "one-to-one briefings", but one wouldn't want just _anyone_ to know, would one?
"And how much is he charging?"
The number quoted by the boss closely resembles a telephone number. I wonder ...
No time to lose. First thing is to shift a bit of kit around the building; that doesn't take more than half an hour, so I'm soon on-line with that password I found recently. Ah, just as I suspected ... now, just a quick Email (anonymous, of course) to the Personnel people ...
Just then, the new arrival knocks and waits to be asked before entering. He's obviously come across electrified doorhandles in his career. The Boss strides confidently in after him.
"Good afternoon,", spouts the Boss cheerily. I get the feeling it's going to be. "Welcome to our machine room. Let me introduce Simon, our BOFH"
Nice firm handshake, but a little sweaty; he didn't ask what BOFH stands for, so he's obviously used to accepting acronyms he's never heard of without flinching.
"Simon will show you around", adds the Boss. "Can you present your preliminary report to the CEO and myself last thing this afternoon?"
"Certainly. And don't worry about showing me around; I've been in setups like this before".
Oh, no, you haven't ...
He heads off in the direction of the comms room, and I wait for the scream. Silence. Must be wearing rubber-soled shoes ... this guy knows what he's doing.
I busy myself with the tasks of the day, and wonder what he's up to. He certainly seems to be spending a long time in there looking at the firewall, which is reassuring - while he's playing with that, he can't be buggering something else up. I put the coffee pot on, sit back, and watch the CCTV monitor ... now ... all we have to do is wait ...
I remotely drop the main hub from the management console, and the alarm pierces not only the dull hum of the air conditioning but also probably one of his eardrums.
"WHAT'S THAT ALARM MEAN?" he shouts over the alarm.
I silence the alarm with an accurately thrown manual
"WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?"
"NOTHING ... HONEST" - a standard admission of guilt.
Obviously deaf as a post. Nice bonus. I stride into the comms room and grab a bunch of unconnected wires. Okay, they have never been connected to anything, ever, but this is a minor detail.
"So what the hell are these?"
"Pardon?"
"I SAID, WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE?"
"I ... THINK I'LL JUST GO LOOK AT THE REMOTE BRIDGES"
Five o'clock comes, and we're all sat in the CEO's office. Me, the FD, the CEO, the Boss, and our aurally-challenged friend who is shouting his report so he can hear himself.
"... SO WITH SUCH DISORGANISED CABLING AND A SIXTY-GRAND FIREWALL WHICH IS KNOWN THROUGHOUT THE WORLD TO LEAK LIKE A SIEVE, YOUR NETWORK IS FULL OF HOLES. WHOEVER PUT THIS KIT IN IS AN IMBECILE".
The CEO looks at me.
"Well?"
"Well, sir," (creeping usually helps), "I wonder if I might just explain a few facts. First, the cabling arrangements weren't helped by our colleague here and his size-tens; didn't you hear the alarm when he trod on something important? Second, I didn't actually order that firewall".
"So who did?"
All eyes turn to the Boss, who remembers an important appointment and dashes out with panic in his eyes. One down, two to go.
"One thing". I look at the CEO. "How long was our consultative associate in your office for this afternoon?".
"Well, I hadn't seen him before this meeting. Why?"
"Because our active firewall is in that data closet over there," I answer, waving toward a door in the corner of the office, "so unless our friend here had been sitting in your room for a couple of hours or so there's no way he could have evaluated our security. Perhaps he just invented a damning report so we could pay him to 'fix' our security on top of the fat consultation fee. That's fraud, isn't it?".
"But what about the firewall in the comms room?", asks a worried-looking consultant.
"Oh, well, when the Boss ordered it I thought I'd better put it somewhere, even though as you rightly say it's no good at all; after all, he could lose his job for blowing sixty grand on something that just sat in the cardboard box, so I thought I'd help him out. Didn't you notice it wasn't connected to the LAN?"
A few choice words from the CEO, detailing where he thought he might insert the cheque for the consulation fee, and our numbers are again decremented.
BONG!
The silence is broken by the CEO's PC telling him he has new mail. I know this has to be from Personnel (I filtered everything else to /dev/null earlier lest this message get lost among a flood of trivia). I excuse myself, reasoning that I probably couldn't keep a straight face as the CEO inquired of the FD whether he thought that a director who employs a crooked consultant who happens to be married to his sister could possibly stay in office.
As I sit by my console and gaze out of the window, I see our ex-FD drop the contents of his ex-desk all over the car park as Security body-search him for the keys of his company Jag. On-line registers of births, deaths and marriages are a wonderful thing ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard blasts the confidence of the most well meaning souls ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's a slow day network-wise, and for some reason I'm feeling a little like Clint Eastwood ...
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, is he monitoring the fourth floor or the fifth? Well, to tell you the truth, in all the excitement, I haven't looked at the screen myself. But, taking into account I have a defined key to invoke a kernel debugger on the server which can erase even the MEMORY of your database process - and the work you've done this morning - I'd like you to ask yourself one question: do I feel lucky? ... Well, do ya? ... Punk! ?" I demand.
I hear the clatter of the receiver on the wall, and in my mind's eye I can almost see the frightened accounts clerk scurrying back to the office to close the connection to the database in an orderly fashion before failover time.
My mind's eye being not what it once was, I flip through my CCTV monitors of the fourth floor until I see a geeky guy, laden with lunch, beating a hasty path to his office.
I click on the security window and deactivate the 'Door Open' knobs on the stairwell.
I almost wish I'd turned the CCTV sound on so I could hear the thud when the door didn't open, but you can't have everything.
Rule 75 of Network Ops: never log a fault on a device from the lunchroom. Especially if your office is up a flight of stairs and on the other side of the building.
I get on with my work, which today is 'fixing' the swipecard door-access machine. Apparently there's some logic glitch that no-one knew about until a particularly annoying sales consultant got accidentally locked in the secure area over the holiday weekend. The poor guy was a drooling wreck when they found him - apparently the sirens and sprinklers were playing up in there too, every 10 minutes.
It all goes to show that you can't be too careful when you don't hold the lift open for someone laden with networking magazines ...
I upload the original swipecard microcode over my specialised patched version, and give the system a clean bill of health. It was obviously a freak hardware problem, and nothing to do with the network whatsoever ...
While I'm in the computer room, a hard drive arrives in preparation for a disk replacement, which means the engineer can't be far away.
Quick as a flash I have the box open, wind a couple of paper clips round the power terminals at the back of the drive and return it to its packaging.
Scant seconds later a pin-striped service engineer arrives.
"Hi, I've come to replace the faulty drive," he buzzes.
I lead him over to the machine with the Fault Status on it and he goes to work.
"Will you be wanting me to have the system shut down?" I ask.
"Oh no, didn't you know, this machine is mirrored and hot-swapable. I just pull the cover off like this."
Clip!
"Loosen these two retaining screws, grab the new disk and ... ... Hey, did you open this bag?"
"No, it must have been sent like that."
"Oh. It was probably the office when they pre-formatted it."
He has now added 'lying to the client' to his list of sins. Tragic.
He continues: "I get the new drive in one hand, slide out the old drive like so ... place it on the ground like so ..."
Clunk!
"And slide in the new one like so ... and ..."
BANG!
The smell of ozone tells me that both the paper clips and the power supply are no more. Time to play dirty.
"What the hell happened?!" I demand.
"Er, it appears that the replacement drive was slightly faulty, and the extra load may have overworked your power supply."
"You blew up our machine!"
"No, no, it's only a power supply problem. All I need to do is slide the disk out like so, switch the power off and flick this switch to change over the power supplies. Now I switch her on, and ..."
Nothing happens.
"Nothing's happened!"
He hits me with the old engineer special: "That's interesting!"
"Yeah, that's what yesterday's engineer said when he blew the other power supply."
A network loading alarm shakes me awake in front of my terminal and I realise that it had all been a pleasant dream. Ah well, I guess a network engineer's got to know his limitations.
The phone rings, I pick it up.
"I know what you're thinking ..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard maintains his level of bad taste and seeks sweet revenge ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's New Boss time yet again and, because it was caused by politics that I was uninvolved in, I'm worried. Doubly worrying - the official office grapevine (Sharon the ex-ex-boss's secretary) has it that the new boss is a Bean Counter!!!
A new boss is bad enough, as they all want to distinguish themselves by re-arranging the department hierarchy to transform it from a stunted money-soak into a glittering and applauded service division.
But a Bean Counter is bound to be much worse!
Bean Counters have a reputation for reshuffles that are worse than a half-blind, epileptic poker player in a disco.
To get to this position he must have:
* got the CEO completely suckered with his glittering dream, or
* found out that while the interior decorating of the CEO's office cost the company tens of thousands of pounds, the redecorating of the CEO's entire home only cost 47p.
Amazing what you find out when you throw a passive fax-receiver across the CEO's personal fax line ...
It's 9.15am on Monday morning, and the entire department waits with bated breath for the arrival of Gerry, the new commander in chief.
He emerges from the rear stairwell catching half the department lift-gazing - quite a change from the normal clock watching.
Straight away he calls a meeting to discuss his 'departmental economising'.
None of the staff really care, they've been moved around so much in the last couple of years that the walls are on wheels and the room directory is a blackboard. Not even X.500 can keep up.
The meeting trundles along with the usual nightmarish staff regroupings (PC support with the telephone operators; Unix operators with the tea lady , and so on).
Groups are renamed 'Knowledge Units', so everyone gets a warm feeling from the reshuffle shafting they just got.
The meeting takes a turn for the worse as the bifocals of death come to rest on me.
"Simon, as network engineer, you will be invaluable in your position on the help desk. Your co-operation will ensure network fault resolution times drop dramatically ..."
I don't think I need to mention that the chances of me accepting a position on the help desk are so slim that it would make an anorexic Ethiopian on a hunger strike look like Porky Pig.
On the way back to my office I realise that I can make the most of this by rising from the hell I've just been placed in, or by wasting my time in pointless revenge.
I let a coin decide by flipping it ...
Heads.
Revenge it is then.
A freak earthquake shocks the coin to 'Tails'.
Revenge it is then.
'Edge' was so close too.
The way is clear. Gerry has obviously spent a weekend formulating this and will shortly fire a salvo of memos both around the department and up to the Execs.
I dust off my Router Text-Change software (a simple piece of code that simply watches packets go by and occasionally introduces a spelling mistake or adds a zero to the end of a figure), make a few modifications and upload it to the network hardware. To be on the safe side, I upload the duplicator code as well.
Scant minutes later my workstation beeps as e-mail from the boss comes in. A memo confirming the decisions made at the meeting if I'm not mistaken. (Never am. Never was. Never will be.)
I don't need to open the message to know that the 'To:' line has been written with an inventive expletive sequence.
Two minutes later the phone rings. Caller ID returns: 'Big Guy'.
"What the hell's going on with the system?" The CEO growls.
"What do you mean?" I ask, caring and concerned.
"My printer's spewing the same memo over and over and I've been receiving repeated e-mail messages"
"That's not from Gerry is it?"
"Yes, why?"
"Oh, he's probably been playing around with his printer and mail client settings again. I'll sort it out post haste."
The CEO hangs up, and I drop the router out, so solving the problem. Round One to me, I think.
I would ring the Boss, but he appears to be talking to the CEO about something quite pressing at the moment. Perhaps later ...
To be continued ...
----------------------------------------
Reality is only an illusion that occurs due to a lack of alcohol.
<ElectricBrain> drunkard by day, stoner by night. --zer
----------------------------------------
The only difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not impressed. The Boss has just said the "C" word, and with no provocation either.
"What did you say?", I ask, still not believing what my ears tell me I'm hearing.
"Oh, don't put on the shocked look. I thought you'd enjoy having a consultant to play with; it'll take your mind off annoying the users."
Me?? Annoy users?
"So when is our new friend coming then?"
"First thing after lunch"
Yes, that should give me enough time.
"And might I ask who ... errr ... 'invited' him?"
"Well, the Finance Director did actually. He's worried that we're open to hacking, and that people might get at confidential and potentially damaging financial information, so it was decided that an outside opinion was the best thing. In fact, the FD recommended this chap himself".
Ah, I knew the bean-counters had to have a hand in it somewhere. I've known for some time just how much they spend on hotels for "one-to-one briefings", but one wouldn't want just _anyone_ to know, would one?
"And how much is he charging?"
The number quoted by the boss closely resembles a telephone number. I wonder ...
No time to lose. First thing is to shift a bit of kit around the building; that doesn't take more than half an hour, so I'm soon on-line with that password I found recently. Ah, just as I suspected ... now, just a quick Email (anonymous, of course) to the Personnel people ...
Just then, the new arrival knocks and waits to be asked before entering. He's obviously come across electrified doorhandles in his career. The Boss strides confidently in after him.
"Good afternoon,", spouts the Boss cheerily. I get the feeling it's going to be. "Welcome to our machine room. Let me introduce Simon, our BOFH"
Nice firm handshake, but a little sweaty; he didn't ask what BOFH stands for, so he's obviously used to accepting acronyms he's never heard of without flinching.
"Simon will show you around", adds the Boss. "Can you present your preliminary report to the CEO and myself last thing this afternoon?"
"Certainly. And don't worry about showing me around; I've been in setups like this before".
Oh, no, you haven't ...
He heads off in the direction of the comms room, and I wait for the scream. Silence. Must be wearing rubber-soled shoes ... this guy knows what he's doing.
I busy myself with the tasks of the day, and wonder what he's up to. He certainly seems to be spending a long time in there looking at the firewall, which is reassuring - while he's playing with that, he can't be buggering something else up. I put the coffee pot on, sit back, and watch the CCTV monitor ... now ... all we have to do is wait ...
I remotely drop the main hub from the management console, and the alarm pierces not only the dull hum of the air conditioning but also probably one of his eardrums.
"WHAT'S THAT ALARM MEAN?" he shouts over the alarm.
I silence the alarm with an accurately thrown manual
"WHAT DID YOU TOUCH?"
"NOTHING ... HONEST" - a standard admission of guilt.
Obviously deaf as a post. Nice bonus. I stride into the comms room and grab a bunch of unconnected wires. Okay, they have never been connected to anything, ever, but this is a minor detail.
"So what the hell are these?"
"Pardon?"
"I SAID, WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE?"
"I ... THINK I'LL JUST GO LOOK AT THE REMOTE BRIDGES"
Five o'clock comes, and we're all sat in the CEO's office. Me, the FD, the CEO, the Boss, and our aurally-challenged friend who is shouting his report so he can hear himself.
"... SO WITH SUCH DISORGANISED CABLING AND A SIXTY-GRAND FIREWALL WHICH IS KNOWN THROUGHOUT THE WORLD TO LEAK LIKE A SIEVE, YOUR NETWORK IS FULL OF HOLES. WHOEVER PUT THIS KIT IN IS AN IMBECILE".
The CEO looks at me.
"Well?"
"Well, sir," (creeping usually helps), "I wonder if I might just explain a few facts. First, the cabling arrangements weren't helped by our colleague here and his size-tens; didn't you hear the alarm when he trod on something important? Second, I didn't actually order that firewall".
"So who did?"
All eyes turn to the Boss, who remembers an important appointment and dashes out with panic in his eyes. One down, two to go.
"One thing". I look at the CEO. "How long was our consultative associate in your office for this afternoon?".
"Well, I hadn't seen him before this meeting. Why?"
"Because our active firewall is in that data closet over there," I answer, waving toward a door in the corner of the office, "so unless our friend here had been sitting in your room for a couple of hours or so there's no way he could have evaluated our security. Perhaps he just invented a damning report so we could pay him to 'fix' our security on top of the fat consultation fee. That's fraud, isn't it?".
"But what about the firewall in the comms room?", asks a worried-looking consultant.
"Oh, well, when the Boss ordered it I thought I'd better put it somewhere, even though as you rightly say it's no good at all; after all, he could lose his job for blowing sixty grand on something that just sat in the cardboard box, so I thought I'd help him out. Didn't you notice it wasn't connected to the LAN?"
A few choice words from the CEO, detailing where he thought he might insert the cheque for the consulation fee, and our numbers are again decremented.
BONG!
The silence is broken by the CEO's PC telling him he has new mail. I know this has to be from Personnel (I filtered everything else to /dev/null earlier lest this message get lost among a flood of trivia). I excuse myself, reasoning that I probably couldn't keep a straight face as the CEO inquired of the FD whether he thought that a director who employs a crooked consultant who happens to be married to his sister could possibly stay in office.
As I sit by my console and gaze out of the window, I see our ex-FD drop the contents of his ex-desk all over the car park as Security body-search him for the keys of his company Jag. On-line registers of births, deaths and marriages are a wonderful thing ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard blasts the confidence of the most well meaning souls ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's a slow day network-wise, and for some reason I'm feeling a little like Clint Eastwood ...
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, is he monitoring the fourth floor or the fifth? Well, to tell you the truth, in all the excitement, I haven't looked at the screen myself. But, taking into account I have a defined key to invoke a kernel debugger on the server which can erase even the MEMORY of your database process - and the work you've done this morning - I'd like you to ask yourself one question: do I feel lucky? ... Well, do ya? ... Punk! ?" I demand.
I hear the clatter of the receiver on the wall, and in my mind's eye I can almost see the frightened accounts clerk scurrying back to the office to close the connection to the database in an orderly fashion before failover time.
My mind's eye being not what it once was, I flip through my CCTV monitors of the fourth floor until I see a geeky guy, laden with lunch, beating a hasty path to his office.
I click on the security window and deactivate the 'Door Open' knobs on the stairwell.
I almost wish I'd turned the CCTV sound on so I could hear the thud when the door didn't open, but you can't have everything.
Rule 75 of Network Ops: never log a fault on a device from the lunchroom. Especially if your office is up a flight of stairs and on the other side of the building.
I get on with my work, which today is 'fixing' the swipecard door-access machine. Apparently there's some logic glitch that no-one knew about until a particularly annoying sales consultant got accidentally locked in the secure area over the holiday weekend. The poor guy was a drooling wreck when they found him - apparently the sirens and sprinklers were playing up in there too, every 10 minutes.
It all goes to show that you can't be too careful when you don't hold the lift open for someone laden with networking magazines ...
I upload the original swipecard microcode over my specialised patched version, and give the system a clean bill of health. It was obviously a freak hardware problem, and nothing to do with the network whatsoever ...
While I'm in the computer room, a hard drive arrives in preparation for a disk replacement, which means the engineer can't be far away.
Quick as a flash I have the box open, wind a couple of paper clips round the power terminals at the back of the drive and return it to its packaging.
Scant seconds later a pin-striped service engineer arrives.
"Hi, I've come to replace the faulty drive," he buzzes.
I lead him over to the machine with the Fault Status on it and he goes to work.
"Will you be wanting me to have the system shut down?" I ask.
"Oh no, didn't you know, this machine is mirrored and hot-swapable. I just pull the cover off like this."
Clip!
"Loosen these two retaining screws, grab the new disk and ... ... Hey, did you open this bag?"
"No, it must have been sent like that."
"Oh. It was probably the office when they pre-formatted it."
He has now added 'lying to the client' to his list of sins. Tragic.
He continues: "I get the new drive in one hand, slide out the old drive like so ... place it on the ground like so ..."
Clunk!
"And slide in the new one like so ... and ..."
BANG!
The smell of ozone tells me that both the paper clips and the power supply are no more. Time to play dirty.
"What the hell happened?!" I demand.
"Er, it appears that the replacement drive was slightly faulty, and the extra load may have overworked your power supply."
"You blew up our machine!"
"No, no, it's only a power supply problem. All I need to do is slide the disk out like so, switch the power off and flick this switch to change over the power supplies. Now I switch her on, and ..."
Nothing happens.
"Nothing's happened!"
He hits me with the old engineer special: "That's interesting!"
"Yeah, that's what yesterday's engineer said when he blew the other power supply."
A network loading alarm shakes me awake in front of my terminal and I realise that it had all been a pleasant dream. Ah well, I guess a network engineer's got to know his limitations.
The phone rings, I pick it up.
"I know what you're thinking ..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bastard maintains his level of bad taste and seeks sweet revenge ...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's New Boss time yet again and, because it was caused by politics that I was uninvolved in, I'm worried. Doubly worrying - the official office grapevine (Sharon the ex-ex-boss's secretary) has it that the new boss is a Bean Counter!!!
A new boss is bad enough, as they all want to distinguish themselves by re-arranging the department hierarchy to transform it from a stunted money-soak into a glittering and applauded service division.
But a Bean Counter is bound to be much worse!
Bean Counters have a reputation for reshuffles that are worse than a half-blind, epileptic poker player in a disco.
To get to this position he must have:
* got the CEO completely suckered with his glittering dream, or
* found out that while the interior decorating of the CEO's office cost the company tens of thousands of pounds, the redecorating of the CEO's entire home only cost 47p.
Amazing what you find out when you throw a passive fax-receiver across the CEO's personal fax line ...
It's 9.15am on Monday morning, and the entire department waits with bated breath for the arrival of Gerry, the new commander in chief.
He emerges from the rear stairwell catching half the department lift-gazing - quite a change from the normal clock watching.
Straight away he calls a meeting to discuss his 'departmental economising'.
None of the staff really care, they've been moved around so much in the last couple of years that the walls are on wheels and the room directory is a blackboard. Not even X.500 can keep up.
The meeting trundles along with the usual nightmarish staff regroupings (PC support with the telephone operators; Unix operators with the tea lady , and so on).
Groups are renamed 'Knowledge Units', so everyone gets a warm feeling from the reshuffle shafting they just got.
The meeting takes a turn for the worse as the bifocals of death come to rest on me.
"Simon, as network engineer, you will be invaluable in your position on the help desk. Your co-operation will ensure network fault resolution times drop dramatically ..."
I don't think I need to mention that the chances of me accepting a position on the help desk are so slim that it would make an anorexic Ethiopian on a hunger strike look like Porky Pig.
On the way back to my office I realise that I can make the most of this by rising from the hell I've just been placed in, or by wasting my time in pointless revenge.
I let a coin decide by flipping it ...
Heads.
Revenge it is then.
A freak earthquake shocks the coin to 'Tails'.
Revenge it is then.
'Edge' was so close too.
The way is clear. Gerry has obviously spent a weekend formulating this and will shortly fire a salvo of memos both around the department and up to the Execs.
I dust off my Router Text-Change software (a simple piece of code that simply watches packets go by and occasionally introduces a spelling mistake or adds a zero to the end of a figure), make a few modifications and upload it to the network hardware. To be on the safe side, I upload the duplicator code as well.
Scant minutes later my workstation beeps as e-mail from the boss comes in. A memo confirming the decisions made at the meeting if I'm not mistaken. (Never am. Never was. Never will be.)
I don't need to open the message to know that the 'To:' line has been written with an inventive expletive sequence.
Two minutes later the phone rings. Caller ID returns: 'Big Guy'.
"What the hell's going on with the system?" The CEO growls.
"What do you mean?" I ask, caring and concerned.
"My printer's spewing the same memo over and over and I've been receiving repeated e-mail messages"
"That's not from Gerry is it?"
"Yes, why?"
"Oh, he's probably been playing around with his printer and mail client settings again. I'll sort it out post haste."
The CEO hangs up, and I drop the router out, so solving the problem. Round One to me, I think.
I would ring the Boss, but he appears to be talking to the CEO about something quite pressing at the moment. Perhaps later ...
To be continued ...
----------------------------------------
Reality is only an illusion that occurs due to a lack of alcohol.
<ElectricBrain> drunkard by day, stoner by night. --zer
----------------------------------------
The only difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits.
33 posts
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