Freedom requires a gas-fart sting
Get my work and get my ring
Get me freedom cause I wanna sing
Eddy created his next letter to Robert andtried to laugh to himself but couldn’t. To break into Robert’s head Eddy decided on making jokes, but jokes were tough for Eddy. He knew his jokes might not be so funny to Robert and this dilemma confused Eddy. Eddy found life to be filled with options, confusions and lots of questions.
To:
Robert Davichi
From:
Eddy
Dear Robert,
MAD software is BAD
software
. (I am working on being poet.) The software will destroy the world…
the world. Things are happening that you don’t know. Protect yourself.
I’m practicing programming. Here is my version of
MAD 2100
.
I think it’s funny. Do you?
/*
TOP SECRET (used to be until Eddy hacked it)
MicroIntel(c) Code
Project: Tokyo(tm)
Real Name: "BAD SOFTWARE"
Projected release-date: Who Knows?
Real Date: Sooner but FED on Gills ASS
*/
#include "problems.h"
#include "Gillrulz.h"
#define INSTALL = REALLY HARD
while(!CRASHED)
{display_copyright_message();
display_Gill_rules_message();
totally_screw_up_HPFS_file_system();
search_and_destroy_the_rest_of_OS/2();
hang_system();
}
write_something(anything);
display_copyright_message();
do_nothing_loop();
do_some_stuff();
if (still_not_crashed)
{
display_copyright_message();
do_nothing_loop();
basically_run_old Software_3.1();
do_nothing_loop();
do_nothing_loop();
}
set_mouse(reaction, sometimes);
}
/* printf("Welcome to MicroIntel 4.14"); */
}
CULT OF THE DEAD WATERBUFFALO
DEFENDING…DEFENDING…DEFENDING…
********END OF MESSAGE
Eddy sent the message with a picture of a dead water buffalo with an arrow stuck in its butt. This time there was a message attached to the arrow that said:
"Killed by MAD 2100—Don’t get MAD get EVEN".
Robert read the message. It looked like a joke from a kid studying programming and poetry. It made no sense so Robert went home early. It was Tuesday and Susan was out with her girlfriends until nine. She did this every Tuesday to get away from Robert, the kids and Buddy. Susan planned to be a famous novelist but after ten years and 66 rejection letters on four different books she took to something she was good at: drinking and laundry.
Laundry soon left the list after Susan’s cat Snookers died.
The animal hospital said the cat died during a spin cycle.
After seeing Snookers washed into cat heaven Robert decided on professional help. He found a psychiatrist named Francois and then bought Buddy, making sure the dog was bigger than the GE washer was.
Robert entered his ranch style home, sat down on his couch, and turned on the WebTele to watch the news and relax. He shut off the Webmail link; he didn’t want to be bothered with interruptions.
At 9:30 Susan opened the front door and saw Robert slumped into his chair. She could tell something was wrong.
"What’s the matter honey?" asked Susan.
"Ah. I should have stayed in school and been a professor."
Susan put her purse on the kitchen table and grabbed a tonic water from the GE-WebFridge 4000. She could program the GE-WebFridge 4000 to monitor all food going in and out to track freshness, calories and health content. It would even send her an e-mail when the kids or Robert ate too much. The black screen lit up in red text to automatically show food information on items that went in or out of the special refrigerator. For those on Weight Watchers there was even an internal lock on the 3 doors. Too many calories and you were shut out —unless you had a uranium-enriched blowtorch.
The tonic water was only 7 days old, had 42 calories and was rated 5 for health; neutral. Susan poured a glass of tonic water and took a Valium to relax.
"Would you like something to drink Robert?"
"Yeah—a beer and some potato chips please,"Susan grabbed a beer and potato chips. She scanned them: the beer was 12 days old, had 210 calories and was rated a 2; bad for health. The potato chips were worse—2 weeks old, 310 calories and rated a 1. A message popped up on the screen and a woman’s voice spoke: "Health is important. You are what you eat!" Susan looked at the screen but gave Robert the beer and potato chips anyhow.
Robert shook his head. "Can we shut that refrigerator monitoring system off? It’s annoying"
"If you didn’t eat so much junk food you wouldn’t hear all those messages. It’s good for your health to be informed."
Robert kept quiet.
"So what’s up Robert? Why do you look all stressed out?"
Robert popped open his beer and took a sip. "We have problems with the beta testing in Japan. Gill has ordered us to move out to Tokyo for the next year of installation."
Susan twisted her face and turned her head to look at her favorite painting in the living room; a picture of Paris in summer. Susan always wanted to be transferred to Paris. She wrote love stories about Paris although she’d never lived there. She was sure this was why her stories were rejected.
"I’d rather go to Antarctica." Susan liked penguins.
She looked at the WebTele and saw a fat penguin holding a beer can. The thought passed. "I’ll go, but if we go through the same situation we had last time, you know what I will do."
"Oh honey, that was a big mistake. It’ll never happen again. I love you." Robert remembered staying out all night with Gill at a late night Japanese party.
"You must make me one promise," asked Susan.
"Sure—anything. What is it?"
"I want to take a one month trip to Paris next summer when the project is over, without the kids or Buddy to finish my last book."
"Writing again?" asked Robert. His forehead perspired.
"Yes," said Susan proudly.
The last time Susan had written, things like washing Snookers, cooking flowers and popping pills had quickly followed, then came professional help, and more pills.
"Writing?" asked Robert.
"Yeah, writing. Francois thinks I should finish my last book."
Robert looked at Susan like he was inspecting a fatal gunshot wound. "Sure Susan. No problem—by the way, how are you feeling?"
"Fine, I feel fine. But I’m not sure about Buddy…"
"---Buddy? Is he okay?"
"He ate my mother’s flowers today and then threw them up all over the house."
Thank God, only flowers-- no spin cycle, too big for that. Robert promised himself he would fix his marriage.
"Sorry to hear about that. We can always buy more."
"I know, but he passed gas all day. I spoke about it to Francois, he helped me again today."
"That’s great. He’s the best." Robert chugged his beer.
"He understands me, loves my new book, and he’ll help me finish it."
"Well, be careful. You know these shrinks can take advantage of people---"
"He’s not a shrink,and he’s taking me to Parisnext summer."
Robert spit out his beer. "Sorry, what?
I thought you wanted to go to Paris with me, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh Robert, be more trusting. You work all the time, let’s talk about this later. The kids will be home soon."
Susan stared back at the picture of Paris. The people sitting at the cafes were turning into penguins and then back to people. Paris without the penguins would be nice she thought.
Gill sat at his redwood custom built desk reading the financial news the old fashioned way; a printed copy of the day’s stock movements and top stories. In a few minutes two-star General Schwarz would be arriving to discuss what he’d said over a secure phone channel was an important situation. Usually that meant money, so in a sense it was important
,
thought Gill. As Gill scanned the news he couldn’t believe his eyes:
Navy Sailor
Discovers Miracle Drug for Guilianni Labs—Drug pushed up Stock (and users)
According to recent reports Guilianni Labs (NASDAQ: GLAB) has discovered miracle-like effects from an eco-friendly barnacle remover. On the strength of these reports the stock jumped 35% today.
A US sailor in Yokosuka Japan allegedly did the research. The sailor states he discovered that drinking the non-toxic eco-friendly friendly solution created hair growth as well as increasing his sexual performance. There are also unsubstantiated claims that the drug has youth-building characteristics, possibly including growth of the male sexual organ. CMM Financial News makes no claim to the accuracy of this report.
The sailor said during an exclusive CMM interview:
"Jeez, can’t believe I made it to the news on CMM…I’d like to tell my mom hi…hi mom, I’m fine…and don’t worry I’ll be home by Easter after they let me out of the lab. I want everyone to know when I made the discovery—it wasn’t illegal ya know, the bottle said it was non-toxic and a friendly chemical so I just tasted it one day, and then I tasted a little more the next. It was very tasty—like sweet raspberries. But ya shouldn’t drink the whole bottle—I did that one day when I was thirsty and felt kinda strange—but ya know—nothing happened, I mean nothing bad that is. Later that day I felt strong, so strong and a few days later my head started growing back all my lost hair. All I do is take a sip every day and wow…feel great and…"
Gill could read no more: he was now number two on the Fortune money list.
A phone rang and Gill picked it up. "What’s up Betty?" Gill threw the newspaper into the wastebasket.
"General Schwartz and his three aides just arrived at the front gate."
"Send them in, and please get me a large bottle of water and everyone else coffee."
"Sure Mr. Applebee."
Well, well thought Gill. General Schwartz, you have an important situation. You military pukes are always looking for a free ride on the backs of us hard working American companies. Nothing is going to be free here Schwartz. You’re late on payments for the last deal and I haven’t forgotten. And please, no more lectures on National Security, or why MicroIntel should just do these deals as good conscience or I’ll expose you.
Gill opened on a side drawer on his desk and pulled out a piece of paper he’d kept for years. Written was a simple statement: "The meek shall inherit the Earth. MicroIntel will take the Universe."
Gill’s door buzzed. Gill hit his unlock door button. Betty swung open the doors. In walked General Schwartz, a fiftyish man with a graying crew cut, dark sunglasses, and shiny gold and silver metals across his chest. Below the medals was a patch of colored ribbons taking up a fourth of the General’s shirt. Gill had no idea what the decorations meant. They might as well have been bought at the Salvation Army as a Halloween costume. Two other men dressed in blue suits walked in. One was a fat black man with his gut bulging out of his suit. Strange for a military guy
,
thought Gill. The other man was as pale as a ghost and wore lightly tinted brown sunglasses. He was tall and had a medium build.
"Gentlemen please take a seat." Gill got out of his chair, and led them to a set of three black leather couches. There were four lounge type chairs near the couches and a large coffee table with chocolates and fruit brought in daily. Gill waved them over to the largest L shaped-couch near a picture window overlooking the MicroIntel campus.
The General sat next to the fat man who stared at the chocolates. The other man sat on a couch in the corner.
"Please try some of the chocolates and fruit. I have coffee coming, anyone want anything else before we start?"
The General spoke. "Gill, we’re fine. Let me introduce you to Mr. Edward Jones of the CIA. He’s in charge of Psyche Net Strategy." Gill had never heard of that before and didn’t know they were bringing in the CIA. Gill reached over and shook the pale man’s hand. It was a really warm hand, and sweaty--never trust the really sweaty hands. "Nice to meet you Mr. Jones," said Gill.
"Some people say you are the luckiest man in the world Mr. Applebee. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person," said Mr. Jones.
"Well if you read today’s newspaper you’d say Mr. Guilianni is the luckiest guy in the world. He’s now the richest guy in the world too," said Gill.
General Schwartz looked over at Gill and cut in, "Well if you had listened to what I said four years ago, I think you’d still be number one. If you’d released the source code to us on the MI2000 I think the justice department would have dropped the monopoly suit."
"That’s true, General, but it was a company secret and eventually we won on appeals."
Gill thought:What an asshole! The world’s biggest Mafia, the military pukes and their Justice friends, talk about organized crime.
"Well, it would have saved you money in legal fees—but that’s your business. I’d like to introduce you to Victor Longfellow—Victor’s in the NSA," said General Schwartz.
Gill shook Victor’s hand; it was neither hot nor cold or sweaty
.
Probably a good guy though fat as a three hundred-pound stuffed turkey
,
thought Gill. Gill believed you could tell a lot about a man by his handshake and temperature. It was one of the reasons he’d never trusted his accountant, Frick; the guy was a sweaty mess.
The fat man was already on his third chocolate
.
Likes them even more than Robert, Gill thought
.
Gill sat down as Betty brought in the coffee and water.
After Betty exited Gill spoke. "So, what can I do for my friend General Schwartz?"
"Well I won’t beat around the bush. We need MicroIntel to put in a new NSA and CIA chip into the Big Blue Server, and we want to do it without the regular formalities."
Formalities? The formalities were set up to protect people from unwanted government snooping. MicroIntel signed a legally binding contract with the State Department that allowed MicroIntel to stay in one piece. The major agreements for system security were the checks and balances regarding master chip changes. This was more than a formality, it was a law.