The Hacker Chronicles - A…the Computer Underground/The Hacker Chronicles - A Tour of the Computer Underground (P-80 Systems).iso/cdc/cdc198.txt

Text File | 1992-09-26 | 14KB | 201 lines

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  ...presents...           Some General Observations
                                                         by THE NIGHTSTALKER

                      >>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
 ______________________________________________________________________________


     It's really strange.  Here I am, a ponytailed, bearded, generally "odd"
looking sort of fellow, rapidly approaching 40, and generally look like the
kind of person your mother warns you about.  Yet, I can go into the 24 hour
supermarket around the corner at just about ANY hour and nobody bothers
(watches) me.  However, let some 20-ish crewcut and clean-shaven type come in
at 1:00am, and he gets watched like he's a necrophile in the morgue!  I suspect
that it's because I'm in there almost every night, usually buying milk, bread
or other "wholesome" members of the four food groups and I treat the staff like
people, not drones.  In other words, I talk to the checker as she totals my
purchases, wish her a good night, and during the summer, a quiet night (that's
another file!). They "know" me as a safe, if eccentric looking, character.  If
I had the inclination, I could rip them off big time!  Blank videotapes,
batteries, pantyhose, all could be MINE, MINE I TELL YOU!

     But, no.  Considering that I would be mortally embarrassed to be arrested
for shoplifting pantyhose (which could be easily sold at flea markets, etc)
it's just not worth it.  Videotape is cheap enough and most of my battery
powered items use rechargeable batteries.  Howerver, from time to time the
thought occurs to me... "What a challenge!  A six-pack of beer and a frozen
pizza!  Man, if I could pull that off...."

     I am always amused by The Look I get from the locals here in Rutland,
Vermont.  You know what Look I'm talking about!  Here you are, walking down the
street, in whatever regalia you fancy that day (for me, it ALWAYS includes my
black multipocket "Team Banzai" vest and full-color DobbsHead button) and
someone ALWAYS gives you a Look that says, "Jesus Christ!  Lookit that freak of
nature!  Shit, there oughtta be a law against that kind of creep!"  What I find
amusing is that the locals who give me The Look are, perhaps, the most
genetically bankrupt hominids this side of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  We're
talking chinless wonders, folks.  You know the type: no chin, they walk around
with the mouth open and a dim, glazed look in the eye.  No real intelligence to
speak of, rather more of an animal cunning.  The male of the species will, if
given the money, ALWAYS buy Marlboros and Budweiser.  Four years of observation
at the local supermarket and beer 'n' wine store have confirmed this.  Rarely,
though, Coors WILL be purchased instead of Bud.  I suspect this has more to do
with TV advertising than any real taste preference.  The female of this
degenerate species tends toward the bloated body type, usually dragging a
squalling immature mutant along by a grubby hand.  She also smokes Marlboro and
drinks Bud.  There MUST be a reason for this fact rooted in genetics!  Anyone
who would voluntarily drink Budweiser beer would eat a wet hen and drink their
own bath water!  On an intellectual level, they are easily outclassed by garden
slugs and slime molds.  Reading is something they did before they dropped out
of high school.  The word "fuck" is used by these mutants as a universal verb,
noun, adverb, pronoun and general universal grammatical modifier.  Dropped "G"s
are universal as well, as in, "The fuckin' parole officer is on my fuckin' case
again!  He thinks I fuckin' ripped off a fuckin' car in the fuckin' parkin'
lot!"  (A fragment of conversation overheard as I walked past a payphone, by
the way.)

     And yet, they Look at me as if I'm the scum of the earth.  All I can do is
laugh at them.  Which, of course, confuses them even more!

     Why is it that a friend of mine who has a fully loaded '286 machine and a
real dick-hardener of an Epson printer never runs off mailing labels?  It takes
me all of a minute to change the position of the tractor wheels and load a
strip of labels on my printer, and about as long to load the little BASIC
program I wrote for my Commodore 64 that prints individual address labels for
all the people I write to.  Every single piece of mail I get from him is
addressed in pencil and in script!  No wonder it takes WEEKS for a letter to
get to me from Baltimore!  The sorting scanners can't read it and the humans
have a hard time with it, too!  I can't figure it out.  I mean, isn't this what
computers and printers are FOR?

     One of my happiest memories of 1991 is completely blowing the curve on a
survey.  I was called at about 8:00am one day and the obscenely cheerful drone
on the other end asked me what radio station I was listening to at that moment
and what the frequency was.  "BBC World Service, 12.095 Megahertz," I replied.
After all, that WAS the radio station I was listening to at that moment.  Had
he called a minute earlier, it would have been even more fun.  I had been
listening to a phone patch from Air Force One through CROWN, the White House
Communications Office.  Our President was concerned over the scheduling of a
speech and needed a confirmation on a few facts.  (It is AMAZING what goes out
in the clear from Air Force One on shortwave sometimes!)  Well, there was a
distinct moment of silence on his end.  He then asked, "is that like a
shortwave radio or something?"
     "It's EXACTLY like a shortwave station," I replied.
     "Oh.  OK.  Thank you."  I suspect that he just tossed my answer.  How do
you fit in THAT kind of datum when you're looking for just local stations?

     Listening to the local cordless phone and "baby monitor" frequencies is
amusing at times.  For example, there's this baby monitor that is on 24 hours a
day.  I deduce that the transmitter is in the parents' bedroom, along with the
baby's crib, and the receiver is elsewhere.  Well, they NEVER turn off the
transmitter.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are prime eavesdropping times!
Particularly after dark.  (Seems that Tuesday and Thursday are "dollar days" at
the video store.)  Well, along about 11:00pm or so, these two go to bed and the
husband ALWAYS wants to act out some of the scenes on the porn tape he rented
that day.  He DOES love to have his cock sucked, it seems, and to come on her
face.  (She doesn't care much for that, as she constantly tells him.)  Of
course, he also like to anally sodomize her, so I guess a face-full of semen
beats a dick up the ass any day.  Periodically, he ties her up and sodomizes
her.  Well, this can be entertaining listening, particularly listening to her
try and talk with a mouthfull of dick!  What makes this all the more amusing
(from my cynical viewpoint) is that one day, I hit the wrong button on the
scanner and picked up this baby monitor.  "Good Lord!" I thought, "He's
spending his lunch hour balling that poor woman yet again!  Didn't he get
enough off her last night?"  Well, things climaxed (and very loudly on her
part!) and as they lay there huffing and puffing, I heard a NEW voice.
     "You're sure your old man ain't gonna find out about us?"
     "Nah!  He's too fuckin' stoopid to find out!"

     Ah, married life!  Then there's this gay guy who lives next door.  His
cordless phone calls are something to hear.  (Although I really could have
lived a full, rich life having never heard him rave about "Vaseline Alley" down
in the borough of Queens in New York City!)  He just LOVES to order stuff over
the phone... with his credit card.  One of these days, when I KNOW he's gonna
be away for a week or so....

     One of the benefits of living in this backwater town is that both the
supermarket and the beer 'n' wine store stash their empty milk crates outside
where they are easy to get to.  Needless to say, I do not lack for bookshelves
and storage modules these days.

     A major tourist industries in Vermont is the Fall Foliage Tour.  For some
reason, people come from hundreds of miles away to look at dying leaves.  It is
always confusing to me that the tour buses always have heavily tinted windows
in them.  Hmmm.  Looking at brightly colored leaves through dark green tinted
glass.  Don't you, well, MISS something doing that?

     When I lived and worked in NYC some years back, I was dating a woman who
worked one or two weekends a month as a hardcore bondage & discipline/S&M porn
model for the magazine trade and those, "I'll send you 10 nasty poses for
$20.00!" ads in the back of those REALLY sleazy soft-core magazines.  It's
amazing how much of that stuff is utter fantasy and relatively painless.  There
is effectively no sex involved, despite the occasional penis/tongue in a
mouth/vagina/anus.  After all, a guy with a stiff dick gets paid by the hour.
If he keeps it up all day, that's cash money in his pocket.  One of the trade
secrets is Ivory dishwashing detergent.  When photographed on skin, it looks
JUST like semen!  So, in one picture, you can see four or five stiff dicks
being stroked and aimed at the woman, and in the next picture, she's got cum
all over her body.  Oh Yeah?  She's actually got half a dozen good squirts of
Ivory liquid all over her!  The girls like this because it's not sticky, it
doesn't smell bad after a few hours under hot lights and it doesn't stain
whatever clothing they might be wearing.  Another trade secret is that all the
real cum shots are saved for the end of the photographic session.  After 4-5
hours of manual (and oral) stimulation to maintain an erection for the
pictures, these guys are primed and pressurized!  The motordrives are attached
to the cameras to catch all the action as the guys finally get a chance to
really shoot their wads.  The girls demand and get extra pay for things like
having someone cum on their face or shooting it in their mouth, etc.
Generally, they prefer to have their breasts, buttocks and genitals as the
"target" rather then their face.  Not for any squeamish reluctance to have
someone shooting cum all over them, it seems that semen really stings if it
gets in the eyes!  (See what you can learn by reading text files?)  So, for
about 20 hours of work over two days she would pocket almost $1000 in cash,
and more if she felt like enduring really kinky/painful stuff.  The worst part
of all the bondage/S&M stuff she'd pose for was not the sexual contacts or the
"kinky" stuff like the alligator clips on the nipples.  (Special effects!  The
props I saw were designed NOT to be painful.  The alligator clips were filled
with solder, the teeth filed down and the spring tension reduced.  Then there
was the cat o' nine tails.  Looks like leather, photographs like leather.  Made
of black velvet.  Getting flogged with something like that only hurts if you've
got a really bad sunburn!)  No, what she disliked was the fact that she had to
supply her own lingerie and stockings, which usually wound up soaked with Ivory
and semen and the stockings always wound up getting torn and ripped from the
bondage gear and ropes.  Have you ANY idea how much quality nylon stockings
COST in NYC?  That, and the muscle cramping that came from being tied up for
hours at a time.  Although, as she put it, getting almost 20 thousand dollars a
year, in tax free cash, for two weekends a month of bondage, muscle cramps and
cum-stained garter belts... well, it could be worse!  All things considered, I
have to agree with her.
  _   _   ____________________________________________________________________
/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.......806/794-1842|
 [ x x ] |NIHILISM.............517/546-0585|The Polka AE{PW:KILL} 806/794-4362|
  \   /  |Ripco................312/528-5020|Tequila Willy's GSC...209/526-3194|
  (' ')  |The Works............617/861-8976|Blitzkrieg............502/499-8933|
   (U)   |====================================================================|
  .ooM   |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by THE NIGHTSTALKER      10/31/91-#198|
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.                            FIVE YEARS of cDc|


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