Here’s some interesting reading for those who are techno savvy. Even if you don’t consider yourself a computer person, this would still make a pretty interesting read.
The original author is German. This is the translated version:
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English version: Anatomy of a digital pest – Apparently this trojan is allowed to do absolutely anything
Folks, I’d like to sing a song about the American dream.
About me, about you, about the way our American hearts beat way down in the bottom of our chests. About the special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts, maybe below the cockles, maybe in the sub-cockle area, maybe in the liver, maybe in the kidneys, maybe even in the colon. We don’t know…
I’m just a regular Joe with a regular job.
I’m your average white suburbanite slob.
I like football and porno and books about war.
I’ve got an average house with a nice hardwood floor.
My wife and my job, my kids and my car.
My feet on my table and a Cuban cigar.
But sometimes that just ain’t enough to keep a man like me interested (oh no) no way (uh-uh). No, I’ve gotta go out and have fun at someone else’s expense.
(oh yeah) yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.
I drive really slow in the ultra-fast lane,
While people behind me are going insane.
I’m an asshole (He’s an asshole, what an asshole)
I’m an asshole (He’s an asshole, such an asshole)
I use public toilets and piss on the seat,
I walk around in the summertime saying “How about this heat?”
I’m an asshole (He’s an asshole, what an asshole)
I’m an asshole (He’s the world’s biggest asshole)
Sometimes I park in handicapped spaces,
While handicapped people make handicapped faces.
I’m an asshole (He’s an asshole, what an asshole)
I’m an asshole (He’s a real fucking asshole)
Man oh man, I had one insane day.
It started something like this:
I over slept, late for my first meeting. On the way to the first meeting, I tried my best to rush. Unfortunately for my brand new shirt, Karma had a surprise in store for me.
On the way to the meeting, at the client, I squeeze past one of the cleaners. My shirt gets stuck on the ol’ wire that’s hanging there and all the buttons got ripped off. I exhale slowly, count to twenty and try my best to stay calm.
I walk over to the MD’s secretary and ask for her stapler. I staple my shirt and proceed to the meeting.
Meeting done, still a bit agitated I get into my car. On the way to the client, I stopped at a fuel station and bought a coke, a snickers and a packet of Tac biscuits. I haven’t had Tac biscuits for a while so I start crushing the packet. I prefer to crush the contents of the packet and then tear open a small hole where I then “eat and enjoy”. Once again, Karma had a different set-up configured.
I crush the packet, tear the edge and everything spills out into my lap. The son of a starbeast packet that I tore was the exact same spot where you tear to open up the side of the packet. I, unfortunately, didn’t know this. I exhale really slowly and count to 40.
I get out of the car, brush all the crumbs(and my breakfast) off my lap and get back into the car.
I get to the next client, the UPS guys are installing a new 8kva UPS for the client. They connect the UPS wrong and blow the DB. Don’t ask me how, I don’t care but they fucked it up. The electrician comes out, fixed the DB and the UPS guys get a new UPS. The new server installation is moved to next week. Great, just what I wanted.
I enter the Total Irritation Vortex.
I get in the car and leave. I go home, I do not go to jail, I do not collect $200. I feel like killing Mr Custard in the Billiard Room with the Candle Stick.
I decided that it’s time to break away from otwww.net and figured, why not in the Cyber as in the Real?
So, here we go.
Busy moving everything over and will then at some point redirect http://zaptoid.owntheworldwideweb.net to http://www.zz9.co.za.
I was approached a couple of weeks back by a friend who asked me why I don’t blog any more. The lady was quite upset. This irritated me so I’m going to explain this once and for all to all of you fuckers. In case you were wondering, the people sending me emails complaining about the content on the site, this applies to you too.
I do not blog. I do not call myself a blogger. A blogger is someone who actually blogs. I would go as far as saying that a blogger contributes something valuable via their blog to the/a community. A blogger is someone who blogs REGULARLY. This means that you cannot be a blogger if you, like me, add content when you feel like it. A blogger cares about your input. A blogger takes facts or fiction, adding a little of their own unique twist to it and then presenting it in digital form.
This is not what I do. I do not blog. I do not care what your views are. I do not post regularly. I take my thoughts and put it into a digital form. My thoughts are mostly uneducated guesses bathed in wild speculation sautéed in a thick, weed soup. If my posts are offensive to you, your race, your religion or your mother, you are more than welcome to close the page and fume as much as you want. Stop sending me your complaint emails. As much as I appreciate the fact that you’re reading my thoughts, I honestly do not care what your thoughts/views/dreams are.
So, in short; shut the fuck up, dickwads.