Wolfenstein / Sethra's soon-to-be limited availability. :(

Starting Monday, Sept 12th, I will be moving to 2nd shift. This means that the best I can hope for is an 11PM (server time) log-in. That kills pretty much any Guild event participation from me.

I am not happy about this move and I did not request to move to 2nd shift, but there it is.

There is a possibility that I might have time before 1:30PM to do stuff, but most of y'all will be at work or school. /sigh

That sucks. (But at least you have a job in this economy which is what I tell my husband when he gets irritated at work.)

» Edited on: 2011-09-09 20:40:42

What? Who's going to call me a traitor now? On BOTH sides? *cries* Well, good news is that if you're around early in the morning, or late at night, you'll probably still see us. But dang.

good thing you already won the interwebs :|

» Edited on: 2011-09-10 03:23:01

Ok, so...I fabricate some evidence and get you indicted for some white-collar conspiracy charges (nothing nasty, I promise)...you take a plea in return for prison of choice...we get Fog to allow family contribution points for donating cartons of cigarettes...you use them to bribe the guards so you can play from the prison library during regular raiding times...YAHTZEE!!! Problem solved! Yeah, I know, it's still got a few bugs but we'll work it out. Most important thing is getting you indicted first, and then we can iron out the rest :)

is it wrong that I find that both really cool and super creepy at the same time? is there a briefcase of cash involved?

Swiftsure -- "Ok, so...I fabricate some evidence and get you indicted for some white-collar conspiracy charges (nothing nasty, I promise)...you take a plea in return for prison of choice...we get Fog to allow family contribution points for donating cartons of cigarettes...you use them to bribe the guards so you can play from the prison library during regular raiding times...YAHTZEE!!! Problem solved! Yeah, I know, it's still got a few bugs but we'll work it out. Most important thing is getting you indicted first, and then we can iron out the rest :) " ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Swifty! I'm so down with this! I can be a witness for him! +5 Contribution I can be a witness against him! +10 Contribution Drive the getaway car! +5 Contribution I'll be happy to help in any way I can, perhaps along with the bribe, a little distraction may be in order, maybe a song with a lil wiggle .. I'll use all my my cutsey-cuteness to keep them guards busy <3 .. "Hey there big fella's.. my thats a mighty big gun you've got there! By the way, could any of you help out a poor damsel in a dress .. *wink wink " +50 Contribution Psst - Let me know! I'll be rehearsing at the SHE-man woman haters club all day.. btw -- the guys aren't still mad because we now allow for those who go both ways are they? I mean really, if they allow a She-man like Sethra .. they can't seriously have a problem with a real woman like me, right? .. or .. am I missing something here? ... hmm Let me know! :D

» Edited on: 2011-09-10 12:38:32

Hmmm, 2 things: 1) Will I do any actual "time"? 2) Will I be paid in some fashion? I'd hate to lose my house due to incarceration.

Xomg - u guys are crazy lols. Voolfy - I home school so I play alot in the mornins. My son and I get up at 4-5 am and are usually done by 10 am. So we can play : ).

*Breaks the rusted locks on the solid doors of the old family barn hidden away in the mountains of East Tennesse. Pushing aside stacks of moonshine crates, he sees empty RC Cola cases and Moonpie boxes that bring a bittersweet grin to his face as old memories begin to stir. A stack of Brother Dave Gardner albums still laying on a nearby bench... Horseshoes nailed to the wall... Reaching his hand under layers of family made quilts and blankets he finds and touches the hood of his old getaway car, which much to his regret, has been unused these many years... Feeling the atmosphere change as powerful energy begins to flow from the car into his hand, he carefully clears away the coverings, Sliding in the well preserved black leather driver's side seat he firmly grasps the wheel as a jolt of electricity courses through his frame. He smiles broadly, realizing, she is chastizing him for his absence.... that she lives still and needs to move with him. Named by his father, "Baby Blue", she taught him many lessons of life, helping him escape many times, bringing him back over times gone by and most enjoyable... A '69 Chevy Camaro RS/SS, solid Dusk Blue (metallic) in color, black leather interior, 375 horsepower, Hurst-shifted close-ratio four-speed manual transmission, 415 torque, V-8 402 cu. in., four-barrel carburetor, 8-track tape equipped Beauty..... She soothed him with the memories of her warmly purring engine. And thrilled him with memories of how she leapt so quickly and powerfuly as a Lioness.... She spoke quietly to him now, whispering softly, "The best is yet to come...." She was and always will be the gift, left to him by his father, after Vietnam... Opening the trunk, he pulls out two old briefcases full of cash, and quickly, over a few days time, has her fully restored and ready to move again.... Getaway car's ready my friends... If need be, we can all squeeze in and escape to a warm place under the Sun, a beach I imagine, with sparkling clean water, no worries, no troubles, a place where there is no more pain... Restoring getaway car: +10 Contribution Driving the getaway car: +5 Contribution Escaping to that place under the Sun: number without measure Contribution

» Edited on: 2011-09-11 10:16:41

» Edited on: 2011-09-11 10:20:48

<3 Aeos Love you guys!!! Seth, we can do stuff in the mornings with yas!! Me, Mira and whom ever else we can con into dying for the cause!

a muscle car, a camaro even, 2 briefcases of cash and a relocation to the beach? oh I am so there! can I just come or do I need to be indicted?

Three figures crouch in the moonless dark of an East Tennessee night. Their black-clad bodies are only discernable as a mass of shadow darker than the night around them. They are back to back to back, weapon muzzles trained outward at 2, 6, and 10 o’clock. Rogues, most certainly, or at least the modern equivalent… “Base, Swift Team at checkpoint Tango and holding on your go,” the team leader speaks quietly into the night. “Got you, Swift leader, checking topo now, stand by,” comes the answering voice from a thousand miles away. “Ok, ingress route as briefed, two four two meters on one seven oh degrees, brings you in on insertion point Delta, dry creek bed, covered access to the outbuilding. Sending you the digits now.” The team leader checks his mobile data device. “Got it, moving,” and the three move off as one into the enveloping embrace of the night. They follow the heading base provided, and come to the dry creek bed, following it to the back of an old barn. A new lock on an old door, a telltale that speaks volumes. The team leader sets his teammates out to cover the approaches their surveillance overflights had previously detected. Silicone-based spray for the hinges and door slides, the lock is easily picked and he’s inside and under the back of the vehicle in less than two minutes. “Thank god for good old American steel,“ he thinks to himself as he feels the strong pull of the magnetized base of the tracker. With the unit, no larger than a typical bolt head, firmly attached, the team leader whispers, “Base, Swift1, the eye is open, how copy?” “Roger, Swift1, seven sats and a good signal, batt life 99%, reliability of fix one zero by point two meters, you’re a go. Egress route Victor approved, taxi will be waiting your signal at checkpoint Poppa two two.” “Egress Victor to Poppa two two , roger.” The team leader gives the car a quick pat with a gloved hand, “Drive safely, Baby Blue.” Back outside, the door relocked, the team re-assembles, and makes its way out as quietly as it came, heading towards the waiting helicopter and the start of a long trip home.

nice..... We need a soundtrack for this operation... Try this on for size until we come up with something better.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=531IrWFukDg&feature=related (Blu Mar Ten - All Over Again (Tom Middleton Remix) [HD]) Disregard the silence after 9:40 in to it or so.... I think we were in stealth mode at the time... "lean do chroí"

*Kicking off her shoes after walking in the door, she noticed them. Work boots where there should have been tennis shoes. She knew something was wrong. Why wasn't he at work? Then she saw the note on the table. "Son of a ...!" she read the words, but they were a jumble. Scanning again she saw 'for your safety' and 'your own protection' and she cursed again. "Noble my ass" she thought "and what do I do, join a support group for wives and girlfriends of fugitives?" She stalked through the house, noting what he took with him, trying to get a sense where he was heading. It took her the better part of two hours to decide her fate, and one brief moment to enjoy the exhilaration. Then she got to work. She had once planned this down to the last detail, but that was over 25 years ago... one thing though hadn't changed, and she knew just where to find it. She booted up the desktop and connected to the offshore private VPN while she loaded up her iPod with as much as it could hold. Tasks complete she found the thumb drive, taped to the underside of her desk drawer, the plastic shaved and lovingly wrapped in electrical tape. "Time to say goodnight" she mumbled and slid it into the USB port and rebooted the computer. DBAN was ruthless, destroying everything on the hard drives. They might find something, but she wasn't going to make it easy for them. She did the same to all the other computers, save one. She wasn't leaving without her baby. Grabbing a backpack she stuffed 2 pairs of her favorite jeans inside, she thought about short-sleeved shirts then thought against it and grabbed longer ones "I should have listened to you about being identified by tattoos". Good thing winter was coming and it was cold where she was headed. She grabbed her motorcycle jacket and stuffed the netbook and iPod in last. Assuming she was being listened to, she made a single call then removed the sim card and smashed her beautiful iPhone with a hammer. As a joke, mostly to amuse herself as she left the house, locking the door, she hung her Guy Fawkes mask on the doorknob and drove off. By 7pm she had some cash, a borrowed car and cropped blonde hair. She had to keep reminding herself to stay within the speed limit, she didn't own this car, and since she burned all of her identification it would be tough to explain. She spent the night in Sedona at the B&B he'd remember, her email was well worded. A call came at 10, but it wasn't him, it was Bill Withers singing "Ain't No Sunshine". She cried herself to sleep.*

She treks silently along the path, the breeze tickling her hair, an old friend playing with her tresses. She was in no rush, and stopped frequently, admiring the beauty of her southern surroundings. Never having been to Tennessee before, she gazed wide-eyed at the new scenery, a light smile dancing on her lips. Ah, the joys of new adventure. Advancing towards the old barn, she stooped down, noticing the footprints, visible to her keen eyes, despite the dim lighting of the moonlit sky. Tilting her head, she paused to observe the surroundings, on the lookout for any who might recognize her. The stillness of the air confirmed her safety, allowing her to briskly trot to the outbuilding. Removing the lock with the snap of a bolt-cutter, she stepped lightly into the barn, nodding as she confirmed the vehicle's absence. Reaching into her pocket, she raised the phone to her ear. "Yeah, they're on the way. Exactly as planned." Retreating from the area, she muttered softly under her breath as she disappeared into the darkness. "Call me a spy, will you? You haven't seen ANYTHING yet." ((Screw the contribution points, I don't need no stinking contribution points!))

Very nice.... the soundtrack gradually increases in volume; a bit of traveling music. The look in the eyes of our adventurers soooo.... very determined, resolute and strong... The mission/operation continues... “blu mar ten - she moves through” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMF--_GPUfc&feature=related "lean do chroí"

(*apologies to K.Laumer) Several weeks ago, back at the old family barn…… Sometimes, I think that only the stars visible in this place make continued existence endurable…. There are certainly a great number of them, and I contemplate initiating a counting routine as a means of relieving boredom. As I continue to stand guard in this East Tennessee barn, as I have for these many years, seemly without end, I divert my primary optical sensors skyward, through a skylight in the roof of the barn, and a window facing the Eastern horizon, bringing the Milky Way into focus. An un-resolved "milky" glowing band arching across the sky, I am reminded of a “River of Souls.” Yet, from where this memory comes, I do not know… The sun has set some 8159 seconds ago and the sky is now fully dark… or as dark as it can ever be on this world; Earth, this world is named Earth… How do I know this? The starcloud above, vast, cold, a silvery glitter of billions of sandgrain suns wreathed by black and gilt-edged nebulae, bulks enormous above the eastern horizon, slowly rising with the passing seconds, bathing the surrounding landscape in chill and icy twilight. Something is missing. Where is my Commander? My main core retrieves a visual of my commissioning at General Motors, my Commander by my side… Another visual two years later as my Commander deploys without me, leaving me orders to train and protect his son…. His son, my current Commander…. Where is he? Something is wrong. At Normal Standby operational levels I should feel at least an intense curiosity about my tactical situation, about my current orders, about my reason for being here in this barn, tasked with watching the surrounding area for movement. This is a logical anomaly that I find impossible to resolve, and as ever, it leaves me feeling vaguely uneasy… as though something of critical importance has happened, something that I have forgotten. Forgotten……? I am not capable of forgetting, a phenomenon restricted to organic memories, or to cybernetic systems damaged or deliberately altered. I am…… What am I? I can almost grasp the word. Fragments of memory tease me, elusive, insubstantial. Bolo. That is the word. I am a Bolo, unit BBB-1138, named “Baby Blue by my original Commander,” a Bolo Mark…… Mark…… I cannot remember. I belong to Unit…… The frustration is almost overwhelming. I know that I am a Bolo and that I was designed and constructed in the Bolo Research and Development Division of General Motors in 1969, poured and integrated into a Chevrolet Camaro RS/SS frame for a purpose, a purpose far more complex and important than simply standing guard over this area watching for movement. I know, too, that memory is a precise and specific tool, a part of myself, of my very being, which should not fail in this manner. I know that I should know a very great deal more than I do know, that my primary access to large volumes of information has somehow been blocked. I initiate, for the 13,784th time, a full-scale Level One diagnostic, with special attention to both holographic memory and heuristic functions. This check takes .0356 second and reveals no anomalies. All operations and systems are nominal. I appear to be in perfect working order. And yet, as I have ascertained 13,783 times before, this cannot possibly be an accurate condition assessment. Internal sensors register the presence of numerous anomalies in my drive train. I sense extensive damage to both primary and secondary circuitry, a loss of sensor and communications arrays, crippling failures in my target tracking and battle screen systems, and numerous specific faults and system failures which show a pattern of deliberate and intelligent sabotage rather than the random destruction of battle damage. I note, too, that physical override blocks have been placed within my fusion plant, limiting available power to a fraction of full potential and that all onboard magazines of expendable ordnance are empty. My Infinite Repeaters rattle silently… My primary damage assessment routines indicate nominal operation, while my secondary battle damage sensors show serious internal and external damage, and that all weapons save my antipersonnel batteries are inoperable. The resultant logical contradiction suggests deliberate and hostile intervention. The realization that my systems have been sabotaged rouses me from Normal Awareness to Full Battle Alert; .00026 second later, however, the Commander’s override cuts in and for the 13,784th time, my working memory is erased and…… And…… All operations and systems are nominal. I appear to be in perfect working order…… I continue to look at the stars…… "lean do chroí"

Oh Aeos that last part brought these lyrics to my head! "They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom For trying to change the system from within I'm coming now I'm coming to reward them First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin I'm guided by a signal in the heavens I'm guided by this birthmark on my skin I'm guided by the beauty of our weapons First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin" "First We Take Manhattan" by Leonard Cohen

» Edited on: 2011-09-15 07:26:42

<3 Leonard Cohen's work..... It feels good to be on the move again….. The wind and Sun play delightfully over my endurachrome outer frame as we leave East Tennessee. My fusion plant purrs steadily. Aeos, my commander is where he needs to be, with me, under my protection. Secure inside my command center…. His dnb music flows smoothly through my internal communication systems…. He plays Blu Mar Ten’s “The Feeling” and “Silk Road”….” I approve.….. All is well…. Very well…. The miles stack up behind us….. He reveals new orders, a new purpose…. To rescue friends, escaping and evading as we move to a warm place under the Sun, a beach he imagines, with sparkling clean and clear water, no worries, no troubles, a place, he confirms, where there is no more pain... Last week he had returned me to the Bolo Research and Development Division of General Motors for depot level maintenance, repair and refitting…. All circuitry, systems, sensors, battle screens, internal and external physical damage have been repaired. The physical override blocks have been removed from my fusion plant, allowing access to the full potential of my available power. All onboard magazines of expendable ordnance are fully locked and loaded. My Infinite Repeaters hum softly, silently to the ears of all, save me… I initiate a full-scale Level One diagnostic, with special attention to both holographic memory and heuristic functions. This check takes .0156 second and reveals only one anomaly, full primary access, to large volumes of information stored on my main core, the personality center, the damage control core and the survival center, has still not been restored….. Fragments of memory tease me, a visual display appears on my internal survival center battle screen; a city in flames…. Aeos safe inside my command center…… Meridian? Where is Meridian? I make a note, to discuss this with Aeos, however, .00026 second later, his override cuts in and this note is erased and…… And….. All operations and systems are nominal. I appear to be in perfect working order. It feels good to be on the move again….. "lean do chroí"

Project Hasslehoff was something of an internet meme. It began on 4chan in 2005 with a poster named GrnG0blin claiming to have received some documents under the freedom of information act that outlined a program under the Johnson Administration of "super" cars being designed and tested for military use. The forum pounced on it and the project was born. What it evolved into was a free-for-all ultimate car designing frenzy of coders, weapon zealots, car buffs, engineers and every guy who ever mounted G.I. Joe missles onto his model cars. GrnG0blin's rumored find was held in the same esteem as Roswell aliens and that was fine with The Five. The Five was the name given to the five most respected and proven coders in the group who were given the section of code GrnG0blin posessed, his discovery fueling the drive to find more code and unlock it's secrets. The Five quickly grew to a dozen, then two, with hackers brought on board to plumb the depths of the U.S. automaker's vaults. Frakt3l was the girl's handle, she wasn't a coder or a hacker, not really. Hacking didn't require much skill when The Five had provided her all the tools she'd need. No, Frakt3l was a finder, her gift was seeing patterns in randomness, when digging through 40 year old paperwork, you needed someone with a particular skillset, one who could bring order from the chaos; and she did. Several months ago she was deep into the General Motors Archive when she found the breadcrumb and followed the trail. Another Five worked the decryption and yet another kept the intrusion undetected, but she was the one who found the grail of code, and she'd grinned for days. Not smiling anymore, she raced up the canyon on her cousin's motorcycle, the car she'd borrowed, abandoned in Flagstaff for her friend to retrieve. A cousin who she'd helped through his drug addiction years before was only too happy to leave her his bike and a helmet with zero notice. He didn't ask questions, she didn't offer explanations, just a hug and she was off. 25 minutes up the mountain pass, her ears popped and the air turned sharply colder, she took a side road, another 10 minutes and she rolled the bike past the rusty chain that stood as a gate. The key was always under first stone on the path that wound a quarter mile to the river, she wiped it on her jeans and let herself into her grandfather's cabin. Unlike so many of it's neighbors, this was a hunting cabin split log and rustic. Built by her grandfather and his best friend. They'd run power up here and there was a phone and running water, but no television, no satellite, no heat even. She brought the bike around back to the large deck, and covered it with the filthy tarp used to keep the firewood dry. She felt safe for the first time in days.



» Edited on: 2011-09-15 07:18:01

/dontleavemehangingbump

Restless…. Stressed feelings of anxiety run through my systems…. Why? All is well my diagnostic scans tell me… All operations and systems are nominal. I appear to be in perfect working order…. Yet the hint of trouble, as if a storm cloud appearing slowly on the horizon, begins to creep into my thought processing cycles…. My main core retrieves a soothing video… Perhaps I need not heed these warning signs just yet. My systems remain at Normal Awareness… I resist the urge to Alert Aeos of my feelings… I resist the urge to move to Full Battle Alert…. I focus on our new orders, our new purpose…. To rescue friends, escaping and evading as we move to a warm place under the Sun, a beach, with sparkling clean and clear water, no worries, no troubles, a place, where there is no more pain... It feels good to be on the move again….. "lean do chroí"

I am truly enjoying the stories here folks! Please keep it up!

» Edited on: 2011-09-23 00:05:56

The call came early one morning; a single ring. She began to pack up, starting with the box she'd freed from the foundation of the cabin where she'd hidden it so many years before. Her 'time capsule' was from a much darker time. The idea of escaping from her upper-middle suburban nightmare existence had teased her for years before she started planning to actually do it. Money she should have saved for college, money she got by whatever means she had to, books she was certain she'd need. 'How to Disappear Completely' so dog eared and worn she was suprised it had held up this long, but the plan to leave solidified just after her friend Brenda died. She'd known Brenda since kindergarten, as she had most of her circle of friends, sometime in junior high Bren got Lupus, midway through their freshman year in high school Brenda died. A project was decided on, a scrapbook of memories for her funeral, all of her friends sharing stories, pictures and mementos. In the large box of Brenda's keepsakes her mother brought were photo books, yearbooks and sandwiched between the pages her birth certificate and social security number. It haunted her for years that she took them, even though she reasoned that where Bren was she didn't need them and that knowing her, she'd appreciate them being used to serve a higher purposed. Still, she couldn't dodge the feeling she'd stolen from a friend. Brenda was long dead now, but the passport and driver's license obtained with her name were still current. Although she'd planned to leave and never look back, she found with age came empowerment and when she could leave she did, and now that it was her choice to come back, she returned home every few years for a wedding, a funeral and a quick stop to the DMV to keep everything current. Her last visit, three months back had added plastic wrapped bundles of cash to the time capsule, none of it she trusted, it wasn't hers and it felt cursed, but she packed that into her backpack just the same, along with her regular clothes. On a trip to a local laundromat she'd 'liberated' a couple of items from the college students who frequented there. One of her favorite things about BYU was how trusting everyone was, especially if you looked like you belonged. Fr4ct3l had years of practice looking like she fit in, it was only on the inside she knew the truth. Giving a last glance to her now auburn hair and her new 'mom returning to college' look, she loaded the bike's saddlebags and headed down the canyon into Provo and the heart of BYU. The bike safely stowed and her persona intact she swung her 'stylish but not rich' tote bag over her shoulder with all her school supplies inside. Her used textbooks she carried, and tried to look a little frazzled but determined (which worked because it's almost exactly how she felt). She sliped into the library on the heels of a throng of girls chatting animatedly about an upcoming Halloween party. Scanning the tables briefly she found hers, wall at her back, a small table easily filled with her books and most importantly in plain sight. Lurking in a corner may feel more secure, but hiding in plain sight was the easiest way to go undetected. She pulled her now Hello Kitty and sparkle covered netbook from her tote bag, wincing at how it looked and muttering a silent apology to the daemon spirit who was surely offended by the pink, plugged in her thumb drive and booted up her install of Paranoid Linux. She arranged her workspace to give the appearance of someone buried neck deep in homework, hoping that would disuade any would be friendliness. Logging onto the secure network via one of many spoofed MACAdresses and fake NetID and passwords she culled during an hour at the laundromat and Starbucks over an open network connection, she launched Paranoid's countermeasures. A system that probed the network looking for 'watchers' while at the same time feeding network chatter and chaff that looks like harmless web traffic. Once satisfied she was safe, she opened her KeePass file, copied the 27 character password and accessed her hushmail account. Once she had the address of the secure network she logged in and found things well underway. For years the coding group had toiled with the Bolo code, determining not only what it was capable of doing but whether or not the fusion reactor at the core was actually viable. Once it was determined that not only was it possible it was still active (albiet damaged) the debate began. Certain flaws existed in the code, either put there by the originally programmer (who perished in a car accident in 1970) or just sloppy writing. Bolo needed to be patched. Once the car was found (if it was found) it would need to be updated and patched. The one thing the group collectively agreed on was that this technology couldn't belong to one government or one company, it had to be let loose into the wild; it belonged to the world. Now the question was how to get it to them. She wasn't brilliant, but Fr4ct3l had her moments. During the discussion of how best to 1) roll out the patch to the Bolo vehicle and 2) how to spread the word, the group decided they needed a satellite. While the debate raged on around her, whose satellite to use, who would be easiest, who would have the strongest signal, she had an epiphany. "Use the Mormon's satellite" she said, surprising herself a little that she would jump into the fray. The idea was pretty beautiful in it's simplicity. The LDS church had their own satellite, they used it to broadcast around the planet, each neighborhood church had a dish to receive it, they had their own massive network structure already. Some hesistated because they knew, like most churches the security was second only to the government, but she saw what they didn't. She understood that while the church itself was a fortress, the end users, the nice folks at home, weren't. They could exploit the culture that trusted each other; and so the worm was launched. She set it free across the BYU secure wifi, it travelled to the mail servers @myldsmail.net to missionaries in foreign countries and back again to their families at home. It took less than a month before they had root on the satellite. Today was the day they would release the code into the wild, update the Bolo, and if all went well paint Baby Blue's GPS coordinates all across the planet. Counting on the geek mob to keep Blue safe. If the car was a target, they'd make her the largest target possible. Fr4ct3l crossed her fingers and waited.

*disclaimer* My apologies to the LDS church and the many nice people who follow it's path. It wasn't personal, just possible. ;) Paranoid Linux is featured in the book Little Brother by Cory Doctorow which if you haven't read it, you should. Even better, join us in donating copies to schools who have no budget for books. For research: KeePass Hushmail Paranoid Linux Hacking a Bird in the Sky Satellite Hacking for fun and Profit (from a white hat hacker convention)

» Edited on: 2011-09-24 08:13:52

Short update: No, you haven't been hallucinating. This week and next week, I will be back on 1st shift. I might make it to the end of the month, but sadly, this isn't permanent. :(

Look on the bright side - you HAVE a job and the ability to do it! Some of us are disabled that or don't have a job, but in either case rather be productively working.

Ba da Bump! For the Holidaze....