From: Bubba Rom Dos <bubba@dev.null>
Date: Sat, 19 Apr 1997 13:46:41 -0700 (PDT)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: WebWorld 36
Message-ID: <33592F61.2004@dev.null>
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Title: The True Story of the InterNet







The True Story of the InterNet

Part II


WebWorld & the Mythical 'Circle of Eunuchs'


by Arnold


Copyright 1995, 1996, 1997 Pearl Publishing


Cyphernomicon


Cron stood waiting at the entrance to the Council Chambers as
the limousine bearing the Cowboy pulled up to the curb. Two veteran
members of the Dark Forces elite stood ready to open the rear
doors. As the limousine came to a stop, however, the driver's
door opened, and the Cowboy stepped out to greet them.
"I hope I'm not late." the Cowboy exclaimed congenially
as he bounded up the steps. He stood face to face with the dreaded
Cron and added, "I'd hate to keep such an important gentleman
as the Shadow waiting."

The Shadow's countenance was blazing with an internal rage as
the Cowboy made his entrance, flagged by a half-dozen members
of the Dark Forces. Schultz was nowhere to be seen and the Shadow
had realized immediately that the Cowboy was here of his own volition.

His face grew even darker as the Cowboy smiled fondly at Bubba,
Priscilla, Alexis and Jonathan. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully
wrong. The Shadow struggled to maintain his composure as his heart
sank.

The mass of people in the back of the Great Hall, who had been
rounded up at Bubba's safe house began conversing in quiet tones
which rose to become a great murmur, resounding through the hall.

"Quiet!" Gomez screamed, quickly reducing their conversations
to near silence.

The Cowboy rose the few steps leading to the podium and stood
beside the Shadow, smiling benignly.
"Sorry if I'm a tad late," the Cowboy said, "but
Mr. Schultz's directions were a little vague." He stood,
waiting, for the Shadow's reply.

"Why don't we all have a drink." the Shadow responded,
playing for time while he endeavored to read what this startling
train of events portended. He motioned the Cowboy and his small
group of friends toward the bar.
They moved, as a group, toward the bar at the back of the hall,
with Priscilla, Alexis and Jonathan showing signs of extreme trepidation
and unease. The Cowboy and Bubba, however, seemed quite at ease,
despite being deep within the Inner Sanctum of the Evil One and
the Dark Forces.
The Cowboy stood silent, sipping his drink, obviously waiting
for the Shadow to begin the conversation. Gomez realized that
it was himself who was in the dark, and conceded his position.

"I presume that you have been engaged in some sort of activity
since your release from Nuthouse Number Nine." the Shadow
ventured.

"Not at all." came the Cowboy's truthful reply.

The Shadow was wary, but he knew that the Cowboy was not playing
games.
"So your situation hasn't changed then, has it?", the
Shadow continued, but he instinctively knew that the answer he
was about to hear was not one that he desired.

"The situation has changed immensely," the Cowboy replied,
nodding to Jonathan, who broke out in an ear-to-ear grin, "and
I'm sure that your guests," he nodded toward the masses at
the back of the hall, "would appreciate your announcing that
the banquet you have prepared is ready for them to sup from."

The Shadow burned inside with a violent fury, but he realized
that the Cowboy was, once again, making him 'pay to play.' The
Cowboy would not be forthcoming with the information that he wanted
unless the Shadow conceded this small concession.
"I could have them shot." the Shadow contended, not
willing to concede so easily.

"All the more to confirm the existence of the Magic Circle
to those outside this room." the was the Cowboy's unsmiling
retort to the Shadow's threat.

"Seat our guests." the Shadow shouted to his
minions, waving in the direction of the startled mass of people
at the back of the Great Hall, and snapped his fingers at Cron,
pointing toward the tables which had been set in preparation for
the Dark Forces grand feast following their victory.
Cron rushed to the kitchen to set the staff in motion.

"Thank you." the Cowboy responded graciously, and then
turned to Jonathan, who spoke slowly and clearly, despite the
fact that he was obviously shaking in his boots.
"Excuse me Mr. ...," Jonathan realized he wasn't
sure how to address the person to whom he was speaking, "...Sir,
but I think that perhaps you should check your recent CyberPosts."
He stopped, and receiving no reply, added, "I believe that
there is a message of common interest to all of us."

The Shadow placed his thumb upon the Identity Verification module
of a nearby GraphiCube and hit the CyberPost update key. The screen
leapt to life, and the Shadow found himself confronted with a
ghost from the past.

>From - Sun, Jan 19 7:09:00 1997
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Date: Sun, 19 Jan 1997 08:40:04-800
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
>From "Timothy C. May<tcmay@got.net>
Subject: To Whom It 'May' Concern
Reply-To: "Timothy C. May"<tcmay@got.net>
Sender: owner-cypherpunks@toad.com

"We have met the enemy, and he is us."

--Tim May

Just say "No" to "Big Brother Inside"
We got computers, we're tapping phone lines, I know that ain't
allowed.
---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:

Timothy C. May----------- | Crypto
Anarchy: encryption, digital money
tcmay@got.net-------------| anonymous
networks, digital pseudonyms, zero
W.A.S.T.E.: Corralitos, CA | knowledge, reputations, information
markets
Higher Power: 2^1398269 -| black markets,
collapse of governments. 
"National borders aren't even speed bumps on the information
superhighway.
---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:---------:


The Shadow spun around furiously to face the small group, once
again, only to be met by the last thing he had expected to see,
after all these years, as Jonathan finished rolling up the sleeve
of his shirt.
A slight, but audible, groan came from the depth of Gomez's bowels,
rising to a fever-pitched scream that was inaudible, but which
showed in every fiber of his being, nonetheless.
The Mark of the Toad.

CypherPunks! The one group of misfits that he had always watched
with the utmost concern, deeming their group, if any, to be the
one that might harbor the secret lair of the Circle of Eunuchs.

The Shadow had brought all of his agents to bear on this interminably
insolent group of anarchists, searching for any sign, for the
slightest indication, that they were acting in concert, as a unit,
to foil the plans of the Evil One. Every indication had been that
they were indeed just a rag-tag band of anarchists, shooting themselves,
and each other, in the foot, as they railed ceaselessly against
forces that they ill-understood.

"You only had time to send a single post, before you and
Alexis fled to the safe house." the Shadow proffered, hoping
against hope that he was right. "You and she were monitored
the whole time. We only let you proceed in order to let you lead
us to the others."
"You sent just a single post." the Shadow reiterated.

"And I'm the fucking Pope." Jonathan shot back, resurrecting
a favorite phrase of his late grandfather, knowing that the Shadow
would be well versed in the nuances of his grandfather's verbal
proclivities.

He couldn't help rubbing it in a bit, saying, "The Anonymous
Remailers and the SpamBots are a marriage made in Heaven, even
when they're named Lucifer."
Jonathan knew that the Shadow wouldn't miss the significance of
the remailer whose historical address was lucifer@dhp.com.

The Shadow shot Jonathan a fiery stare which would melt the soul
of most any mortal, and realized that Jonathan was protected from
his gaze by the certitude that comes from speaking the truth.

Nevertheless, he instinctively turned to the GraphiCube once again,
and drew up the next CyberPost.

To: cypherpunks@toad.com
From: TruthMonger <tm@dev.null>
X-Mailer: WinSock Remailer Version ALPHA1.3B
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X- SpamHeader: "_fuck_you_morons_"
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X-Comments: - "They'll take my cryptography when they pry
it from 
X-Comments: - my cold, dead algorithms."
X-Comments: - Cyphernomicon

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Subject: Make Big $$$ Licking Your Own Dick
Sender: owner-cypherpunks@toad.com

_fuck_you_morons_

How would you like to MAKE BIG $$$ while doing
what you're already doing every single day-SITTING AT HOME, LICKING
YOUR OWN DICK?

Sure, I know what you're thinking. This sounds
TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE, right?
Well, friend...


The Shadow had seen enough to realize that the messages had undoubtedly
been spread far and wide. Those who failed to recognize the significance
of the Tim May post would certainly recognize the work of the
Doctors of Spamology--Vulis, Grubor...whoever. While the CypherPunks
had been relegated to the status of dusty, villainous legends
in the minds of most of humanity, Spamology had never lost its
status as a pleasant pastime for the lower primates, and the Evil
Doctors, as they were known in their own time, were now regaled
as heros who had battled the traitorous CypherPunks.

The Shadow turned to the Cowboy, once again, attempting to hide
his discomfiture, and said, blandly, "So what do you propose
that we do now, Cowboy?"

"We eat, we drink, and then we all go home." the Cowboy
replied, matter-of-factly. "Then we wake up in the morning
and we continue the game, as before."

The Shadow stood in silence, contemplating his options, but every
way that he figured it, the reality of what the Cowboy said was
obvious.
Slaughtering those assembled here would only help to spread rumors
on the outside of the true existence of the Circle of Eunuchs
as a real, existing force that was joined in battle with the Evil
One and his Dark Forces. It would inspire others to join in the
battle-unknown others in unknown places, picking up the torches
that they deemed to have been dropped by the martyrs that would
be created if the Shadow followed his natural inclination to eliminate
these troublesome pests.

If he let them return to their dreary, boring lives, then he could
counter whatever reports they made to others by engaging the momentous
forces of disinformation that he had at his disposal. If everything
continued as before, then their wild-eyed claims would be no better
received than those of the drunken fool, Bubba Rom Dos. They would
be nothing more than additional, unbalanced voices, crying in
the wilderness.
And in time, even most of those involved in this whole affair
would begin to doubt its reality, themself. It would become just
another fuzzy dream as their minds drifted back into the group
consiousness around them-a massive gravitational pull that would
return them into the passive mind-set desired by the Evil One.

The Shadow turned to the small group awaiting his response, and
said, perfunctorily,
"Tomorrow, we begin again."

The Shadow turned and stalked off to his private quarters at the
back of the Great Hall, leaving an icy trail of aloofness behind
him.


Chapter 36 - Cyphernomicon