1997-09-09 - InfoWar / Steal This Mind / Part III of ‘The True Story of the InterNet

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From: “Dave Null” <dave_null@hotmail.com>
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Message Hash: 95c8e56991588677b1d4ab0443772aa95455d1a555075053bc15d114e06a5e44
Message ID: <19970909111003.402.qmail@hotmail.com>
Reply To: N/A
UTC Datetime: 1997-09-09 11:22:58 UTC
Raw Date: Tue, 9 Sep 1997 19:22:58 +0800

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From: "Dave Null" <dave_null@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 9 Sep 1997 19:22:58 +0800
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: InfoWar / Steal This Mind / Part III of 'The True Story of  the    InterNet
Message-ID: <19970909111003.402.qmail@hotmail.com>
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<TITLE>The True Story of the Internet Part II</TITLE>

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2.04z">
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<HR>
<HR>
<P>
<CENTER><U><FONT COLOR=#0000FF>The True Story of the InterNet
<BR>
Part III<BR>
</FONT></U></CENTER>
<P>
<CENTER><B><FONT SIZE=7 COLOR=#800000>Info</FONT><FONT SIZE=7 
COLOR=#FF0000>War</FONT></B></CENTER>
<P>
<CENTER><U><B><FONT SIZE=4>Final Frontier of the Digital 
Revolution</FONT></B></U></CENTER>
<P>
<CENTER><U><B><FONT SIZE=2 COLOR=#800000>Behind the ElectroMagnetic
Curtain<BR>
</FONT></B></U></CENTER>
<P>
<CENTER><FONT SIZE=2>by <I><B>TruthMonger &lt;tm@dev.null&gt;
<BR>
<BR>
</B></I></FONT></CENTER>
<P>
<FONT SIZE=2>Copyright 1997 Pearl Publishing</FONT>
<HR>
<HR>
<P>
<CENTER><A NAME="TOC"><U><B>InfoWar Table of Contents<BR>
</B></U></A></CENTER>
<UL>
<LI>Steal This Mind!
<BR>
</UL>
<HR>
<P>
<CENTER><A NAME="Chapter_3"><B>Steal This Mind!</B></A></CENTER>
<HR>
<P>
The wild-eyed, disheveled figure sat hunched over the keyboard
of his laptop, frantically seeking meaning in the words that lay
before him.
<P>
Who was he? What was his name? Why couldn't he remember?<BR>
Was it the doctors? It <B>had</B> to be the doctors, that was
the only explanation.
<P>
<I>&quot;Hello, Arnold. How are you fooling today?&quot;</I>
<P>
The man furtively lowered the screen on his laptop, hiding his
important work from the prying eyes of the doctor. (<I>&quot;I
won't be fooled again.&quot;</I> he vowed to himself, <I>&quot;no
matter <B>who</B> I am.&quot;</I>)
<P>
<I>&quot;Hello, Dr. the Platypus.&quot;</I> Arnold (he knew that
wasn't his <B>real</B> name) said, cautiously.
<P>
<I>&quot;Peas, call me ?.&quot; </I>the doctor replied, with a
warm, caring smile.<I> <BR>
</I>The doctor nodded toward the laptop, saying, <I>&quot;Oar
ewe still having those confusions about being 'ewe know who'?&quot;</I>
<P>
Arnold <B>hated</B> it when the doctors did this&#133;teasing
him about his memory loss in regard to who was <B>really</B>,
on the InterNet, where a person could still be free&#133;could
still be anything he wanted to be, as long as he was a cleaver
forager. (<I>&quot;Damn!&quot; </I>thought Arnold. <I>&quot;now
he's got <B>me</B> doing it, too. I have to resist.&quot;</I>
)<BR>
<I>&quot;I'll ask the CypherPunks who I am.&quot; </I>Arnold said,
defiantly. <I>&quot;They are my friends.&quot;</I>
<P>
Dr. ? the Platypus roared out in laughter, shaking his head in
disbelief that this lunatic was so far out of touch with reality.
He decided that it would be rude to have all the fun himself,
so he turned to the grouchy old man who had just sat down beside
him and said, <I>&quot;Well, I think Arnold needs a second opinion.
What do <B>you</B> think, Doctor May?&quot;</I>
<P>
A 34<SUP>th</SUP> degree Mason, Dr. Tim C. May knew that it would
be cruel to feed this deranged crackpot's delusions&#133;so he
proceeded to do so.<BR>
<I>&quot;Of <B>course</B> they are your friends, Arnold. That's
why they have agreed to help us with your treatment.&quot;<BR>
</I>Dr. May smiled at Dr. the Platypus, who was grinning from
ear to ear, and continued.<BR>
<I>&quot;We told them that mentioning 'you know who' on the CypherPunk
mailing list would only feed your illusions of grandeur, so your
dear, dear friends, the CypherPunks, have agreed not to tell you
the name of your imaginary InterNet persona.&quot;</I>
<P>
Arnold was pouting, now. He knew they were making fun of him.
<BR>
<I>&quot;You're lying!&quot; </I>he said. <I>&quot;I'm no 
foal!&quot;</I>
<P>
Dr. the Platypus laughed loudly, once again, at this sign that
his treatments were having the desired affect on Arnold's grammar.
<BR>
<I>&quot;Berry good, Arnold. Ewe are doing much bladder, but I
thank we will have to increase the number of your agraphia treat
mints just the same. As a matter of fact, we have already called
in a specialist to augment your electroshock treat mints with
a special toilet plunger technique developed at the Mayonnaise
Clinic in Forest Hills, NY, by some very experienced police 
sturgeons.&quot;</I>
<P>
<I>&quot;His name is Hun.&quot;</I> Dr. May added. <I>&quot;Dr.
Attila T. Hun.&quot;</I>
<P>
The two doctors laughed heartily, once again sending Arnold into
a fit of stubborn insolence.
<P>
<I>&quot;I'll find out from the Magic Circle.&quot;</I> Arnold
stated boldly, <I>&quot;They'll tell me. I'm a very important
person. I'm writing Part III of 'The True Story of the InterNet'
for them. I am calling it &quot;Space Aliens Hide My Drugs.&quot;</I>
<P>
Arnold was relieved to see Dr. Back, joining the group gathered
at his table. Even in his confused state, he was certain that
Dr. Back was on his side. He was a good man.
<P>
Dr. Adam Back put his arm around Arnold tenderly, and looked into
his eyes with deep concern, saying, <I>&quot;I'm afraid that I
have some bad news for you, Arnold.&quot;<BR>
</I>He paused for a moment, smiling at the other doctors, and
then continued, <I>&quot;Part III is titled 'InfoWar.' It is being
written by a wide variety of people, just like Part I and Part
II.&quot;</I>
<P>
Dr. Back's eyes then grew cold and hard as he leaned closer to
Arnold, until they sat face to face, only inches between them.
<BR>
In a steadily rising voice he told Arnold, <I>&quot;It's going
to be about <B>real</B> CypherPunks<B> </B>and <B>real</B> members
of the Magic Circle, not about some <B>stupid</B>, Carpetbagging,
rude, insane <B>interloper</B> who <B>couldn't carry the Jockstrap
of REAL members of the CypherPunks and the Magic Circle. DO YOU
UNDERSTAND!!??</B>&quot;<BR>
</I>
<P>
Arnold was shaking in his boots, clutching his laptop in his arms
as if it were a magic talisman which could spirit him away, back
to the virtual reality of the InterNet, where he was safe. His
body began twitching and he fell to the floor, beginning to shake
violently.
<P>
<I>&quot;He's having another fit!&quot; </I>Dr. the Platypus cried
out to a nearby aide. <I>&quot;Quick, get the toilet plunger.&quot;</I>
<P>
The aide rushed over with the toilet plunger, as Dr. Tim C. May
said, <I>&quot;Now place it between his teeth, so he doesn't bite
his tongue.&quot;</I>
<P>
The aide looked at the vile, feces encrusted handle on the toilet
plunger and asked, hesitantly, <I>&quot;Are you sure that's a
good idea, Dr. May?&quot;</I>
<P>
Dr. ? the Platypus put his hand on the aide's shoulder, to reassure
him.<BR>
<I>&quot;It's OK, Dr. May is TruthMonger. Trust him&#133;&quot;
<BR>
</I>
<P>
<FONT SIZE=2>Copyright 1997 Dave Null Publishing</FONT>
<P>
<FONT SIZE=2>Dave Null &lt;dave_null@hotmail.com&gt;</FONT>
<HR>
<P>
<CENTER><A HREF="http://bureau42.base.org/public/xenix">&quot;The Xenix 
Chainsaw Massacre&quot;</A></CENTER>
<P>
<CENTER><A 
HREF="http://bureau42.base.org/public/webworld">&quot;WebWorld &amp; the 
Mythical Circle of Eunuchs&quot;</A></CENTER>
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