From: John Young <jya@pipeline.com>
Date: Fri, 14 Nov 1997 03:42:54 +0800
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: Re: Tim May's offensive racism (was: about RC4)
Message-ID: <1.5.4.32.19971113192235.00c03744@pop.pipeline.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain



Anonymous of EFGA wrote:

>This illustrates what a liability the poster has become to the cypherpunks.
>The group is becoming just another militia front, identified with racism
>and white supremacy, applauding violent murder of government agents,
>one step from applauding the Oklahoma killings.  Its original purpose
>all but forgotten, the list has died, poisoned by the hatred flowing from
>its leader.

Wait a minute, that list is way too short. This list is far more diversely
mean-spirited, and venomously hilarious, than that. It offers a lot more 
hatred and humor than you give credit for, or maybe can enjoy.

All praise to Tim, beloved mad as hell assassin, he's one of the sharpest 
killer humorists-satirists here, call's the jokes and the buffoons as he sees 
them, insults hot shot leaders and fawning beggars indiscriminately.
Hate and love on both Glocks.

Check the anarchives: Tim's no leader, says it often, proves it more so
by destroying anyone who pretends to be, scares off anyone who tries 
to suck up to him for protection, and promises to kill (filter) the
bloodsuckers 
if they send PGPed tips. Kill them with ridicule for not thinking for 
themselves, paying their own way, lapping others' blood and brains. If 
that doesn't work he tells a public joke about their overtures. Then the 
anon shits fly.

Is he not these very days razzing the big iron folks, taunting the tank
in Tienamen Square? We'll yet see some anon turds for this, too,
maybe yours is one.

Some have weird sense of playfulness, cut your throat to see you flop.
Call you a leader, a bullseye target.

Hettinga, helluva beloved Bob, another bleeding edge satirist, self-flagellator
for philo-fun and E$, this is adose of clap also for your exemplary rant of a
schtick of a buffoonery of a calling them as you deadeyedly see them
miraging the desert of Maine.