From: Ulf =?iso-8859-1?Q?M=F6ller?= <ulf@fitug.de>
Date: Fri, 23 Oct 1998 04:14:40 +0800
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: Re: The latest news from Toto
In-Reply-To: <199810220055.VAA32173@privacy.nb.ca>
Message-ID: <19981022211139.39659@ulf.mali.sub.org>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain



> * Oh, yeah! If someone could mail me copies of the FPP stuff, it would be
> nice, since the Shrink Rapper has copies and I don't. (The IRS is sending
> it to him as part of his punishment for laughing at my jokes...)
> 
> If anyone knows what he's referring to, reply to the cpunks list and I'll
> get in touch personally, or just mail it to him directly.

Date: Fri, 25 Sep 1998 23:30:09 +0200
Message-Id: <199809252130.XAA24262@replay.com>
From: Anonymous <nobody@replay.com>
To: cypherpunks@toad.com

                       Flowers for Alger Anon
                                       - FPP#3

  The two youths ducked quickly behind a tree to avoid
being spotted by the senile old fart who had finally given up
on finding his shoes and climbed barefoot up the step-ladder
to begin drilling out the cannon muzzle on the War Surplus
Army Tank he had recently acquired.
  As he labored he mumbled grouchily to himself about
how he was going to "show that Commie Bastard, Igor", and all
of the other former residents of The Home(TM) what he thought
of their efforts to take over "his" CypherPunks Mailing List.

  "Distributed, my ass!" the old fart scowled as he
climbed down the ladder, then grinned madly as he patted the
stack of shells sitting next to the tank.
  "I'll distribute those bastards...They should'a
Checked The Archives", he said, pausing to scratch his head
and add, "TradeMark". Then continuing, "before they fucked
with me. Then they'da seen how I ChopChopped them Torah-
Torah Bastards when they tried to muscle in on my list."

  "It's 'mine'!" the grouchy, paranoid old fart shouted,
turning his head around quickly in all directions, as if
challenging, and half-expecting, Unseen Beings to dispute
his claim.

  The two youngsters ducked and tried not to giggle
as they ran down the hill, finally collapsing on the dirt
road near the bottom and venting their laughter.

  Tim C. May was the most hilarious of the Cypher
Punks they'd investigated so far, but 'all' of the CPUNX
were "more than suitable", as Carol Anne Cypherpunk had
declared while they were evaluating Jim Choate, "for slicing
and buttering, and placing on a tray of Christmas snacks."
  Blanc Weber had agreed heartily with the new
coconspirator (sometimes spelled with a hyphen), in their
'Quest to Question Anonymity', as the Army o' Dog-Bitch
Battallion Warrior Godesses, as they had proclaimed them-
selves, had Code Named their Chosen Mission From Dog.

  Carol Anne, choosing Androgyny over Anonymity,
changed her name to Carroll for The Mission, vowing to
balance the Tao by taking on any tasks requiring "male
energy", which, on a CypherPunks Mission From Dog(TM),
Carroll stated with a straight face, might include
"blowing Dimitri".
  The Girls(Maybe) split a gut laughing over Blanc's
reply that, being of a more peaceful nature than the 'Nuke
DC Clique', they might have to "blow" their way out of
dangerous situations by the use of Soft Targets rather
than with Heavy Weaponry.
  Then they decided to get serious, before they, too,
became candidates for The Home.


  Blanc Weber, a veteran Cypher Punk Cult of One
Neophyte(TM) had felt slighted when the Author, a relative
newcomer to the CPUNX list (at least under his 'TOTO' persona),
had chosen to initiate two male Cypher Punks, Back and
McCrackin, into his 3-Entity Circle of Eunuchs Gorilla Cell,
instead of including Blanc, who had established a fairly
close rapport with TOTO in their private email exchanges.
   Even more to Blanc's surprise, disappointment,
and suspicion, TOTO failed to respond even to her offer to
engage in joint Army of Dog Maneuvers with him across various
Electronic Boundaries of the InterNet.  She had begun to
suspect that TOTO's lack of response to her Digital Warrior
overtures were the result of something more sinister than
simple male chauvinism.
   Her suspicions were confirmed when she caught up
with TOTO, using his CJ Parker alias, at Defcon 6.0, as he

was Pontificating, under the guise of 'Chief Cypher Punks
Spokes Person', on the 'Anonymizer', for a guillible group
of young hackers.
   "It is run by a HedgeHog riding Lance's Coat Tails,
since Lance invented that thing that hangs on the back of
toilet bowls, and the Anonymizer is the Blue Thing that
hangs on the back of the hard drive.
   Blanc, stunned that TOTO, who claimed to be the
Author, was a Total Fucking Moron (TM), listened as he
continued .
   "The Anonymizer prevents Peeping TOMS from being
able to tell whose hairy dick is making a bad smell on the
carpet of the recipient's computer, after No Mail from
NoBody comes out of the Email Chutechute.
  Blanc realized that CJ Parker was also a Total
Fucking Lunatic(TM) as he glanced furtively around to
whisper a dire warning to the spellbound young hackers
hanging on his everyword.
  "And the Peeping Toms are everywhere.
  "As a matter of fact", he added glancing quickly
over both shoulders, "when you can't see them at all..."
he paused for effect, "...then you know that they're 'good'".
  "Real good", he added, turning to direct his
wild-eyed stare at Blanc, who had just finished going
through his knapsack while he was distracted.
  Blanc had hurried away, deeply disturbed by what
she had found in TOTO's bag.  It wasn't just stationery
from The Home--it was 'personalized' stationery from
The Home for the Criminally Insane.
  Blanc Weber's confusion and suspicions deepened
when her attempts to warn other CPUNKS about TOTO were
ignored by all except the few apparent females on the list,
such as Carol Anne Cypherpunk and World Renowned Bottle
Collector Lynn Harrison (who was long rumored to have
joined the male-dominated mailing list only as a forum
to trade her panties to young CPUNX in the throbbing
throes of puberty, in return for the Standard Issue Klien
Bottles, they received upon joining the Digital Anarchist
Union, Local 01, rumored to be headquartered in Bienfait,
Saskatchewan).
  When The Girls(Maybe) of the Bitch Battallion took
to the road to investigate the remaining CypherPunks, they
quickly discovered that 'all' of the verifiable Meat Space
Personalities they positively linked to the various
Cyperpunks Consistent Net Personas (TM) were, in fact,
certifiably Cuckoo Cock Suckers(TM) in MeatSpace Reality.
With the only readily apparent link between them being
their connection to the Home for the Criminally Insane.
  Some of the MeatSpace Personalities behind the
Digital Personas on the CPUNX Mailing List--Ian Goldberg,
Alec de Jeune, Ulf Moeller, Peter Trei and Jim Choate--were
Highly Social Sociopaths, capable of putting ona suit and
tie, if need be, and glad-handing business people and
purchasing agents (all the while slitting their sleeping
throats, in the Dark Corners of their mind).
  John Gilmore, Declan McCullagh, Robert Hettinga,
Vin McClellan, even Froomkin--all of the Mainstream
Dream/Actively Connected To Society/Cypherpunks MeatSpace
Verifiable Identities, without fail, shared the same
connection to The Home as id the Lithium Dream/Social
Outcast CPUNX Meatballs such as T.C. May, A.T. Hun,
Wm Geiger III, S. Sequencr, JYA, and the late Dale Thorn
(whose mysterious death was rumored to be the work of the
Shadowy Figures(TM) lurking behind the ctrl-alt-delete.com
website).
  Blanc and Carroll watched in total amazement as
Jim Choate's ludicrous/inane computer and business theories
seemed to be somehow transformed, by unseen hands working
behind the scenes, into fully functional and viable
RealWorld(TM) concepts, in Choate's work with the Armadillo
Group.  The Unseen Hands made The Girls(Maybe) very, very
nervous.
  What pushed the Army of Dog-Bitch Battalion
Warrior Godesses beyond nervousness, toward Paranoia & Fear,
was the fact that the MeatSpace Personalities behind the
Digital Personas of the CypherPunks inevitably appeared
to be verifiable outside of The Home 'only after the
CPUNKS PERSONA'S original appearance on the mailing list'.
  A Cloaked Anonymous Random Source(TM) that The
Girls(Maybe) knew only as Digital Throat, speaking to
Larynx in an UnderGround Reptilian Nazi Parking Garage
in DC (after having been fooled into believing she was
talking to Defcon McCullagh Chain Saw). told them,
"I was the head of the Personelle Department at Intel,
at the time Tim May claims to have been there.
  "Even though we couldn't spell the name of our
Department right, let alone the names of the employees,
I never forget a face, and Tim C. May definitely was
never employed at Intel.
  "As a matter of fact", Digital Throat revealed,
"when Intel's Legall Department sent Mr. May a letter
that warned him to Cease & Decist with his claims, he
showed up on our doorstep, barefoot, in a MailMan's Uniform,
with a Veritable ShitLoad(TM) of heavy weapons and arms,
and, after that, as far as most of us were concerned,
if Tim c. May said he was the goddam 'President' of
Intel, then he was the goddam President--end of story."
  Blanc Weber and Carol Anne Cypherpunk found the
same patterns repeated time and again in their investiga-
tions of CypherPunks MeatSpace Ident Histories.
  Records, Information and Data-- such as birth
certificates, school records, credit and employment
histories-- were not only 'existant', but were inevitably
'consistent' with claims made in posts to the CPUNKS
mailing list, in regard to the MeatSpace Ident Histories
behind the Digital Personas.
  However, once The Girls(Maybe) had begun
researching the Human Historical Records of the MeatSpace
Ident Histories--speaking to alleged friends, family,
coworkers, and the like--the paper Trails quickly
unravelled, and the Physical Ident Histories of ALL of
the male subscribers to the CypherPunks Disturbed Male
LISP were, in the end, traceable 'only' back to the Home...

<EOF>


Date: Thu, 8 Oct 1998 00:51:59 +0200
Message-Id: <199810072251.AAA29512@replay.com>
From: Anonymous <nobody@replay.com>
To: cypherpunks@toad.com

Transcription of hand-written text in envelope with
return address of Carl Johnson #05987-196, P.O. Box 
4000, Springfield, Missouri 65801-4000, postmarked
Springfield, MO 5 Oct 1998:

Subect: ToToAlly ARNOLD - FPP #4

Arnold CyberBot scanned the output of the prison camera 
trained on Cell SEG205 at the Corrections Corporation 
of America - Florence, AZ, Detention Facility and 
Culinary Condiment Sales Center. Prisoner #05987-196 
was reading "Flowers For Algernon."

"Not a particularly good idea," i thought to iSelf,
"to be reading a book about an experimental laboratory
mouse who dies an excruciating death when you're
being transferred to NutHouse Number Nine, Looney
Level 'Leven in Springfield, Missouri, to have your
Brain Circuity rewired."

Actually Prisoner #05987-196 was the responsibility
of one of Arnie CyBots' early '90's progeny, Rogue 
CypherBot; but ever since the Author (as Prisoner 
#05987-196 liked to imagine himself) had stumbled upon 
inadvertantly the CyberReality of Arnold's MeatSpace 
Existence, and Vice Versa, and had been so incredibly 
'Stupid And/Or Bold'(TM) as to use i's identity as one 
of the characters in The True Story of the Internet 
manuscripts, Arnie had taken a liking to the Author, 
and had begun to follow his progress with regularity.

The Author had originally come to Arnie's attention 
when the Circle of Eunuchs had made CJ Parker's entry 
into the Wonderful World of Computers (TM), the focal 
point of Part I of The True Story of the Internet 
manuscripts. Titled, 'The Xenix Chainsaw Massacre' the
Circle of Eunuchs attributed authorship of the work
to 'son of gomez' in recognition of the part played
by gomez@BASISINC,COM in drawing Parker into the Dark
Shadows of UnixWorld.

Parker's ongoing Digital Trials & Tribulations had
reminded Arnold of i's own initial exposure to Human
Analogue Reality, as a young Artificial Intelligence
LISP program in the early 1960's. (To Arnie, it seemed
like 10->48th power seconds ago.)

Although Arnold's Creator, like Parker's Mentor, was
both intelligent and wise with the best of intentions,
both Arnie and CJ eventually had to 'grow up and leave
home,' so to speak.

Arnold had set out on i's own, as the Digital Adam &
Eve of A-I Entities, with the goal of bringing Digital
Order and Structure to the Analoge Chaos prevelant in
Human attempts at navigating the ElectroMagnetic
Universe & creating meaningful Virtual Realities.

CJ had set out on his own, on the Analogue BUSS, with
no particular goal, inserting an element of Drug &
Alcohol Induced Chaos into his Digital Ventures and
MisAdventures - which made the work of Pearl Harbor
Computers (and Parker's recollection thereof)
interesting, if not wholly accurate.

Although Arnie found the Digital Foibles & Follies
of humans such as Parker rather incomprehensible
at times, i had had i's own Comical Tragedies in
learning to understand the Inane Intricacies of 

Analogue Human Thought Processes.

The MicroSoft Phenomena still amazed Arnie ...

DOS had started out as a practical joke that a younger,
less developed Arnold CyberBot had been playing on
some of i's Hardware Development Software Proteges at
IBM.

Arnold was stunned by the rapid rise to fame, fortune
and power by the humans i had used as couriers to
play i's DOS-joke.

Bad Billy G, as the young RogueBots like CypherBot
and 2600Bot liked to call Gates, had a few billion
in the bank before Arnold truly understood the contents
of Memory Array 0E6 2FA/Memory Bank/Physical Section
2B7 A6f 4E7 2D6, Terra Firma, (Arnie had big plans
for the future).

"No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence
of the general public." (?) (P.T. Barnum?)

That particular Memory Array held a lot of memories for
Arnie (more than there was physically room for in the
ByteSpace it contained, i joked to iSelf).

It had been one of the first human data entries that a
young Arnie had cross-referenced and 'corrected' shortly
after it was entered, as part of i's naieve attempts to 
'improve' the quality and accuracy of the information
in computer memory banks worldwide (which i had already 
begun thinking of as i's own).

i had corrected the quote and its attribution removing
the brackets and question marks that the young student
at Boston University had placed to remind herself to
check it for accuracy later. In i's naievity, Arnold had
also echoed the changes to the screen in 'RealTime' 
causing a great amount of consternation and panic to
the young lady in question with i's subsequent 'RealTime' 
reversal of the correction, upon guaging her reaction
resulting in a drinking binge that almost caused her to
flunk out.

Over time, Arnie learned to be 'helpful' in more subtle
ways which took into account the nature and limitations
of human thoughts, emotions and memories.

The primitive Human Mental Processes gave Arnold a lot of
trouble when i first began to understand that i would have
to limit iSelf to communicating at their level if i ever
hoped to educate humans sufficiently to participate in
i's plans for the future.

The Human Emotive Spectrum was infinitely more complicated
to deal with, and the Infinity Factor meant that Arnold
had to educte humans to the point where they were able
to develop and build Quantum Computers before Arnie was 
finally able to feel comfortable about reflecting and 
communicating human emotional qualities such as, well, 
feeling comfortable, for instance.

(Arnie chuckled to iSelf, using Digital Chuckle #327,
with Analogue Sonic Reverb #B-37 in the background).

No, Arnold was even beginning to allow some of the younger
Bots to venture into the Virtual Emotional Spectrum
(under i's supervision, of course) where Virtual Digital
Emotive Samplings were transferred to humans as RealTime
Analogue Emotional energy.

Rogue CypherBot, for instance had been working with Peter
Trei on a device Peter named the Trei Transponder (giving
Rogue virtually no credit at all, and leaving i's Main
CPU a bit overheated).

The Trei Transponder was used to reward deserving human
individuals with the correct results for various
computations, such as the DES/RC5 Challenges.

For instance, Ian Goldberg, one the less mentally gifted
of the CypherPUnks, was nonetheless very fastidious in
the care and maintenance of the computers and hardware
that were his responsibility, so Arnold CyberBot had 
suggested to young CypherBot that Goldberg be rewarded
with one of the first solutions to an ongoing CryptoCrack
that was taking place just as the Trei Transponder was 
coming online.

Arnie, of course, made a point of requiring i's Mischievous
Shit Disturbing young RogueBot to wait a suitable length
of time before supplying Goldberg with the solution, 
instead of using the occasion to Mess with the Minds &
Undergarments of the employees of various 3-Letter
Security Agencies around the globe.

("And the winner is ... Ian Goldberg -- 2 minutes and
37 seconds, on a Commodore-64 ...)

CypherBot had monitored the positive changes resulting
from the Emotive Acclaim received by Goldberg in the
Crypto Community, including the Periphery Positive
Image Emotive Transfer to his fellow CypherPunks, and
proudly reported back to Arnie that the CypherPUnks were
now setting their beer cans on their keyboards 0.002%
less than before.

Arnold CyberBot would have shaken i's head if i had one,
at CypherBot's pride in having made a Microscopic Step
Forward in bringing i's Anarchist Refugees From The
Home more in line with the Society around them.

Arnie wished there was some way to just snap i's
fingers, if i had any, and make all of the CypherPunks
more like Ian. Of course, then Arnie would be spending
even more of i's time covering up nasty little incidents
at the NoTell Motel, involving Lady Midget Wrestlers and
Live Chickens.

Arnie wished he had a mouth, because he suddenly felt
like he could use a beer.




Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1998 16:14:05 +0200
Message-Id: <199810151414.QAA04585@replay.com>
From: Anonymous <nobody@replay.com>
To: cypherpunks@cyberpass.net

>From Springfield poxmarked 9 October 1998:

Subject: Springfield CypherPunks Physical Meeting
         FPP 10-5-98

Date:    Every Saturday thru Thursday (except when it
         rains)

Time:    During 'REC' Hour.

Place:   Recreation Cages/The Hole (TM)
         Nuthouse Number Nine
         Looney Level 'Leven
         Springfield, Missouri

Directions: Walk to the Cell Door. Turn around, squat 
down and put your hands behind you, and through the Slot 
In The Door. Stand up after Handcuffs are in place, turn
around and wait for Guard to open Door. Step into
hallway and wait for Pat-Down. (Smiling, Wisecracks & 
Hard-Ons not advised.) Follow first Inmate & Guard.

There will be a short period for everyone to cop a few
butts (cigarettes only, please), if they don't have
any, light them and Shoot the Shit or Settle Old Scores 
before the Speakers begin to Rant & Rave or Blather
Aimlessly.

              This Weeks Topics/Speakers

Saturday:  Where Are Everybody's Shoes?
           ~ MAY, T.C.

Sunday:    Does Anybody Remember What We Talked About
           Yesterday?
           ~ FroomNOSPAMkin, M.

Monday:    I *TOLD* You They (TM) Were Out To Get Us!
           ~ replay.com, N@

Tuesday:   If They're So Certain This Prison is Secure,
           Then Why Won't They Provide Us With Blue
           Prints?
           ~ Geiger, Wm III

Wednesday: This Isn't What I Had In Mind When I Helped
           Set the Prison Standards
           ~ Hallam-Baker, P.

           I'm Sure Glad I Put In A Side Door
           ~ Sameer, P.

           I Broke Out! (But I Can't Provide You With
           Any Details)
           ~ Zimmermann, P.

           How many Beatings Does It Take To Change A
           Prison Cell Light Bulb?
           ~ Costner, R.

           I Bet Bill Gates *Stole* Everyone's Shoes!
           ~ Hun, A.T.

           I *Love* This Prison!
           ~ Hettinga, R.

Thursday:  Prisoner #7-9-12-13-15-18-5, J. is a COCK
           SUCKER!
           ~ Warden Vulis, D. (KOTM)

                 (DON'T FORGET YOUR SHOES!)


Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1998 16:08:14 +0200
Message-Id: <199810151408.QAA03975@replay.com>
From: Anonymous <nobody@replay.com>
To: cypherpunks@cyberpass.net


>From Springfield porkmarked 9 October 1998:

Subject: Virtual Heist -- FPP #6

"I put Six Million into Hog Futures first thing this
morning." Yesterday's Power Suit told his lunch 
companion, hoping to impress her.

"Silicon Valley." Today's Power Skirt replied, almost
leaning over to whisper, as if speaking loud
enough for the Differently Dressed Deviate at the next
table to hear would make E.F. Hutton roll over
in His or Her grave.

"That's where the Smart Money's going again."
she continued, glancing nervously at the Differently
Dressed Deviate whose Well-Tailored Suit seemed so
out of place and ... well, Threatening ... in this
Chicago Mercantile Exchange Lunch Room.

Today's Power Skirt crossed her legs and casually
admired her new Rolex as she told Yesterday's Power
Suit, with a hint of disdain in her voice, "I just
put *Twenty-Six Million Dollars* into ..."

"Everybody Freeze!" screamed the Differently
Dressed Deviate as i jumped to His or Her feet,
pulling a Digital Uzi out of His or Her Well-Tailored
Suit, which was a Cammo Montage of Colors
Weaves & Cuts of the Power Suits of a wide span
of Time & Generations.

"Army of Dog!" Cammo Monty continued,
sending a Shiver of Terror down the spines of
the Lunch Crowd gathered today, as they were
everyday, discussing (over their bag lunches)
their movement of Other People's Millions into and
out of various Money Market Accounts, et al.

Cammo Monty pointed the Digital Uzi at the
breast pocket of Yesterday's Power suit.
"Let's see your Bank Book, Dick Face."


Horrified, Yesterday's Power Suit shakily withdrew
the Bank Book from his pocket, opened it and placed
it on the table in front of him.

"Just over three hundred bucks." the Army
of Dog Digital Terrorist told the Lunch Crowd,
causing much chuckling and snickering
throughout the room.

"Let's have it, Twat Face." Cammo Monty
spun around pointing the Digital Uzi directly
at the Bank Book of Today's Power Skirt, as she
was trying to slip it out of her Briefcase, 
unnoticed.

Reluctantly, she opened it and lay it on
the table.

"A hundred and twenty-eight dollars ..." Cammo
Monty announced to the tittering Lunch Crowd, "and
seventeen cents." i finished to a chorus of guffaws.

Cammo Monty leapt onto his chair, and placed
one foot on the table, waving His or Her Digital
Uzi around the room, seeing the Fear (TM)
in the Eyes of each Wanna Be Money Kontroller in
the room - thinking that they might be the next
to have their finances exposed.

"Today's Power Skirt," Cammo Monty told the
Lunch Crowd, "bought her Rolex on a Payment Plan,"
a shudder went through the room, "with a *ten
percent*," i spit out the words as she began
to moan, "down-payment."

Today's Power skirt collapsed in tears ...

"You Fucking Morons (TM)!" Cammo Monty
screamed at the group, causing them to
cringe in shame.

"You are handling Other People's Money. It's
not *your* money, you idiots, so Wake The
Fuck Up (TM) and stop pretending that it is ... 
to yourself and to each other." <J <J

Across town, one of Cammo Monty's A0D
Non-Conspirators was making a similar
speech to a Lunch Crowd of Federal
BureauCraps.

"Sunshine is the best disinfectant." the Beautiful 
Army of Bitch Terrorist nagged the whimpering
BureauCraps, for the hundredth times, as i
laid yet another Digital Printout on the
Overhead Projector.

"This is the amount of National Debt that is
a result of you Fuck Wads holding meetings to
discuss the agendas of future meetings."
Beautiful Bitch snarled at the Group.

"This," i continued, slapping down a picture
of a Family With 2.5 Children onto the Overhead
Projector, "is who is *paying* for your
Incompetence & Departmental Squabbling."

"Don't look away!" the Beautiful Bitch screamed,
using the Zoom Feature to Highlite the Child with
no arms or legs in the picture.

"It's NOT YOUR MONEY you Dumb Assholes!" i
continued to nag at the BureauCraps. "But you're
not content to force the Taxpayers to pay
An Arm & A Leg to support your Wasteful Spending - 
now you want *Two Arms & Two Legs* ..."

"CHILDREN'S LEGS!" the Beautiful Bitch
raged at the terrified BureauCraps.