I always say that I'm nice. And usually most people agree with me. However, there is a group of people ranging in numbers of around 12-24 that I am sure would disagree with this opinion. Luckily, these people don't really know who I am. So, if you're reading this and the story starts to sound familiar, then stop reading. It's of no interest to you.
When I was still in college I would go to the school computer labs to work on projects or just look random and miscellaneous things up on the Internet. Almost every time there would be at least one or two people in the lab sex chatting in IRC (internet relay chat, for those of you lucky enough never to have encountered it). They are probably writing a column somewhere about hating people reading over their shoulders when they go to sex chat. The chats would go something like this:
Sexy_Chic: I'm a hot blonde and I need to feel you inside me!!!
Hotguy: My throbbing hard member penetrates your warm moist opening. It feels wonderful.
Sexy_Chic: Oh baby!
Hotguy: Oh baby!
Sexy_Chic: OH BABY!
Hotguy: OH BABY!
Sexy_Chic: I'm cumming!
Hotguy: Uh, yeah, me too!
Sexy_Chic: That was nice, your cock is so nice and...
And so on and so on. This didn't bother me as much as the people that would come in and chat and talk to teenage girls (or what they thought were teenage girls). They would pull up pictures of these pre-pubescent children and save them to floppies, probably to take home and put on their throbbing hard disk. (Ok, you know the bad joke had to come there somewhere, at least it was in context). These people made me sick. So I formulated a plan.
At this time in life, I was a huge computer geek. I wasn't as pasty as most, but I could still write code and other boring computer stuff. So I wrote a simple program called: "sexyme.exe" which would erase a person's hard drive starting with the "win.exe". Basically, even if they could have stopped the program before a file was fully erased they were still screwed and would have to install Windows again. With that done, I logged in to the worst place in the world: IRC.
I was now "TeenSlut9" a well-developed 13-year old girl with the desire to fuck. Oh yeah, I was hot. I entered channel sex and started. I introduced myself and told people about my gigantic breasts and my tight teenage ass and instantly received many private messages wanting to talk to me. I replied to several and listened to their description of their muscular chest, baby blue eyes and gargantuan members and decided that it was time to play the trump card. "You wanna see a picture of me, sweetie?" Each one replied with a yes and what sexual things they wanted to do to me. This was making me feel sick already. I sent them "sexyme.exe" and said, "This is an 8 picture spread of me stripping, just double click on it and it will play a slide show for you."
A few minutes later the first one replied, "Bitch, I stopped it before it could finish erasing anything. HA!"
I replied with, "Yeah, reboot and we'll see." He said that he would and I didn't see him log on again that day. I guess his computer wouldn't start back up. The same happened with the others, and they are probably still cursing me to this day. But here's the part of the story that they would probably like if they knew who I was.
About six months later I was deleting stuff from my computer that I didn't need anymore and I came across this file that I don't remember ever seeing. It was called "sexyme.exe". For giggles, I decided that I would see what was in it and I double clicked it and, well, decided that I didn't need anything anymore without knowing it.
Here's the lesson: If you're out hunting kiddie porn surfers, have fun (I sure did) and realize that you can fall just as fast.
Archives
Monday, November 29, 2004
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
"Hey John, how do you spell freshman?" That quote right there could explain the roommate that I had for the greater part of my first semester in college. In fact, it could make a column of it's own. That's it, I'm done, it was a Pulitzer prize winning column and I'll end it at that.
But, now that I think about it for a little while I find that I could write more and feel better about myself, so I will do that. For those of you that thought that the sentence above was both the perfect beginning and ending to this column, don't read any further, what follows is merely self indulgence.
The first week that I went to school at the University of North Texas I stayed in the dorms with a roommate named Cedrick. Cedrick was a really nice guy. The kind of guy that ironed his jeans and t-shirts before he wore them. After living with him for about a week he approached me to ask me a favor. He said that this friend of his who was black (it's important for the context of the story, don't crucify me as a racist or anything) got stuck with this really racist roommate. As you can tell, the situation wasn't too appealing to either of the parties involved. Being that I was and still am too damn nice I switched with his friend and moved in with Clay, the racist boy.
The first time I stepped into the room I knew there was going to be some trouble. Maybe it was the d?cor of the room: That confederate flag hanging on the wall might have tipped me off, or maybe it was the confederate flag pillow, perhaps it was the confederate flag comforter, who knows it could have been the "The South Will Rise Again" drink cozies, time will only tell. Racist Boy was extremely happy to see me moving in, he even came up with a couple of his friends to help me move all of my stuff from room to room. So he wasn't all bad, I suppose. The relationship that Racist Boy and I had in general was edgy the entire time that we lived together. That can sum that up, what I want to write about is three separate instances that really helped define my opinion about Racist Boy and his innermost psyche. These aren't in chronological order, so deal with it.
1. One of my favorite stories about Racist Boy doesn't even involve him acting consciously. His sleeping moments were almost as entertaining as his waking ones. I do in fact recall several separate occasions that he wet his bed. Once he even wet his bed with his girlfriend in it. She got up in the middle of the night pissed (emotionally) and took a shower and yelled at him some. The story that I really wanted to tell was about when I was up late being bored and he was asleep in his bed. I was a little startled when his hands suddenly shot quickly up into the air and his hands looked like they were holding something like a steering wheel. After a few seconds his hands started moving like he was driving and maneuvering a car through some curves. It was at that point that he began to speak: "Hey Nate, I think I just hit a squirrel. Heh heh heh heh." Then he put his arms down and didn't say another word.
2. We weren't really supposed to have women up in the dorm room after a certain time at night, but on several occasions Racist Boy had his girlfriend up to stay a night or a weekend. It's at this point that I should take a side bar about his girlfriend. She was still in high school and he was still fucking her so it made things easier for her to come to Denton for him to fuck her. (I tried to put that as tastefully as possible.) Racist Boy and I had bunked our beds to make a little bit more room in the room. I had gone to bed in the top bunk and was about to fall asleep when Racist Boy and his girl came in drunk. They climbed into bed and a few minutes later started going at it. I started to notice it at first when my bed started to move back and forth. I noticed it a little more when the bed was moving back and forth so much it started squeaking. I jumped to the floor and they both went silent. I changed into some clothes and started to leave the room when I heard Racist Boy pipe up,"Hey John, where are you goin'?"
I turned to him and replied, "Out," and closed the door.
3. The third one has already been put on the table and to explain the story a little more. Several of my friends from out of town were visiting and we were all sitting around in the room talking while Racist Boy was doing his "Study Skills" homework (for those of you who don't know, Study Skills is a class at UNT that they make you take if you don't have good enough grades to get in to school. They say, take this class and you can attend.). His girlfriend was on his bed (they were no longer bunked, go figure) watching tv when suddenly Racist Boy turns to me and says, "Hey John, how do you spell freshman?" I told him and he promptly turned to his woman and said, "see I told you I was right!" We decided to make our departure before this debate of the century got way out of hand. When we returned 15 minutes later Racist Boy was still working on his homework and his girlfriend was now naked under the covers of his bed. I don't really want to know what happened there.
4. This one is kind of epic in all proportions so it may take a little while to explain. Since it was the beginning of the year all the Fraternities and Sororities had their little rush things going on. It just so happened that Racist Boy wanted to be in a fraternity (I don't know which one, maybe Omega Cromagnon). He rushed with another friend of his and while they accepted his friend, they did not accept him. He thought it was possibly because of the numerous "Minor in Possession" offenses that he got, I thought they just didn't like him. He finally came to the decision that if he couldn't be in their frat, he would make his own. His friend even quit the real frat to make their cutsie five person frat called (I know some of you are already expecting this, but laugh anyways) "Kappa Kappa Kappa". I still wonder if there is some sort of copyright infringement with the clan. Their slogan was, "It's a southern thing, you wouldn't understand." Personally I thought it should have been, "Kappa Kappa Kappa, can I slap ya slap ya slap ya?". Alas, they didn't accept my opinion.
Those are really the stories that stick out in my mind when I think of Racist Boy, there are thousands more and I would share them with you, but I am tired of writing this. To sum up, at the end of that first semester Racist Boy asked me to move out because, according to him, his friends didn't like me. I told him no and he moved out. Yeah, I won the war.
But, now that I think about it for a little while I find that I could write more and feel better about myself, so I will do that. For those of you that thought that the sentence above was both the perfect beginning and ending to this column, don't read any further, what follows is merely self indulgence.
The first week that I went to school at the University of North Texas I stayed in the dorms with a roommate named Cedrick. Cedrick was a really nice guy. The kind of guy that ironed his jeans and t-shirts before he wore them. After living with him for about a week he approached me to ask me a favor. He said that this friend of his who was black (it's important for the context of the story, don't crucify me as a racist or anything) got stuck with this really racist roommate. As you can tell, the situation wasn't too appealing to either of the parties involved. Being that I was and still am too damn nice I switched with his friend and moved in with Clay, the racist boy.
The first time I stepped into the room I knew there was going to be some trouble. Maybe it was the d?cor of the room: That confederate flag hanging on the wall might have tipped me off, or maybe it was the confederate flag pillow, perhaps it was the confederate flag comforter, who knows it could have been the "The South Will Rise Again" drink cozies, time will only tell. Racist Boy was extremely happy to see me moving in, he even came up with a couple of his friends to help me move all of my stuff from room to room. So he wasn't all bad, I suppose. The relationship that Racist Boy and I had in general was edgy the entire time that we lived together. That can sum that up, what I want to write about is three separate instances that really helped define my opinion about Racist Boy and his innermost psyche. These aren't in chronological order, so deal with it.
1. One of my favorite stories about Racist Boy doesn't even involve him acting consciously. His sleeping moments were almost as entertaining as his waking ones. I do in fact recall several separate occasions that he wet his bed. Once he even wet his bed with his girlfriend in it. She got up in the middle of the night pissed (emotionally) and took a shower and yelled at him some. The story that I really wanted to tell was about when I was up late being bored and he was asleep in his bed. I was a little startled when his hands suddenly shot quickly up into the air and his hands looked like they were holding something like a steering wheel. After a few seconds his hands started moving like he was driving and maneuvering a car through some curves. It was at that point that he began to speak: "Hey Nate, I think I just hit a squirrel. Heh heh heh heh." Then he put his arms down and didn't say another word.
2. We weren't really supposed to have women up in the dorm room after a certain time at night, but on several occasions Racist Boy had his girlfriend up to stay a night or a weekend. It's at this point that I should take a side bar about his girlfriend. She was still in high school and he was still fucking her so it made things easier for her to come to Denton for him to fuck her. (I tried to put that as tastefully as possible.) Racist Boy and I had bunked our beds to make a little bit more room in the room. I had gone to bed in the top bunk and was about to fall asleep when Racist Boy and his girl came in drunk. They climbed into bed and a few minutes later started going at it. I started to notice it at first when my bed started to move back and forth. I noticed it a little more when the bed was moving back and forth so much it started squeaking. I jumped to the floor and they both went silent. I changed into some clothes and started to leave the room when I heard Racist Boy pipe up,"Hey John, where are you goin'?"
I turned to him and replied, "Out," and closed the door.
3. The third one has already been put on the table and to explain the story a little more. Several of my friends from out of town were visiting and we were all sitting around in the room talking while Racist Boy was doing his "Study Skills" homework (for those of you who don't know, Study Skills is a class at UNT that they make you take if you don't have good enough grades to get in to school. They say, take this class and you can attend.). His girlfriend was on his bed (they were no longer bunked, go figure) watching tv when suddenly Racist Boy turns to me and says, "Hey John, how do you spell freshman?" I told him and he promptly turned to his woman and said, "see I told you I was right!" We decided to make our departure before this debate of the century got way out of hand. When we returned 15 minutes later Racist Boy was still working on his homework and his girlfriend was now naked under the covers of his bed. I don't really want to know what happened there.
4. This one is kind of epic in all proportions so it may take a little while to explain. Since it was the beginning of the year all the Fraternities and Sororities had their little rush things going on. It just so happened that Racist Boy wanted to be in a fraternity (I don't know which one, maybe Omega Cromagnon). He rushed with another friend of his and while they accepted his friend, they did not accept him. He thought it was possibly because of the numerous "Minor in Possession" offenses that he got, I thought they just didn't like him. He finally came to the decision that if he couldn't be in their frat, he would make his own. His friend even quit the real frat to make their cutsie five person frat called (I know some of you are already expecting this, but laugh anyways) "Kappa Kappa Kappa". I still wonder if there is some sort of copyright infringement with the clan. Their slogan was, "It's a southern thing, you wouldn't understand." Personally I thought it should have been, "Kappa Kappa Kappa, can I slap ya slap ya slap ya?". Alas, they didn't accept my opinion.
Those are really the stories that stick out in my mind when I think of Racist Boy, there are thousands more and I would share them with you, but I am tired of writing this. To sum up, at the end of that first semester Racist Boy asked me to move out because, according to him, his friends didn't like me. I told him no and he moved out. Yeah, I won the war.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
"Hello?" I answered the phone.
"I finally found you! I've been looking all over the place for you," Sarah burst out.
Good God, she'd found me. My best friend Trevor and I had been vacationing in Franklin, TN and staying at my friends' places. There was really no plan on where we were going to stay and the main purpose of it was to avoid this very conversation. Perhaps I should provide you with a little background:
You see, my first year of high school was spent at the remarkably unremarkable Franklin High School. During that year I dated Sarah for a period of about 1 month. It must have been one incredible month for her because after she broke up with me (I'm not afraid to admit it) and I moved to Texas, she was able to track down my family and give me a call. That's not extraordinarily weird. What is weird is that after talking to her a couple of times (hey, stupid me figured that she just wanted to be friends) she started talking about having a long distance relationship. The conversations would sort of go like this:
"John, what do you think about us getting back together for a long distance relationship?"
"Frankly, I've tried not to think about it, but if I did I'm pretty sure that I would think that it's bad."
"Would you go out with me?"
"No"
"Great it's settled, we're exclusive!"
After that, she spoke about us like we were a couple and I tried to get off the phone. I was just too nice.
Back to the original story. If you will remember, she had tracked me down on my visit back to Franklin and I was dreading it. And she had just said that she had been looking all over for me (for those of you too lazy to scroll back or to remember the story).
"Yeah, I know. You called Adrian's house about 16 times in the period of about and hour. His mom told us," I replied.
"You're still funny, do you want to do something today?"
Remember how I said that I was too nice earlier? Remember that now,"Umm, sure. Do you want to hang out with Amy and Trevor and I?"
It was settled. I was going to have a miserable time. We had agreed to go and pick her up, and I am about to sum up what happened on this meeting because it was pretty boring. She pretty much ignored Trevor. She never actually said his name and actually referred to him as "your friend" every time she asked something about him. When we met Amy she asked if Trevor and I would be interested in hanging out later that night. We said sure and Sarah just conveniently invited herself. Let's skip to that night right now.
We met Amy and Sarah at the Pizza Hut that Amy worked at and hung out there a little while. It was at that time that Sarah handed me a note describing, intricately, her plan to throw Trevor off a cliff to his death and run off with me to Vegas and get married. I tried to hide my fear, but I think I wet my pants just a little bit. It's possible.
After Pizza Hut we went to this park in Franklin that has a trail leading up a big hill with a nice view. As we walked up the hill, Sarah trying to hold my hand the entire way, it dawned on me that the hill had a steep drop that could easily be misconstrued as a cliff by the psychopathic. I began to worry about the well-being of my friend and made sure that I was on the drop off side of him the entire rest of the evening.
We made up a really lame excuse about having to be somewhere else later that night and began to make our departure. Sarah approached me before I got in my car and said, "Call me before you leave, or I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN."
I giggled uneasily and got into the car and drove off. I never did call her before we headed back to Texas, and to this day, seven years later, I still look over my shoulder twice when I'm alone in the dark.
"I finally found you! I've been looking all over the place for you," Sarah burst out.
Good God, she'd found me. My best friend Trevor and I had been vacationing in Franklin, TN and staying at my friends' places. There was really no plan on where we were going to stay and the main purpose of it was to avoid this very conversation. Perhaps I should provide you with a little background:
You see, my first year of high school was spent at the remarkably unremarkable Franklin High School. During that year I dated Sarah for a period of about 1 month. It must have been one incredible month for her because after she broke up with me (I'm not afraid to admit it) and I moved to Texas, she was able to track down my family and give me a call. That's not extraordinarily weird. What is weird is that after talking to her a couple of times (hey, stupid me figured that she just wanted to be friends) she started talking about having a long distance relationship. The conversations would sort of go like this:
"John, what do you think about us getting back together for a long distance relationship?"
"Frankly, I've tried not to think about it, but if I did I'm pretty sure that I would think that it's bad."
"Would you go out with me?"
"No"
"Great it's settled, we're exclusive!"
After that, she spoke about us like we were a couple and I tried to get off the phone. I was just too nice.
Back to the original story. If you will remember, she had tracked me down on my visit back to Franklin and I was dreading it. And she had just said that she had been looking all over for me (for those of you too lazy to scroll back or to remember the story).
"Yeah, I know. You called Adrian's house about 16 times in the period of about and hour. His mom told us," I replied.
"You're still funny, do you want to do something today?"
Remember how I said that I was too nice earlier? Remember that now,"Umm, sure. Do you want to hang out with Amy and Trevor and I?"
It was settled. I was going to have a miserable time. We had agreed to go and pick her up, and I am about to sum up what happened on this meeting because it was pretty boring. She pretty much ignored Trevor. She never actually said his name and actually referred to him as "your friend" every time she asked something about him. When we met Amy she asked if Trevor and I would be interested in hanging out later that night. We said sure and Sarah just conveniently invited herself. Let's skip to that night right now.
We met Amy and Sarah at the Pizza Hut that Amy worked at and hung out there a little while. It was at that time that Sarah handed me a note describing, intricately, her plan to throw Trevor off a cliff to his death and run off with me to Vegas and get married. I tried to hide my fear, but I think I wet my pants just a little bit. It's possible.
After Pizza Hut we went to this park in Franklin that has a trail leading up a big hill with a nice view. As we walked up the hill, Sarah trying to hold my hand the entire way, it dawned on me that the hill had a steep drop that could easily be misconstrued as a cliff by the psychopathic. I began to worry about the well-being of my friend and made sure that I was on the drop off side of him the entire rest of the evening.
We made up a really lame excuse about having to be somewhere else later that night and began to make our departure. Sarah approached me before I got in my car and said, "Call me before you leave, or I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN."
I giggled uneasily and got into the car and drove off. I never did call her before we headed back to Texas, and to this day, seven years later, I still look over my shoulder twice when I'm alone in the dark.