172 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
172 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Technology and Adults - Part II
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I have felt it for a couple of months now. I fought the feelings off, but
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they returned again and again. Now I can't stand it any longer. This could
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be a very long piece here, but I have decided to keep it short. I just don't
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fucking care any longer.
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I decided to build a new computer a few weeks ago. No problem; it's not
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rocket science. So I thought. Dozens of standards, half proprietary. All
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bundled with useless software you don't need or can't use. Every box has
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a "Works with Windows 95" sticker on it. As if there is any other OS out
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there in the sea of idiots using computers these days. The salesman couldn't
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tell the difference between a CD and floppy disc. Their response to a
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question they can't answer is to help another customer, leaving you with
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your dick in your hand.
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There are walls and walls of CD software. They don't have FreeBSD. "We
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don't get to choose what we get, it just comes in." That explains why ten
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thousand CDs are on the wall, with an 85% off sale and still no one is
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buying them. Three people are standing next to me. They all want FreeBSD.
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Strangely, I find a copy of 2.1.6 behind a lame strip pinball game. I had
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to return it the next day as I found out that particular version was
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recalled due to a serious and fatal security flaw. The store knew it, but
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sold it to me anyway.
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I spent serious money buying ultra-optimized components that were on the FAQ
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sheet as compatible with FreeBSD. Once completed, this system could rape
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your mother and stick your computer system up her ass with time to spare.
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But it was not to be. See, all these fucking pieces of hardware has weird
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shit to them that you never learn about until you've read all the
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documentation, their web site, and have spent three hours on the phone to
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tech support. End result is that I returned every single piece of hardware
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I bought two to three times over.
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Every fucker I talked to assumed I had Windows 95. Ninety percent of them
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had never heard of UNIX, and the ten percent that did didn't know shit about
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it. One thought it was a video game. No one supported UNIX environments,
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meaning you were on your own.
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A call to a friend led to a recommendation to a store that has k-rad 31337
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UNIX hardware guys. I called them and explained my problems. "Sure. No
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problem. We can fix it like yesterday." I haul my 35" tower across town on
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the subway, and when I get there, they didn't want to talk to me until I
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told them the name of the person I talked to on the phone. "Geez, I didn't
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ask." I ended up hauling my system back home. See, customers are scum and
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not worthy of attention unless you know the name of the person you spoke to,
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and this is not limited to just the computer world.
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I realized that all of this effort and headache was just so I could basically
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read my email. Yes, a few other things, but email was a large part of it. I
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wondered why I was going through all this. I thought back over the last few
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months of on-line life. You know what? I decided I didn't care anymore. Fuck
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computers. There is so much more to life than sitting in front of a keyboard.
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I took my system, with what few parts were left, and put it in my closet.
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Out of sight and out of mind. I will pull it out only if I really, really
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feel like getting back on-line someday. Don't hold your breath.
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Not that I will miss much. I will not miss the thousands of losers who feel
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they are so much more important now that they have an email account. People
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who feel that their opinion means anything to me. The endless whining over
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spam mail and people who post off-topic messages. As if hitting the delete
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button is gonna cost them their left nut. The fucking losers who come out
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of nowhere left and right wanting or claiming to be a hacker. And to answer
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all those assholes who email me wanting me to guide them on the road to
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"eliteness," here is your answer: Join a book club or get a library card.
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See, if you are not buying or reading three new books a week, then you are
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a lost sale to the condom companies. A gleam in the eyes of two drunk losers
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who fucked around one night and got pregnant.
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The cyberlife. The superinformation highway. The digerati. The wired world.
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What the fuck is this all about? And who cares about hackers hacking this or
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that, child pornography, on-line scams, children downloading "inappropriate
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material," email chain letters, privacy issues, etc, etc, etc. News flash:
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pull the fucking plug. Now they can hack me all I want, as I have the most
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secure system in the world - one that is not plugged in.
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See, my life is total chaos; a side-effect from too much time in front of
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the computer, with just a touch a never being home because of my job to
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boot. I have vision problems, and have for years. Never had time for glasses,
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or the money. When I returned my third hard drive in as many days because of
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bad quality control, which is the only consistent industry standard today, I
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bought contact lenses and glasses. Now I can see. Colors are brilliant, and
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the detail is like nothing I've seen in twenty years. Much better investment
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than a having a hard drive to hold all my useless files from useless
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software.
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I don't have two forms of ID, so I can't open a bank account at a new bank.
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My old account is pretty much useless, as they change their account holder
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policies on a daily basis. No consistency, no notification. You never know
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what will happen until you get to the counter. They seem to forget that it
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is my money. I have to prove the source of my income before I can withdraw
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funds before the six day holding period. A period that didn't exist
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yesterday, and I was never notified of the new policy, despite the fact
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they said it was mailed out in the statement. Hmmm. I couldn't find it on
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my statement. A different teller gives me my money two hours later when I
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return without even flinching. Today I repeat the same shit with the teller
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who didn't flinch the day before, but for different policies that came from
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nowhere.
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I travel a lot. 212,000 miles this year so far, and it's only mid-may. I've
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written twenty-seven checks to one airline in the last six months with no
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problem. I have never bounced a single check. Last week they wouldn't take
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my check because it didn't match the address on my ID. Well, I live in two
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different cities. The check had a valid San Francisco address, and my ID
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had a valid San Diego address. "Policy," she says. Hmmm. It was never a
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problem before. Another airline takes my check with no problem.
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Continental employs the most miserable people in the industry. Short on
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customer service, big on attitude. Curt and uncaring. I hold a first class
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ticket and boarding pass in my hand, bought three hours ago at full fare,
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and she won't let me on the plane because my name is not on the passenger
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list. I told her I have valid tickets and boarding passes, and to let me
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on. Not her problem. I have to check in a second time. No one smiles, no
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one cares, it's all the computers fault. Call customer service, and all
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they can say is that they've won many awards for customer service, so I
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couldn't possibly be telling the truth. I told her to shove her awards up
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her ass and dance for me like a slut.
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And let me tell you about people who use computers in their job. They should
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all have their dicks cut off and shoved into their mouths, left to bleed to
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death in the fucking street. Everywhere you call, the computer system is
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always down. They can't help you until "somebody" fixes it. I walk into a
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hotel last week. I told them I was there a month earlier. Big fucking
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mistake. Never, ever, ever, never, ever tell a business that you are
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anything other than a new customer; you have never been there before in your
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life as far as they need to know. See, I told him this, and he thinks, "Hey,
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he's been here before, so all of his information is in the computer, so I
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can save him the sixty seconds of filling out the form again by looking his
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stuff up on the computer." Five minutes later he is still looking for my
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records. He insists on finding me in the database. The one minute I could
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have saved turns into a six minute deficit. All in the name of customer
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convenience.
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This last example plays out all over the world in every corner of business.
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Computers were to make life easier for everyone, except no one knows how to
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turn computers on, thereby losing all possible advantage of having one. I
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have stayed at first class hotels, with pre-paid reservations, only to find
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that they had no record of my reservation. Not until I show them the credit
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card statement and argue with them for twenty minutes, while they poke around
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the database in vain, they hand me a form and ask me to re-register. Why
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did I bother in the first place? I have more credits on my statement than
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charges, as I have double paid almost everything these days.
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Technology and adults and the bastard offspring combined when you put the
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two together. Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?
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se7en
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5/17/97
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Files through AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= Files through WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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