December 2003 - cypherpunks-legacy

If You Think I'm Crazy Now... - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
by Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

If ou Think I'm Crazy Now ou Should Have Seen Me When I Was A Kid ~Geezinslaw Brothers SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! _____________________________ From: MX%"chrisharwig(a)hetnet.nl" "kryz" To: MX%"bleed(a)west.cscwc.pima.edu" Subj: Re: Leftist Nutly News - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! I think you're a bit out of line. Wish you well and all of that. Strength that is. ---------- A "bit" out of line? I'm trying to be *way* out of line, but I guess I'm a failure at that, too <sigh>. Children of the 60's can all remember where they were when they heard about JFK being shot. Many of them can remember where they were when they bought their first pound of pot, and most of them can remember where they were when they sold their first pound of pot (particularly if they got busted in the process.) I bought my first pound of pot in a public park in Edmonton, Alberta. I needed to sell it to get the money to pay a fine for drug possession, and I couldn't, in good conscience, pay it with money that I'd earned by working for a living at my regular job. Let me explain... It was the summer of 1969... [Debitor's Bad Note: If 90% of the events in the Author's life seem to have somehow occurred in 1969, this might be the result of the massive electroshock and hypnosis treatments HeOrSheOrIt underwent under the...care...of an MKULTA physician in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Abram Hoffer, who undoubtedly appears as only a minor, peripheral figure, if at all, in most literature on the subject...likely as a result of great care being taken by shadowy background figures to keep him out of the limelight, ala Kim Philby, due to the fact that the record of his 'personal history' seems to be unable to withstand close scrutiny once one begins to investigate the time periods preceding the end of WWII. Hhhmmmm...] Quit interrupting, Dogamnnit! Anyway, I was working in orkton, Saskatchewan and living with a sixteen year old high school student with no parents, no job, no source of income, who always paid his share of the rent, and always had better clothes and more spending money than me. [It turned out that he had two motto's in life. 1)Everything that isn't nailed down, is mine. 2)Anything I can pry loose, isn't nailed down...] The apartment we shared tended to be a hang-out for a variety of local high-school kids, who would invariably bring by any interesting characters passing through town on the couch circuit, who needed a place to crash for the night. One of these characters was Frank Skanks, an older fellow. The drug scene in orkton was basically a Virtual Drug Scene, where most people knew somebody who knew somebody who had once copped a bag of weed on a trip with their parents to Vancouver, and shared it with a few close friends on their return. Upon Franks arrival, however, things picked up, and a few of the local kids suddenly seemed to have access to a fair amount of smoking dope. There even seemed to be some acid floating around. I returned home one evening to find a bottle of wine in the fridge, and had several large glasses before 'the gang' returned from a trip to the Dairy Queen, whereupon they became dismayed to find that I had consumed such a large portion of a concoction they had prepared in accordance with Ken Kesey's directions in 'The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.' That seemed to explain the fact that I was able to pick up Messages >From Mars through the fillings in my teeth, which I had always had trouble doing before... I found it to be a fairly pleasant experience, even though I did feel a slight bit of guilt, knowing that I had inadvertantly setback the plans of a dozen or so people who had hoped to get high with the portion of Dr. Skank's Magic Elixir which I had unwittingly consumed. I didn't mind being 'dosed,' since I had already figured on trying LSD on the proverbial SomeDay. When my enlightened reverie was interrupted, however, by the sight of Frank Skanks teaching a group of thirteen-to-fifteen year olds how to tie-off and shoot up, my pleasant experience took on a rather sour note. When my efforts to put a stop to the proceedings failed, largely due to the rush of young children knocking me down in order to get a good place in the line that was forming, waiting for Frank to find one of his few remaining good veins, I decided that, in the interests of saving at least a single child, I would call on Dudley DoRight for help. I walked to the local RCMP station, dodging the dinosaurs and hobbits which seemed to be everywhere, in a multitude of colors, and proceeded to inquire as to whether they might be interested in helping to postpone a group of young teenagers' entry into the world of needles and spoons and basement rooms until a later age, when they might be in a position to make better judgements in that regard. After throwing me in a jail cell, and grabbing a wide variety of heavy weaponry, a quickly assembled RCMP assault force rushed out the door, to 'save the children.' I had the uneasy feeling that they were intent on saving them even if it meant killing them. I didn't get any sleep that night, undoubtedly as a result of the fact that I was 'tripping for twelve,' and I could hear a lot of muffled, semi-legible conversations taking place on the far side of the walls, or door. They didn't seem to make sense, and I assumed that it was because of my temporary residence of planets of another galaxy. The clearest verbal communication I heard, as the door to the jail cells was opened, was, "Wrong door!" I don't know who spoke those words, but I imagine that it was one of the Mounties in the company of Frank Skanks, who was staring at me with extremely wide eyes, and with excrement obviously filling his shorts in less time that it take to utter, "Can you say *cop*! Sure you can..." I was totally dumbfounded, as well as still extremely wasted, but I still managed to smile, and say, "Nice suit, Frank." before the door closed and the conference which had apparently just broken up was quickly reconvened. Being young and naieve, I thought that this was the end of the story, an interesting story I would someday be able to tell my grandchildren, after DNA testing showed my denials of paternity to be outright lies. What I didn't understand, at the time, was that my surprise at finding that the Great Canadian Hero, Dudley DoRight, was somehow involved in something which seemed to run contrary to the Official Movie Mythology, would soon be supplanted by total incredulity that the spot of shit I had observed on the end of Dudley's Dick would soon prove to be a massive amount of shit covering the RCMP members' members all the way to their pelvis, and dripping down off thier balls into their rubber boots. And the shit would smell an awful lot like mine... The Official Story was that, after performing a search of my apartment, and finding nothing, the RCMP returned with members of the force who were more 'experienced' in this area, who, lo and behold, found a single joint in a suit-jacket pocket. I was charged with possession of marijuana. Tiny, a member of the Apollos Motorcycle Club in Regina, who Frank had travelled into town with, had apparently told Frank to 'fuck off' when asked to introduce him to individuals throughout the province, with Frank paying travelling expenses and providing spending money during the trips. Tiny was willing to testify in court as to Franks apparent instigation of illegal activities on behalf of some entity who seemed to be funding him. A few days before the trial, we were pulled over by the Mounties, who took Tiny into their police car to have a chat with him. Upon his return, Tiny told me that it was suggested to him that if I got off on the charge, that they would have to find someone else to take the fall, and that he was next in line. Tiny assured me that he would still be there for the trial. Bye, Tiny... In order to convict me of possession of a single joint, the RCMP sent two Mounties to my hometown for a week or so to investigate me, as well as contacting everyone I have known since birth. Although my lawyer had assured me that the case would undoubtedly be thrown out of court as a result of the RCMP's tacit admission that a wide variety of individuals had been seen coming and going from my apartment between the first and second searches (while I was still in jail), I was convicted, receiving a criminal record and a $ 300.00 fine (at a time when other people were getting $ 50.00 fines and conditional discharges--no criminal record). Being a well-programmed True Believer in Truth, Justice, The Flag, The National Anthem, Dudley DoRight, Mom's Apple Pie, ad infinituum, it took me quite a while to fully understand that I had been screwed, blued and tattoo'd for the crime of...seeing something that I wasn't meant to see. Those who have found themselves subjected to my insane, inane, wild-eyed rants on the CypherPunks Disturbed Male LISP might be surprised to know that I didn't, at the time, get 'a bit out of line,' as <chrisharwig(a)hetnent.nl> might say. As a matter of fact, I pretty much retained my naievity, somehow convincing myself that this event in my life obviously had to be some kind of aberration of TheWayThingsAre (TM), or that the RCMP detachment in orkton had been taken over and subverted by the Body Snatchers, and that I should just mark it all up to having a BadHairDay. {I have not come by my cynicism easily, having had it pounded into me over the course of the years by a variety of members of our Officially Recognized Authorities who deemed that, once I had become an OfficiallyLabledBadGuy, I was fair game for anyone who was in need of 'someone doing something dirty, decent folks can frown on.'} Although I will freely admit that I remained, for the time being, an ignorant, well-programmed middle-class Canadian white boy, I am rather proud of the fact that I showed a spark of future promise as an individual capable of evolving into AManWorthyOfBeingCalledAMan, as Gurdjieff would say, by listening to the voice inside which told me that there was a line I could not cross and still retain any semblance of integrity and self-respect. I could not, in good conscience, allow these thieves to take my hard earned money, in payment of the court-ordered fine. I was met, after my conviction, on the steps of the courhouse, by a group of local teenagers, most of whom I did not know, who were aware that I had never smoked a joint in my life, and had decided that if I had to do the time, I might as well do the crime. The first joint I ever smoked was on the courthouse steps in orkton, Saskatchewan, after having been railroaded into a criminal conviction in order to prevent my being in a position to speak out about my inadvertantly gained knowledge of RCMP malefeasance. The first pound of weed I ever bought was in a public park in Edmonton, Alberta, which I sold in orkton, Saskatchewan, in order to pay a fine that resulted for conviction of possession of a drug I had not only never before done, but had never before seen. So, Constable McClean and Corporal Esau, swear out some new warrants and take me to court. I've already confessed... Sincerely, Mr. BigFuckou

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Re: 3DES weak because DES falls to brute-force? (was Re: John Gilmore...)
by Steve Schear 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

>One of the reasons we so aggressively pursued the negotiations over export >control with the Administration and have pushed the AES, and our PKI is >the collateral damage from the export control legislative debate. When >the AES is finalized it will be followed closely by an ANSI X9 standard. >Once these standards and infrastructure are established, the concerns >about brute force attacks should be largely behind us. I think it likely, biological computation based brute force attacks will be available much sooner than many think. --Steve --------------------------------------------------------------------- reply to schear - at - lvcm - dot - com --- PGP mail preferred, see http://www.pgp.com and http://web.mit.edu/network/pgp.html RSA fingerprint: FE90 1A95 9DEA 8D61 812E CCA9 A44A FBA9 RSA key: http://keys.pgp.com:11371/pks/lookup?op=index&search=0x55C78B0D ---------------------------------------------------------------------

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Need Large Income Fast??
by success26＠apexmail.com 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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De'Parts - The Parts locating highway...
by Marketing＠departs.co.il 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

To: General Manager. Purchasing Director Marketing Director. Re: Boost your sales to High-Tech industries. Dear Sir/Madam; * If you need to find parts or stock as fast as possible... You need De'Parts. * If you are looking to sell surplus parts or stock (in bulk)... You need De'Parts. * If you are a manufacturer or a distributor and you want to boost sales... You need De'Parts. Share your database with others, and join the De'Parts family at: WWW.DEPARTS.COM ********************************************** De'Parts is an Internet-based information services center that provides an inventory database to potential buyers and suppliers of industrial products. De'Parts enables you to publish and locate parts at the stroke of a key. Both supply and demand are met at the De'Parts site, where all parties can find exactly what they need. Your parts or surplus stock could be just the solution for someone else's needs. De'Parts will help reduce your costs, improve inventory control and save valuable storage space. All members of the De'Parts network are able, free of charge: * To search our database; * To use our Email robot; * To submit Requests for Quotations (RFQ's); and * To download files. Publishing members can advertise an unlimited number of parts or lists of stock, on our database for the benefit of all De'Parts site visitors. Publishing membership costs less than the price of an advertisement in your local newspaper. Just follow the steps below and you are on your way to a substantial increase in sales: 1. Log in to De'Parts and Register to the system. Be aware if You want to sale all your stock as a batch or to sell it Part by Part (It means that you may have to provide a quotation for each part). 2. Create a file to publish, include all your parts for sale, and follow the instructions that describe how to "Upload a File" in "Manage D.B.". 3. Upload your file to the system (Step 1 - to Publish the file as a batch. Step 2 - To publish and quote each part). 4. Check your Email frequently. For detailed information, please read the "About" section at: WWW.DEPARTS.COM Thank you for your time and we hope that you enjoy the advantages provided by our system. Wishing you a lot of success, S. Avishai V.P. Marketing De'Parts ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *** Take a part in De'Parts...the parts locating highway *** -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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De'Parts - The Parts locating highway...
by Marketing＠departs.co.il 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

To: General Manager. Purchasing Director Marketing Director. Re: Boost your sales to High-Tech industries. Dear Sir/Madam; * If you need to find parts or stock as fast as possible... You need De'Parts. * If you are looking to sell surplus parts or stock (in bulk)... You need De'Parts. * If you are a manufacturer or a distributor and you want to boost sales... You need De'Parts. Share your database with others, and join the De'Parts family at: WWW.DEPARTS.COM ********************************************** De'Parts is an Internet-based information services center that provides an inventory database to potential buyers and suppliers of industrial products. De'Parts enables you to publish and locate parts at the stroke of a key. Both supply and demand are met at the De'Parts site, where all parties can find exactly what they need. Your parts or surplus stock could be just the solution for someone else's needs. De'Parts will help reduce your costs, improve inventory control and save valuable storage space. All members of the De'Parts network are able, free of charge: * To search our database; * To use our Email robot; * To submit Requests for Quotations (RFQ's); and * To download files. Publishing members can advertise an unlimited number of parts or lists of stock, on our database for the benefit of all De'Parts site visitors. Publishing membership costs less than the price of an advertisement in your local newspaper. Just follow the steps below and you are on your way to a substantial increase in sales: 1. Log in to De'Parts and Register to the system. Be aware if You want to sale all your stock as a batch or to sell it Part by Part (It means that you may have to provide a quotation for each part). 2. Create a file to publish, include all your parts for sale, and follow the instructions that describe how to "Upload a File" in "Manage D.B.". 3. Upload your file to the system (Step 1 - to Publish the file as a batch. Step 2 - To publish and quote each part). 4. Check your Email frequently. For detailed information, please read the "About" section at: WWW.DEPARTS.COM Thank you for your time and we hope that you enjoy the advantages provided by our system. Wishing you a lot of success, S. Avishai V.P. Marketing De'Parts ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *** Take a part in De'Parts...the parts locating highway *** -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Canadian Shock Radio - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
by Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

Canadian Shock Radio - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! ____________________________________________________ Lest anyone think that my rendidion of 'Dudley's Dick In D-Sharp" might be a bit of sour grapes on my part, let me state, for the record, that I hold no ill will against the poor, ignorant Nazis in the orkton division of the RCMP, since basically all they really did was to totally fuck up their own Karma, while giving me a valuable life-lesson which may well have been responsible for my making a very important and far- reaching decision later in my life. ears later, as a result of knowing what awaits TheManWhoKnowsTooMuch I decided to keep my fucking mouth shut about the people and events that I observed from my position on the ceiling, while looking down on my body and the rest of the room during a particularly intensive electro- shock experience. Something told me that I was, once again, inadvertently observing something that would result in 'measures' needing to be taken by the RecognizedAndRespectedMembersOfSociety (of which I was not one), in order to ensure that I did not share with others what I had seen while peeking under the skirt of the GreatWhoreWhoWasWearingNoPanties. One of the more disturbing things I perceived while listening to the rather enlightening conversations taking place among the gathered civilian and military medical personnel, was something that I have come to understand rather recently, as a result of research that was begun after something Tim May mentioned in one of his posts to the CPUNX list. I thought it odd, at the time, to observe my being given a long series of electroshocks in a single session, since it was my understanding that They (TM) just gave a person one, quick whack, and then hosed the shit off your sheets and wheeled you into another room to make way for the next lucky winner. Recent research, however, seems to indicate that this was a special technique pioneered in Canada by Dr. Ewen Cameron, MKULTRA's resident wanna-be-Nazi-doctor, in order to wipe his patients' minds (and identities) 'clean,' in order to prepare them for a rebuilding of their personality, through a technique called Psychic Driving (which turns out to be a kindlier, gentler form of Brainwashing--as long as you are only comparing it to bamboo-shoots under the fingernails and rats in cages placed over one's face). Of course, Dr. Cameron, who retired to great accolade, recognized as a Titan in Canadian Medical History, as opposed to being tried by an International Court and sentenced to be hung, like his predecessors at Dachau, was really only being used as an expendable shill to take the heat if the shit hit the fan over Rockerfeller Foundation funded CIA/ Military experiments obliterating the minds of women being treated for such devastating mental disabilities as 'menopause' and 'post-partum depression.' After all, one could hardly expect the CIA to risk exposure of the players in the Canadian MKULTRA scene whose pre-WorldWarII alleged 'histories' could not withstand close scrutiny. Accordingly, after the shit hit the fan, it was Dr. Cameron who fell off a cliff while 'climbing' <nod-nod> <wink-wink>, while my physician continued to practice...and practice...and practice... Delving into the history of CIA mind-control experiments cleared up a few things that had been somewhat of a mystery in regard to my medical treatment over the years, such as how I had ended up being treated with hypnosis and heavy doses of electroshock when I had originally gone to see the doctor in regard to a particularly nasty hangnail, and what the fuck all of those Navy people were doing two thousand miles from the ocean. I'm just kidding, of course... The fact is, I *already* knew *what* the fuck all of those Navy people were doing in Saskatchewan. They were there conferring with Dr. Hoffer's alleged 'research assistant,' MJ. What I *didn't* know, at the time, was *why*. I was not surprised to recently find out, after a modicum of research, that Ms. MJ Callbeck left the Navy as a nurse lieutenant, specializing in psychiatric nursing, receiving most of her postgraduate training at Allan Memorial Hospital in Montreal, from phychiatrists who were, to put it as delicately as possible...PostWar Refugees From Hitler's Nazi Germany. (With 'refugee' apparently being defined as a physician who had escaped trial and hanging at Nuremburg, as a result of having a wealth of information and 'practical experience' in areas that were of interest to American and Canadian intelligence agencies.) Ms. Callbeck became a 'research nurse' for a research team formed in Saskatchewan with huge grant from the CIA's Canadian funding front, the Rockerfeller Foundation, and was awarded a training grant to visit two U.S. research units funded by the CIA's American funding front, the Human Ecology Foundation, at Tulane University, in New Orleans, and the Psychiatric Institute in New ork. After MJ's return from the HeartOfMentalDarkness of the MKULTRA mind-control establishments in the U.S., she created a psychiatric researching nursing team to 'control' all clinical research for the team, and to ensure that research protocols would be followed. Ms. Callbeck's and Dr. Hoffer's careers were closely intertwined with Dr. Humphry Osmond, a British Naval doctor sent to Canada to look after British Naval Intelligence's interests in the North American mind-control research arena being fronted by the CIA, with their MKULTRA Project, and Captain Al Hubbard, the Johnny Appleseed of LSD, whose hallucinogenic pecker-tracks throughout the OSS and the Manhattan Project led to him receiving a Presidential Pardon from Harry Truman, as well as opening doors for him to a wide variety of employment with such agencies as the CIA and the Canadian Special Services. As a matter of fact, the chronolgy of the U.S. mind-control experiments moving beyond U.S. borders, to countries such as Canada, when publicity and legal technicalities (such as the murder of innocent victims who had been dosed with hallucinogenic drugs without their knowledge) became a bit of a 'sticky wicket,' was mirrored in Canada by the careers of Hoffer, Osmond, Callbeck and Hubbard, who seemed to be at the center of much of the 'progressive' psychiatric research funded by American and Canadian military intelligence agencies, but who always managed to somehow exit the scene just before the shit hit the fan, and, as a result, "not get any fon 'em." {e.g. - Just as Hubbard (who looks surprisingly like my step-grandfather, Ray Hubbard) managed to slip out the back door of the Hollywood Hospital in Vancouver, just as "the Canadian Medical Association was becoming increasingly suspicious of Hollywood Hospital in the wake of publicity surrounding MK-ULTRA" (with the Canadian Citizen's Commission on Human Rights doing a distincly audible "Hhhmmmm..." over discovering a CIA contract psychiatrist, Dr. Harold Abramson, being on the Board Of Directors of the hospital superintendent's Psychedelic Therapy Assn.), Dr. Hoffer always seemed to manage to call a 'slant-right' at the exact time that a hole in the line seemed to open up, closing behind him and leaving the more dispensable players behind to face a legal and media blitz(krieg) that was more interested in kicking ass and taking names, than who actually had the ball. Naturally, after 1966, when overt legal research into hallucinogenic therapy was stopped/banned, Dr. Hoffer, who was then Associate Professor (Research) Psychiatry, College of Medicine, University of Saskatchewan, suddenly deemed it time to go into 'private practice,' where his work/ research would not be subject to the scrutiny of his peers and his employers, who might take a dim view of any connection to what was now illegal research. Ms. Callbeck, Navy Lieutenant, MKULTRA research trainee, also found it a convenient time to depart the Research Unit at the University of Saskatchewan, and assist Dr. Hoffer in the research he was pursuing. As always, what one finds upon inquiry into JustTheFactsMa'am never seems to be quite as intruiging as what one *does*not* find... For instance, one would expect a person who held such an esteemed position as Director General Technical Assistance, United Nations, to include this accolade on his or her Curriculum Vitae, but Dr. Hoffer does not seem to have done so. As well, all research into the details of the position seem to lead nowhere, except when one makes personal inquiries through people who were involved with closely connected areas of the UN agency at the time, and, even then, when one begins to ask more detailed questions about the involvement-of/relationship-with Kurt Waldheim, etc., people's memories suddenly get much worse, and, by golly it seems that they can't seem to remember hardly anything at all, and think that maybe they were mistaken about what they already told you. Of course, when one looks under the dustbins of history, one invariably finds a few dustballs that remain, as a result of someone forgetting to do a thourough cleaning, and one finds such gems as a letter from The Commission For The Study Of Creative Imagination, with such notables/ suspects such as Hoffer, Hubbard, Osmond, Huxley. Smythies, on the Board of Directors (with Hoffer's UN position highlighted), making inquiries into the Urantia manuscripts which Hitler's Deaths Head troops found so enamoring. "Our little planet, Urantia, is poised on the brink of an enthralling epoch of social readjustment, moral quickening, and spiritual enlightenment -- the threshold of true civilization." {Of particular interest is the lack of any mention of Reptilian Nazis, even though it seems to be common knowledge that Jesus descended into the bowels of the earth during his three days of being incommunicado. Were there 'basement stairs' in his 'burial' cave?} Also curiously missing from all references to the history of psychiatry and/or hallucinogenic mind-control experimentation in Canada is mention of an individual whose name I encountered many times in Saskatchewan, and always in relation to communities which contained major mental health hospitals or facilities--Frank Skanks. The above, of course, is just the tip of the iceberg that one discovers upon doing a bit of research into known and documented human figures in the history of mental health research and practice in Saskatchewan. If one begins investigations into some of the more shadowy figures who are usually encountered only when viewing their electroshock treatments from the ceiling above, or by following them from one's doctor's office and eavesdropping on them during their lunch, etc., then things get, as Alice noted, "curiouser and curiouser..." Stan, you've still got something hanging from your lip...

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where...
by Jia Yan 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

Hi: Does anybody can tell me in which ftp site i can find the specifications about the CCITT's X.400 and X.500 protocol sets? Thanx!

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Thanks, phlamers!
by nobody＠REPLAY.COM 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

* To: cypherpunks(a)toad.com * Subject: Re: Request To Be Phlamed * From: Reeza! <howree(a)cable.navy.mil> At 11:53 AM 18 07 98 -0700, GayWeb.Net wrote: >Hi Guys GO THE FUCK AWA. NOW. ______________________ I would like to thank all of you who helped to test my new PresidentialDeathThreatRemailer by sending your flames to the above address, to be forwarded to the BlancHouse. [Please note that the PresidentialDeathThreatRemailer logs and forwards all headers with the messages.] I put the PresidentialDeathThreatRemailer into operation only after receiving assurances from Jim Bell's public defender attorney that I am legally free to help people exercise their right of free speech in this manner, and that it would not adversely affect my military career, as long as I was careful to forward only flames and death threats, while deleting any pictures of officers fucking the living shit out of non-coms. All donations to the PresidentialDeathThreatRemailer will be donated to the IRS Jalapeno Vaseline Fund. Reezone Ozone

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I95 - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
by Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

I(95)'m An Asshole - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! __________________________________________________ Been an asshole all my life... I suppose I should keep my obligation to be true to my word and provide the RCMP with details of my life of crime, in order to help the Canadian Justice system to compensate for the ignorant incompetence of Canada's National Internal Police Force. I guess it was kind of mean of me to 'confess' to a crime I committed over a quarter-century ago, on which the Statute Of Limitations has undoubtedly run out. So I'm a belligerant, smart-alec asshole...so sue me! Regardless, I feel obligated to give up the Real Goods this time, by confessing to a more recent crime for which I can undoubtedly be charged, tried and convicted, without anything remotely resembling True Justice standing in the way... Get out the warrant and lick your pen, Dudley, because I confess to being guilty of none other than...Accessory After The Fact To Grand Theft Auto! Less than two years ago, nonetheless! <Mounties across Canada cheer, and throw their hats in the air...> Personally, I think that Officer Besalt should get the honour of throwing the cuffs on me for this charge, since the actual perpetrator of the car theft was his good BumBuddyAidsInfestedDrugAddictedInformant, Ian Wasacase, on whose behalf Officer Besalt, a SorryScumBagPieceOfShit ThievingPrick (TM) robbed me at gunpoint in full public view, at the CoalDust Saloon, in Bienfait Saskatchewan. RCMP Officer AJ Besalt, a piece of Human Garbage who has the conscience and intellect of a Slug, not only seems incapable of feeling any sense of shame in dressing up in his neatly pressed uniform, with his shiny badge and shoes, and telling a judge, with a straight face, nonetheless, that, despite his incompetence in being able to produce the proper paperwork on a DogAtLarge charge that he commanded the plaintiff to appear in court on, under the threat of armed, physical violence, the case should be continued, with a new date set, in order for him not to feel like an incompetent moron for being able to handle a simple DogAtLarge case any better than he did an attempted DrugBust, ending up having to retrieve their government informant/agent's DrugBuyFrontMoney at gunpoint from a citizen who had committed no crime. Oh, pardon me...I would hate for anyone to get the *wrong* impression, here... OffalSir Besalt didn't actually mention the part about using a career criminal and police informant to attempt to frame a disabled person on a drug charge by using the threat of violence to get him to sell some of his medication in return for marked money. I guess he didn't want to take up the Court's valueable time with insignificant details. Lest the reader believe, Dog forbid, that I am stringing out my sincere confession in order to torture a poor, pathetic excuse for a human being by including facts and details that never quite seem to make it into the Offical Police Reports, I guess I had best get on with supplying the details of my HeinousCrime. I was very young as a child... <hee-hee> OK, really, now... Ian Wasacase, former preacher <typical, eh?>, had come to Estevan to bestow his blessed presence on his brother, Gilbert, and his family. He had driven down with his NewImprovedDrugAddictedOldLady and a couple of friends who were apparently his apprentices in his life of crime. As overjoyed as Gilbert and his wife, Peggy, were to see Gilbert's beloved brother, Ian, they nonetheless that, in the interest of saving the life of several single children, their own, that it would be best if Ian and his SpoonFed Roadies were to depart, and thus not further endangering the lives of the family's children by shooting their AIDS infested blood all over the floor, walls and ceiling of the bathroom and the children's bedrooms. In consternation with the difficulty of getting the FamilyJunkie and friends out of his home, Gilbert offered to pay my expenses to make a trip to Regina, which he knew I needed to do anyway, in return for leading his brother to believe that I had a medical prescription that was waiting for me in Regina, which I would be interested in selling to pick up a little cash. It worked like a charm... Ian and the SpoonFed Roadies had their belongings packed and were waiting outside, by the vehicles, in 32-seconds flat. (A new world record!) Ian's old lady and two friends climbed into my motorhome, explaining that the heater in the car they had brought didn't work very well, and we proceeded down the highway, toward Regina, with me following Ian's car with my motorhome. Well, not exactly... It turns out that it wasn't Ian's car. It wasn't his old lady's car. It wasn't either of his friends' car. I pretty much figured that out when he pulled over by the side of the road, motioning for me to stop, and then turned onto a small snow-filled side road which received no winter maintenance, and proceeded to put the pedal to the metal, going up and over a railway crossing, and down the other side into a deep snowbank where the car would be hidden until spring thaw. My instincts were further confirmed when he appeared, walking back, with a hammer, a large screwdriver, and the license plates off the car. Did I inform the police of this? Did I turn him in? Nope...I'm AnAccessoryAfterTheFact. To tell the truth, being AnAccessoryAfterTheFact has, thus far, resulted in far less jail time than any of the attempts I have made during my life to provide information and/or assistance to those who are officially sworn to uphold the law. It always seems that those who perpetrate crimes are much more informed on the legal technicalities regarding crimes and criminal proceedings than those who happen to be standing nearby with their thumb up their ass, committing crimes only against themselves. In the end, it always seems to end up that the person who murdered a few hundred babies in their crib gets probation in return for turning State's Evidence against the person who wanders into the room and says, "Uuuhhh...I really don't think you should be doing this." Cynical? Moi? Eat my shorts...I'm talking about Real Life (TM) here, boys and girls, not about Matlock, OK? So, there you have it, Dudley. A full confession that can be used to convict me, coming from my own lips (so to speak, although I actually type with my tongue). No longer will you have to haul my ass repeatedly into court in vain attempts to convict me of crimes of which I am not guilty, as a result of sloppy investigative work and a propensity to ignore the fact that your witnesses are lying scumbag sacks of shit who would testify against their own mothers to get out of their own criminal charges. [EditWhore's Gnote: Since the confession, per se, is complete, members of Royal Canadian Mounted Police may want to forgoe reading the rest of my diatribe, since it will merely fill in a few small details regarding the incompetent, criminal and unconsionable actions of Officer Besalt.] Upon reaching Regina, after the commission of my Heinous Crime of AnAccessoryAfterTheFactToGrandTheftAuto, I decided that I would drop the GrandTheftAutoPerpetrator, et al, off at their place of residence, purporting to go pick up my medications and return, to make my fortune selling them my medications at outrageously low prices. Instead, I seemed to get stuck in the driveway behind their house, even though the snow was not very deep, and I had little trouble driving in. After going in the house to warm up and get a shovel, which it turns out they didn't have, Ian took my winter coat to go get a shovel, or some friends to help, or somesuch. He soon returned without the jacket, without a shovel, and without any friends. Since it was thirty or forty below zero and they had no phone, I quickly began to suspect that, since I obviously wasn't going anywhere, Ian & Company had come to the conclusion that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and that once they were in possession of the medication I currently had, then they could look forward to a bright future in which there might actually be another bird out there somewhere, in the form of a prescription for further medication. Although I would be the last one to heap praise upon Ian for the choices he has made in his life, neither would I be the first to heap huge amounts of abuse on him for his character, or lack thereof. The reason for this is quite simple...he didn't kill me. Ian is a drug addict, with a ferocious habit to feed, and little stength of character left with which to attempt to avoid falling into total moral depravity. However, he chose to scam me, steal from me while I slept, and the like, over the course of several days, instead of just whacking me over the head with an axe and taking all of my medication. This small bit of self-restraint on his part allowed me to split my supply of medication into small stashes which I could allow him to find and steal at a rate suitable for keeping his habit in check, and buy me time for the temperature to rise to a scorching twenty below zero, at which time I made a break for a friend's house some distance away, and suffered only minor frostbite in the process. As far as Officer Besalt, RCMP, is concerned, however...Fuck That Sorry Criminal ScumSucking Piece Of Crap In His Dirty Little Asshole! Officer Besalt, too ignorant to realize who was grinding the organ, and who was dancing with the funny hat and the tin cup, brought Ian down to Estevan in an attempt to bust me for selling my medication. ou see, Ian had been working as an informant for the RCMP in other Saskatchewan districts, enabling the Mounties to arrest and convict a number of desperados, some of whose crime seemed to be wanting to kick Ian's ass for fucking their sisters while being AIDS infested, without telling them. {In all fairness to the Mounties, Ian's bragging about the people who he had screwed over as a police informant indicated that half of them were probably guilty of *something*...} Thus it was that Ian and his old lady appeared on my doorstep in the small hamlet of Bienfait, late one night, wanting to purchase some of my medication. He pulled a wad of money out of his pocket, and seemed fully prepared to make a buy... [Note by AnEditorToBeBustedLater: What it is essential to understand, here, is that any individual on the face of the earth, no matter how dim-witted, could immediately take one look at Ian, seeing him for the first time, and instinctively realize that no matter how desperate he was for a fix, even if he had a million dollars in his pocket, he would first try every scam in the world to steal whatever drugs a person had before he would finally break down and actually *buy* them in an honest, straightforward deal.] I stood there looking at the cash in his hand, mentally visualizing a picture of Dudley DoRight where the Queen's picture normally is, and immediately came to three quick conclusions: 1) The motherfucker *owed* me for the several hundred dollars that it took for me to replace my tires and get my motorhome mobile again. (Not to mention the thousand or so dollars of damage he did to the interior while tearing it apart, looking for drugs.) 2) Ian was only holding forth $ 40.00, out of the several hundred in his possession, obviously intending to purchase a couple of pills, stash the rest of the money in his sock, and pick up a couple of hundred bucks in spare change, over and above what the RCMP were paying him to help frame innocent people. 3) Since Ian was totally incapable of going more than a few hours without drugs, he undoubtedly had some in his possession (probably provided by the Dudley DoRight Pharmacutical Company), and that if I didn't do a deal with him, he might very well stash the forty bucks in my house on his way out, and turn over a few pills of his private stash as evidence against me. I don't like jail...never have...never will... Regardless, there was not a snowball's chance in hell that I was going to pass up an opportunity to fuck Ian out of forty bucks. I snatched the $ 40.00 out of his hand, and said, "OK! I'll meet you at the CoalDust Saloon in ten minutes. I've got the shit stashed outside." Ian knew I was scamming him, but he wasn't sure how. Neither was I, but I had ten minutes to figure it out... Basic Rules Of Life #238: If your's is the strength of ten, because your heart is pure, and you are working for the Forces of Light...never pull your scams in a dark alley. Dark alleys are for criminals, and the criminal with the badge and the gun invariably win the battle. Basic Rules Of Life #239: Criminals are afraid of the light...even criminals with badges and guns. "Sunshine is the best disinfectant." ~ Judge Louis Brandeis I went to the CoalDust Saloon, and used one of the twenties to buy a beer for myself and Ian. Ian wanted me to give him the drugs, and I told him to hold on for a minute. I walked over to the change machine by the Video Lottery Terminals and put the other twenty and the beer change in, turning them into loonies. I gave Ian ten of the Loonies. I proceeded to put the rest of the Loonies into a VLT machine and begin gambling. Ian asked me where the drugs were. I told him to fuck off. He looked hurt and hung around like a kicked puppy, while his old lady made a call on the pay phone. Officer Besalt walked through the door of the CoalDust Saloon a few minutes later. [eah, yeah, it's me again: The RCMP cover a lot of territory in a thinly populated area, around Estevan, and thus it takes them a considerable amount of time to respond to calls. It may take them several hours to respond to a traffic accident, or thirty minutes to an hour to respond to serious crimes late at night. If they walk through the door five minutes after being called, it is because they were sitting around the corner, and waited for four minutes before getting out of their vehicle and coming in.] Officer Besalt needed to get the Mountie's DrugFrontMoney back while pretending it was Ian's money. Lottsa luck... We discussed the situation, as I sat playing the VLT, and I quite simply told the OffalSir that Ian had offered me money to buy drugs from me and that I had taken it, since he owed me hundreds of dollars for having slashed my tires in order to hold me hostage and steal my drugs in Regina. Unfortunately, I didn't use the word 'taken.' I told OffalSir Besalt that I had 'snatched' the money from Ian's hand, whereupon both Besalt and I knew that he was now free to fuck with me if I did not return the money, since I had implied that Ian might not have relinquished the money totally voluntarily. Although I was between a rock and a hard place, not having the money, there *is* a Dog! I hit a minor jackpot that gave me forty bucks. As I waited for the barmaid to cash in my ticket and bring me the money, I made a point of going into great detail, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, about how the person on whose behalf the RCMP Officer was shaking me down was a drug addict who was attempting to make a drug buy from me, and how I was unwilling to commit the crime, desiring only to receive the money that he owed me for slashing my tires and holding me hostage in severe winter conditions in the BigCity. "Sunshine is the best disinfectant." The Bottom Line: OffalSir Besalt is a sorry, scumbag Nazi piece of shit with no better morals or conscience than to try to use a lying, conniving criminal scam- artist who has provided countless Canadian youth with hard drugs while working as a paid RCMP agent/informant, to attempt to entrap a mentally disabled individual into committing a crime by selling his medications in order to prevent once again being victimized by a lifetime criminal. Oh, yeah...and *I* have never murdered anyone by giving them AIDS while being under the legal protection of the RCMP. _____________________ Non-Adobe PostScript: One of the more humorous aspects of the Ian Wasacase Saga was a news story in the Regina Leader Post in regard to the RCMP's ultra-secret informant/witness in the trial of four(?) men accused of armed robbery (and murder?). After describing the individual's identity being cloaked by his participation in the Witness Protection Program, the Leader Post, toward the end of the article, revealed Ian's name. Duuhhh... Ian is now serving hard time in a Manitoba prison as a result of a multitude of armed robberies he committed while working under the protective umbrella of the RCMP. {Undoubtedly hoping that his cellmates don't have a subscription to the Regina Leader Post.} Officer Besalt is serving hard time as a result of being trapped in the mind and body of an Ignorant Nazi Fuck (TM). {Undoubtedly too fucking ignorant to realize that he would be much better off being Ian Wasacase.} Attention Law Enforcement Agents: "Smoke 'em if you confiscated 'em..."

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NSA's Long Strong Arm
by John Young 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

>From a series in Network World, July 20, 1998, "The Long, Strong Arm of the NSA," about the Agency's methods of enforcing export obedience with intimidation, delay and obfuscation: User manual: Dodging the rules By Ellen Messmer Network World, The National Security Agency (NSA) wrote the export rules on encryption. But from the point of view of corporations that want to ship U.S. software to their foreign offices, getting around the U.S. export rules is a top priority. And even for those who used to work at the NSA, it's still a challenge. "Well, I wrote those export rules when I was at the NSA," confessed Russell Davis, now chief of information technology security at SBC Warburg Dillon Read, a division of Swiss Bank Corp., which operates in 77 countries. Since joining the corporate life, Davis has used his knowledge of the NSA to find ways to work around the export system on behalf of his customer, the bank, which uses a lot of encryption-based security gear. "It took 17 months to figure out how to get crypto-based smart cards to Swiss facilities and elsewhere," Davis said. "But I wrote the rules on all this, and I know how to get around them." Would he ever consider using government- approved data-recovery? "Never," Davis declared. "My customers come first!" "Our customers just aren't going to buy these types of products," said Tom Carty, vice president of business development for GTE CyberTrust. He agreed the government is leading industry down a path to build products few users will willingly buy. --------- More at Network World: http://www.nwfusion.com/news/0720nsa.html (requires sign-up) Mirror: http://jya.com/nsa-lsa.htm Thanks to MO.

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