This message was posted to alt.conspiracy. ============================================================================ From: Tommy the Tourist <nobody@soda.berkeley.edu> Subject: Apologies Organization: Cypherpunks From: "L. Detweiler" <ld231782@longs.lance.colostate.edu> Before the story gets around from other sources, here's what *really* happened. I guess that I should start by saying that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the tremendous disturbance that I caused, I now see that I was completely wrong. Nick Szabo is a real person, and I was mistaken to say otherwise. I don't know how to go about cleaning up the mess that I made, but I guess that I'll start by humbly asking all of you to forgive me. It began when I was at home one evening last week, watching TV. The voices were back again. They told me that the TENTACLES were going to use his account to spread their LIES, and to RAPE the unsuspecting net.virgins. The more I thought about it, the more agitated I became. Their SCREAMS filled my ears, and their TEARS came from my own eyes. I couldn't sleep because I knew that their fates rested in my hands. I had to do something. The hell that awaited them was known to me alone, and only I could save them. The poor souls would SQUIRM in AGONY and CRY OUT in pain, but the GROTESQUE cypherpunks would only LAUGH. Every time that I closed my eyes, I'd see the inferno. The monsters believed, I knew, that no joy was greater than UTTERLY DESTROYING an unsuspecting user, SODOMIZING their innocent victims just as they do each other. I thought about posting another message, but decided that this time I had to take my stand. The SATANIC CABAL must be BROKEN, as totally and completely as the Tower of Babel. I flew to Washington, D.C., determined to prove once and for all that szabo@netcom.com is nothing but a deceiving TENTACLE, bent on PILLAGE and PLUNDER. Once that was done, the fate of the MEDUSA was sealed. Thanks to one of his net *friends*, I had Szabo's phone number. Locating his address was not difficult. I knocked at the door and asked for Szabo. The fellow who answered the door asked my name and, when I gave it, he told me to wait there. A few seconds later I heard a voice from upstairs yelling ``Call 911! Call 911!''. His roommate jumped me and we wrestled until, finally, I freed myself and was able to calm him down enough to talk. Szabo came downstairs and said that he'd called the police, and I'd better hightail it out of there or be prepared to spend some time in jail. Thinking that he was an imposter paid by t.c.may and e.hughes to act as Szabo should anyone check, I agreed to talk with the CHARLATAN. He would meet his fate soon enough, and he would PAY DEARLY for his complicity. I convinced him that I wasn't armed, and he agreed to talk. He insisted that he *was* Szabo and tried many ways of proving it. He produced a drivers license and a passport, both issued to Szabo and with pictures of this same man. They seemed valid. I was confused. He then dialed into netcom as szabo and read some mail. It was then that I noticed the sounds, soft and just at the edge of my hearing. It was a light and breathy sound. It was... LAUGHTER. The VOICES WERE LAUGHING AT ME. It was then that the clouds parted and the gleaming ray of sunlight came down to illuminate my vision. All of the time that I had spent jousting quixotically with the cypherpunks had been wasted, as they weren't the enemy. They weren't the ones who were sending the voices to disrupt my sleep. It wasn't them at all. The voices were my true enemy, and I set out with renewed vigor to seek out and destroy the voices. Um, anyway, I guess that he really is szabo@netcom.com. Sorry. Now what I need to know is how do I go about rebuilding the reputation that I've spent so long destroying? So many people have learned to ignore posts from my account that I fear I'll not get another hearing. Gee, maybe on the internet they CAN tell if you're a dog... ============================================================================