Buttheads

Some of you may have heard of the new fad among kids called ‘weasel snorting.’ Now, while I believe that what a person and a weasel do in the privacy of their own home (assuming, of course, that they’re both legally adults) is their own business, this is just wrong. Especially the bit with the bendy straws.

Seriously.

But enough about that. What I really want to talk about today is the growing trend of spammers registering on forums and then mass mailing to all the members. We here at Wayfarer’s Moon have fallen victim to this tactic, which is why we’ve instituted a few security measures to attempt to keep them out.

It used to be that you could just register. Now, however, we have to force people to go through a series of steps.

1. Provide a user name and email.
2. Provide at least three current references. Family does not count.
3. Find a sphinx and answer its riddle. And no, the answer is not ‘man.’
4. Send us the answer to the riddle via a WWII Enigma machine.
5. Correctly input a captcha.
6. Stab a vampire with a fork and successfully get away.
7. Watch an Uwe Boll movie. This will prove your courage.
8. Watch a second Uwe Boll movie. This is just because we’re mean.
9. Do the Time Warp (again).

Okay, fine. You really don’t have to do all that (though it would be cool if you did). You just register and then we try to establish whether or not you’re a real person via some cross-checking. It’s kind of a pain, but generally we only get one or two a day, so it’s not that big a deal.

However, for some reason, I had eight today (plus one ‘honest to goodness, real-life person’). It took me almost thirty minutes to go through them all, thirty minutes I could have spent doing something productive like playing FreeCell.

NOTE: I love FreeCell and I rock at it. I play FreeCell and keep the stats going until I lose one and then I zero them out. My personal best was 428 wins in a row. It took well over a year and then my computer tanked. And yes, I have no life.

So, forum spammers (henceforth known as ‘buttheads’), please stop. You register, we ban you. You try again, we ban you again. It’s like a very silly little war that just wastes a lot of time. Time that could be better spent on FreeCell. Or curing something.

Please, if not for me, do it for the kids. And the weasels.

Cheers,
-Jason

Day 4

Day 4.

I think, perhaps, I am going mad. I sit and stare. I wait. Ever waiting. Ever staring. Nothing happens. The green light does not glow. I know not what to do, so I do nothing. I sit. I wait. I stare.

There is noise from my window. Sounds. Voices in ebb and flow. They do not know. They would not understand. Even if I told them, they would look at me with confusion, as they do not speak English. I think to draw pictures, to illustrate my woes, to give some form to the terror that grips me. But alas, the crude two-dimensional stick-figures with large, bulbous heads I draw are woefully inadequate to convey the three dimensions of madness I feel. I draw a horsey, which could be mistaken for a dog. I call him Hubert.

Still, the green light does not illuminate. It glows not. Ixnay on the lowgay. Unable to restrain myself, I reach for the mouse. I click, slowly and carefully at first, and then faster and faster yet. A bead of sweat drips from my forehead to the keyboard. And yet, I lose. I have never been good at Solitaire. I play a game of FreeCell and my nerves are soothed by my victory. I rock at FreeCell.

I return to sitting, to staring. In a sudden mad frenzy, I seize the mouse again. I click frantically on anything, everything. Folders open. Movies play. I am unamused. I have seen them all. Even the whimsical antics of a water-skiing squirrel brings no smile to my lips.

There is a sudden spasm of lights. My breath catches and I sit upright, every organ intent on the small black box upon my desk. Even my gall bladder leaves off its ceaseless creation of stones to percolate with hope. The lights fade and I would weep, had I the tears left.

I check my mail. My dial-up connection crackles and spits. After an agonizing minute, an offer for cheap Viagra appears. I hesitate. I could attempt to visit a site, perhaps a webcomic. But dial-up is slow, so agonizingly slow. I could, I think, open a site and then eat dinner, with the hope that it would appear by the time I return. But such a thing would only bring the desire to visit other sites and I have not enough food for such an endeavor.

You understand now, perhaps, the source of my madness?

There is a Tauren in Un’Goro crater who waits for the skins of some of the Great Apes of the region. In Paragon City, a scientist has been kidnapped and it is I who must rescue her. There are movies to download. Sites to surf. And here I sit, the green light of my DSL unlit. Impotent. Flaccid. Limp. Other words that make men uncomfortable.

I think I will watch TV. Yes, my cable is still connected. It might stay the madness. It might bring a moment of joy. I collect Hubert, my only friend, and pad to the living room, where the soft glow of television waits to envelope me.

I just hope I remembered to pay the cable bill.

Cheers,
-Jason