Monday, July 25, 2005
Russia Shows The Way To Handle Spam
Vardan Kushnir, notorious for sending spam to each and every citizen of Russia who appeared to have an e-mail, was found dead in his Moscow apartment on Sunday, Interfax reported Monday. He died after suffering repeated blows to the head...
Don't mess with Mother Russia.
Anyways, the heat is easing off this week. Thank every god you ever heard of.
here's something from 'the files':
He walked down the street as if his eyes were closed. His head made no motion, his arms hung limply to the side. People passed him by without notice. Some folks just find it easier not to see what makes them uncomfortable.
Gray skies followed him everywhere, and where he was, he wasn't. I hadn't seen him walk by in quite some time, when one Tuesday morning he shuffled toward me, and he stopped.
He stopped dead in front of where I usually stand as I wait for the local route 13 bus. He just stood there, unmoving, not facing me, as if listening to the sound of his heart beating, or the whistle of an approaching car yet two miles up the road.
I knew something was coming.
You could see his whole body tense. Then he turned to me, and pulled off the cheap, cracked sunglasses that I'd never seen leave his face. His eyes were tight balls of madness. They shined with the electric gleam of psychotic concentration.
I can honestly say I feared for my life.
And he began moving closer. I held my ground and my gaze into his insane, sweating, twisted face. He stopped about six inches from my nose. The smell of his ruined breath washed over me like a cloud of tear gas.
"I've seen you before," he said rubbing his fists into his eyes, and then brought them back to focus deep into my nostrils.
"Yeah," I responded, now averting my eyes from his lighthouse glare, "I've seen you around here before too."
Moments passed after I stopped speaking, and you could see the gears grinding in his head, and almost as if you heard the 'bing!' of completion, his eyes bugged out and he raised his arms above his head, shouting "I'm not here, you fool! I've never been here! I'm not here now!"
Ok, right, I thought to myself. This guy is pure wacko. But something seemed harmless about him. The sense of menace I had felt with his approach was suddenly gone, and I found myself feeling a little sorry this man, who hadn't a clue as to what the real world was. I braced myself for a full blown lunatic display, leaning back against the decaying brick wall behind me, and watched.
He pulled his hair, clawed at his neck, raving about how he wasn't actually here, and how what I was seeing was not him. I asked him several times where he really was then, and he only repeated that I knew why, that I knew him, and that he knew why today was so different...