Path: not-for-mail
From: "M. Mitchell Marmel" <marmelmm@vrx.net>
Newsgroups: fur.stories.misc
Subject: Re: FUR: The Bandit and the Horned Horse [0/79] Prelude - 1 attachment
Date: Tue, 09 Nov 2004 05:29:31 -0600
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===================
In article <Xns959BE3BF84514plonqplonqcom@204.152.189.149>,
Plonq <plonq@hotmail.com> wrote:
> Here is my latest story - well, a story in the works anyway. I'm sorry
> that I didn't have time to convert it to HTML, but I encrypted it,
> archived it, and then changed the file extension to mask the archiver
> used. I am hoping that this disuades potential thieves without
> seriously inconveniencing the reader too much.
I decoded it with no problems:
fleeble.txt
v ;Oa[
(z5VëöÁ
&
&A7`Å0ê;ðf= ?3
Nh0NNÁ§Oçhî³}
p!i
Iz$e
+*Mjn#`
Ta§JwáUÄ&j>
,e,J<w
8uÝ
s°ºêj+6=VB
A0B§4ÏK6òë,6xwn+5ìÝ
dc
~{ý#Xq:`
~
&Q
c\p
òh8I"q
Zóÿ¸ú´ºÌn s g5ÕFÒGs.y'çx þ
r''(²k
9íÃ@2ñ:;'¥u\pI
&
#u
: @Ia\<Xâ%
Z
X96
6lF Ú¸¸4{8F8<uf
@MmÚw:olrFb``IyÏ_!zÙ
ntÔcöVW´&UTU>O ={
Brilliant writing!
> This story is totally original, and not based even loosely on anything
> that I have seen posted here. Anyone who claims otherwise is a pre-
> plagiarist. The worst kind of all. I hate it when people steal ideas
> that I haven't had yet.
See, YOUR writing is worth doing a little unzipping and ROT-13ing to get
at.
I especially like the passwords. I may swipe one of them for work.
-MMM-
(and, for the benefit of those who don't wanna:)
> "Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the rest of us could not
> succeed."
> -- Samuel Langhorne Clemens (a.k.a. Mark Twain)
>
> "That boy's as strong as an ox, and just about as smart."
> -- Foghorn Leghorn
>
> Over the aeons, evolution had equipped the otter with the essential tools for
> survival. Its stock equipment included one of the densest fur coats of any
> mammal to protect it from harsh elements, a large size to cope with heat loss
> from its watery haunts and sharp claws and teeth so that it could catch and
> eat prey. In short, nature had turned the otter into a finely crafted
> machine suited to many environments other than an office. Since many jobs
> involved sitting in an office cubicle, most otters found it necessary to
> bridge the gaps in their evolutionary development by picking up what they
> needed at the corner store on the way to work.
>
> Giblet slid his bulky tail through the oversized slot in the back of his
> chair and rolled his slight paunch up to the desk. The first thing that the
> otter did was brush aside some stray detritus and papers that had accumulated
> on the surface over the weekend, though in the back of his mind he made a
> mental note to eventually, maybe give some attention to the paper that was
> marked "URGENT - PLEASE READ - THIRD NOTICE!" A lot of papers with similar
> dire warnings had been showing up on his desk for the past few weeks, but
> Giblet had neglected to read any of them. The memos gave off auras of ill
> omen, and the otter was reluctant to introduce any more evil juju into his
> life. He was trying to reduce stress so it seemed silly to actively invite
> bad news into his day when it would already be filled to the brim with the
> dreadfulness.
>
> In spite of himself, the otter glanced at the memo on his desk and his eyes
> were drawn to the words "15:00 meeting". Even before his day had officially
> begun, the mustelid felt an ominous pressure beginning to build behind his
> left eye. What kind of asshole would schedule a meeting for an hour before
> quitting time on a Monday? One of the special kinds who ran this company was
> who. He reached into the small bag of goods that he had purchased on his way
> to work, extracted a bottle of Aspirin and chased three of them pre-emptively
> down with a large swig of black coffee.
>
> Giblet pulled his keyboard out from where it had been thoughtfully lodged -
> or in his opinion, forcefully jammed - under the swivel-arm for his monitor.
> He assumed that it had been put there by whoever had left him the important
> note. His temporal lobe pulsed in annoyance, and for not the first (or last)
> time that day the otter assured himself that this job was going to be the
> death of him by a stroke, a heart attack or rabies. The mustelid quickly
> referred to the Post-It note stuck to the corner of his monitor before
> hastily banging in his password. He was not quite gauche enough to keep his
> password in such an insecure location, but he was not above leaving himself
> cryptic notes to remind him of what it was.
>
> The moment he hit "enter", the system responded with a polite requestor
> informing him that his password had expired, and that he should probably
> consider creating a new one. The smarmy little system prompt assured him
> that regularly changing his password was for his own benefit. A tiny voice
> in the back of the otter's head angrily reminded him that he had changed his
> password only a week before and it was supposed to be good for a month.
> Giblet wasn't sure whether to believe the voice or not, since it spent most
> of its time screaming obscenities and telling him to kill and eat children.
>
> The otter referred to the strip of paper taped to his monitor that bore all
> of his passwords to see which one wax next in rotation. In keeping with
> corporate policy he'd converted them all to "secure" passwords of mixed case
> and numbers. He found the password he wanted and typed,
> "L1ckMySw34tyNuts4ck". An instant after he pressed the enter key, the system
> responded with another error requestor.
>
> "You have attempted to use a password that has been used within the previous
> 700 days, or too closely matches one of your prior 17 passwords. Please read
> the new password policy before creating a new password."
>
> The otter grimaced with annoyance, but it made sense. If his password had
> expired prematurely like he suspected it had then his entire rotation was now
> out of kilter. At some point he would have to create a new one, but Giblet
> did not feel up to the task on a Monday morning. He moved down to the next
> one and typed, "B3nd0ver4ndTak3MyM4nju1c3". Once again the network rejected
> his password with the same disparaging requestor. "Okay, this has stopped
> being funny," he hissed as he picked up his phone and savagely punched in the
> speed dial for Network Support.
>
> Twelve layers of phone menus and three spontaneous disconnects later he
> finally managed to get into the Support queue. The otter listened blankly to
> five minutes of lame, tinny elevator-remixes of old techno-rap qawwali tunes
> interspersed with a muddy recording informing him that his call was probably
> important to him, and that all calls were answered in order of importance.
> He was just settling back in his chair, allowing the hypnotic repetition to
> lull him into a trance when the otter noticed that a new recording was
> playing.
>
> "...new system policy now requires that all users employ an uber password
> containing upper and lower case letters, numbers, punctuation marks, and
> Cyrillic characters. If you have any problems or concerns over the new
> policy please speak to your immediate supervisor. Remember, Information
> Services does not make the rules, we just enforce them..." If the otter had
> been hooked up to an Electroencephalogram, his readings would have
> momentarily flat-lined. He blinked and shook his head as if emerging from a
> daze, then he casually yanked the headset over his head and tossed it lazily
> onto his desk. With his other hand he hit the disconnect on his phone and in
> a single, fluid motion plucked the cigarette from over his ear and snapped
> off its filter with his thumb. The otter popped the now-unfiltered tuber
> into his mouth and somehow allowed himself to savour the acrid taste of
> chemical-laden tobacco that spilled over his tongue.
>
> "Well thith thuckth," he sighed.
>
> The otter stared dumbfounded at the screen for a moment, but before he could
> muster up a stream of appropriate epithets, he heard a wan voice from three
> cubicles down say, "Does anyone know if we stock Russian keyboards?" A vein
> in Giblet's forehead throbbed alarmingly. He glanced at the clocking hanging
> in his cubicle: still over fifty minutes until break time. The mustelid
> rapped his fingers rhythmically on the desk while he stared at the error
> message and debated between breaking something - which would be momentarily
> cathartic, but probably bad in the long run - and simply taking his coffee
> for a nice long walk amongst the cubicles. Eventually the latter option
> narrowly won out and he scooped up his industrial-sized brew. The moment he
> stood up he spied several of his co-workers doing the same thing.
>
> "Copycats," he muttered. The otter stepped out into the open office and
> began wandering up and down the rows of cubicles to see if anybody had
> managed to get around the new password restrictions, but every monitor
> appeared to be displaying the same message as his own. When he reached the
> end of the cubicles Giblet glanced at his watch to see if it was break time
> yet. Forty-five minutes to go - aw, fuck it. Close enough. He turned
> toward the elevators, automatically patting his pockets for his lighter and
> cigarettes on his way. As he approached the corner he heard a familiar,
> nasally voice approaching from the other side.
>
> "Thanks again for letting me in. I don't understand it; the card was working
> fine when I left. Like you say, it must have got demagnetized at the
> airport." A moment later a tall, golden figure followed the voice around the
> corner, accompanied by a stodgy but well-dressed badger.
>
> "Well you can use that temporary card until we arrange a new one for you,"
> said the badger.
>
> "Whoa, geez, Bob," said the otter, looking the avian up and down. The lanky
> phoenix stood a full head taller than anyone else in the office, not counting
> the rooster-like crest of feathers that ran down the back of his head. The
> avian would have cut an impressive figure in any crowd with his glimmering
> coat of gilt-tipped scarlet feathers and liquid gold eyes. "Looks like the
> time off did you some serious good."
>
> "Indeed it did," said the phoenix. "Three weeks off in the sun. I spent the
> whole time in Barbados, surrounded by nothing but beach, she-gulls and iced
> rums. I moulted while I was gone, dunno if it shows."
>
> "It shows," said Giblet admiringly. "It's like a whole new you." He
> squinted at the tall morph and said, "You're sure you didn'tx you knowx
> wuff." The otter made a little "poof" motion with his hands. It took Bob a
> couple of tries before he understood the mustelid's pantomimes.
>
> "Oh, no!" he said emphatically. "It was a very relaxing time. I've never
> felt better in my life."
>
> "Giblet, I'm glad we ran into you," said the badger in a tone that clearly
> conveyed his feelings that the company was not paying its employees to
> exchange pleasantries. "I need you to round up Plonq when you have a moment.
> I want to put the three of you," he swept his arm in a gesture that
> encompassed Giblet and Bob, "on an urgent project. We need some figures for
> an important meeting tomorrow with the vice president."
>
> "Well you go round up the kitty and I'll go check my mail," said the phoenix
> quickly. He swept past the other two and walked away on long, taloned
> strides that the other two could not hope to match - though they tried.
>
> "Um, Bob, your desk is over there," said the badger, but the great bird was
> already too far away to hear him over the ambient noise of the office. They
> finally caught up with him where he was standing, blinking confusedly at a
> charred square of carpet.
>
> "Where's my desk?" asked the phoenix, cocking his head for a better look at
> the area. "For that matter, where's my cubicle? Why is there a plant
> sitting where my filing cabinet used to be?"
>
> "We've moved you closer to the window," said the badger hurriedly. "Giblet,
> could you please show him to his desk? I'm expecting an important phone call
> in a couple of minutes." He turned and bustled away, calling over his
> shoulder, "You'll find the details of the report on your desk." Giblet led
> the lanky bird through the maze of cubicles.
>
> "Here," he said, stopping suddenly beside one near the end of the row. The
> bird chattered his beak slightly as he appraised his new surroundings. He
> glanced at the ceiling and gave a squawk of annoyance.
>
> "How nice," he said tartly. "I see they've relocated me directly under a
> sprinkler."
>
> "So they have," said the otter lightly. He hoped that his feign of innocence
> would help to defuse the phoenix a bit. The avian did not need to know that
> the maintenance crew had shown up to start moving his belongings before he
> had even reached the basement parking lot after his last day of work. The
> bird made annoyed clucking sounds as he inspected his cubicle.
>
> "Oh Christ, look at that. They put my mouse on the wrong side," he said. He
> planted his feathered rump on his work stool and began rearranging his desk.
> "Can't they tell a left-handed mouse from a right-handed one?" he groused as
> he tugged the mouse cord around behind his monitor and slammed the hapless
> rodent down on the other side of his keyboard. He slid his keyboard an inch
> to the right, and pushed one of his pencils a hair's breadth to the left. He
> cocked his head again and examined it closely with an unblinking golden eye
> before pushing it back again. "Better," he mumbled. "Now what's this about
> a joint project?" Bob picked up the paper-clipped sheaf of paper from the
> corner of his desk and glanced at the topmost sheet. A post-it note stuck to
> the topmost sheet bore the hasty script, "Bob, require this data immediately
> for part of six sigma initiative."
>
> "What's six sigma," he asked as he tore away the post-it and tossed it into
> the trash. "Sounds like some kind of weird underground society. Do they
> wear tinfoil hats and have secret handshakes?"
>
> "A new buzzword," said the otter. "I have no idea what it means but the
> cabal have been throwing it around a lot lately. It looks to be the latest
> corporate money pit - unlimited budget and the whole thing."
>
>
--
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