**************************************************************************** ### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ### ____________________________________________________________________________ # # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### #### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### #### *******NUMBERS 271 TO 275*****************************BY DANIEL BOWEN******* *****Please note, some of the quoted addresses within this file may no***** ***longer be correct. Please always use tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu for enquiries*** "Revised Toxic Custard" T O X I C ///// //// / / //// //// //// / 1 6 O C T O B E R C U S T A R D / / / / / / // / / 1 9 9 5 W O R K S H O P/ / / / / /// // / / W R I T T E N B Y F I L E S / //// ///// / //// / /D A N I E L B O W E N Sssshhh! Don't tell any of my mates in the Bear Stranglers Club, but I've cooked the last two Saturday dinners. Okay, so I know most blokes don't know where the kitchen is, let alone spend time in it, but I thought I'd take a bash at it. Light a fire, throw rhinoceros rump on it for half an hour... how hard can it be? Actually, harder than it looks. Now I know why all the cooks on TV are men. Because a man who has learnt to cook well is special, that's why. Deserves to be on the telly. Rumour has it that my brother-in- law is a great cook. I won't really believe it until I've sampled his food or seen him on SBS at 7pm on a Saturday night. So how did my efforts go? The nachos last week were good, though I must admit that even a blind hippo without opposing thumbs could have cooked them. Lasagne this week... well, let's just say that somewhere during transit through the Daniel Bowen Kitchen Machine, it morphed into a pasta bolognaise dish. Not a mistake, I must stress - just a strategic revision once it was calculated that dinner was going to be around midnight if it got much more complicated. Okay, okay, it's true - I spent an hour (+ heating time) just preparing the meat sauce. Gimme a break, huh? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I think the filing cabinet is eating my documents. Okay, it's true that I can usually find the stuff I've put in. But it's weird - it always *looks* pretty full in there, but it never actually gets to the point of overflowing. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I'm the type of guy Who can never keep it down When you see some vomit then You know when I'm around I eat 'em and I chuck 'em 'Cos to me they taste so bad Sometimes it's quite the worst food That I have ever had They call me the chunderer The chunderer I throw it up and up and up and up and up - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I've been studying the etiquette of changing seats on public transport. Is this how it goes? The notation below is (Number of seats/Number of people) GOALS, designed to ensure equal distribution of people ====== around the vehicle: 1. The primary goal is two facing double seats to yourself (4/1) 2. The secondary goal is a double seat to yourself, with no-one directly facing you (4/2) RULES when travelling alone: ===== 1. If no primary goal seats (4/1) are available when you get on, the next best choice is a secondary goal seat (4/2), but you must sit diagonally to the other person. 2. If you are in a (4/3) or (4/4) position, and a (4/1) or (4/2) position becomes available, you must wait for a suitable period of time after the person freeing the position has alighted from the vehicle, before switching. 3. If you are in a (4/3) or (4/4) position, and some people alight, leaving you in a non-diagonal (4/2) position, it is up to your discretion whether or not you reposition to a diagonal position. 4. You must not switch from a diagonal (4/2) position to a (4/1) position if others are in a (4/3) or (4/4) position, or standing 5. Standing may be preferable to a (4/3) or (4/4) seat for short distances 6. Anyone who can turn three consecutive pages of a broadsheet without hitting the people next to him gets bonus points 7. Anyone who can balance standing on a tram or bus whilst reading a broadsheet automatically wins the game - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE TOXIC CUSTARD COMPUTER GLOSSARY PART 17 QUERY LANGUAGE A method of extracting information from databases which the database vendors would have us believe constitutes using the English language, but which actually involves selects, joins (both inner and outer), and other such arcane constructs. QUALITY ASSURANCE A method of satisfying project managers that everything's going to be all right. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What, you want to read the previous 270 issues of Toxic Custard? All right, it's your life. You can get to them on the Web, at: http://www.forthnet.gr/humour/tcwf/ http://www.cuug.ab.ca:8001/~cyrec/tcwf/ http://www.catt.ncsu.edu/www_projects/tcwf/ And by FTP at: ftp://ftp.funet.fi/pub/doc/humour/ToxicCustard ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be distributed complete without a charge provided no modifications are made. Excerpts by permission please. -- Daniel Bowen, Australia----------Where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain Work: dbowen@cpe.com.au-------> Computer Power Education, Advance R&D Project Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu / DanielBowen@msn.com---TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu The opinions are mine, and any resemblance to the real world is a coincidence ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Stolen Toxic Custard!" ====) ====) ====) T o x i c C u s t a r d Written (===) =) (===) W o r k s h o p F i l e s by Daniel (==== =) (==== Number 272, 23rd October 1995 Bowen So, it's finally happened. I never thought I'd be the victim. I thought it would never happen to me. But I've finally become another helpless statistic in the vicious wave of crime sweeping our city. My bike got stolen. I noticed it on Saturday - ironically, the day the local police station were having a bicycle marking day, in an effort to combat the apparently large numbers of stolen bikes. Actually, it could have been stolen any time in about the last two months. It's been locked up out the back of our block since we moved in, and I've only been giving it a glance on the odd occasion that I feel inclined to take the bins out for the weekly collection. You've probably guessed by now, guilty as I might feel saying it, that I won't actually miss it a great deal. I haven't used it in a couple of years now, after succumbing to a mild cycling-related illness known as laziness. The bike itself wasn't in excessively good condition, as is the case with most bikes that have been neglected for a couple of years. But it's still a shame. The old man that custom-built it ten years ago for my mum would probably be spinning in his grave. So whichever bikeknappers... whichever scum sucking vermin cycleburglars have nabbed my bike, will have a pretty hefty repair job to get it into condition. They'll need to replace the tubes, the gears are a big wonky, the dynamo gave up the ghost many moons ago, and the '84 Olympics "Wherever there's a Will there's a way to L.A." sticker is horribly dated. Not to mention the poisonous spike implanted in the saddle. Oh, wait a minute, I took that out after the insurance people said it wasn't strictly legal. The police have been notified the theft. They assure me that even now, a sixty strong force dubbed "Operation Daniel's Stolen Bike", led by someone of the calibre of Inspector Unnecessary-Violence, are combing the streets and probing the depths of the underworld to get it back. So, I expect the nation's media to be pounding on the door for an exclusive tear-jerking interview tomorrow, the bike back by Wednesday, and me riding it again next weekend... Not! PS. Sorry Mum. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - For a while there I thought I was in trouble. Would a second TCWF go by with no "Moron of the Week"? What would the TCWF reading public say? Would they desert in droves? But then, merely hours before the usual Monday 8pm deadline, JOHNP (yep, personalised license plate) came to the rescue with in his dark red Toyota Landcruiser. JOHNP in his dark red Toyota Landcruiser arrived at the intersection of Booran and Glen Huntly Roads around 6:30 tonight, and proceeded to perform one of the best "I'll park myself over the pedestrian crossing while I wait for the traffic lights to change" procedures that I've ever seen. Not one of those half-hearted "stop at the line then creep forward" jobs; oh no, JOHNP in his dark red Toyota Landcruiser came, saw, and drove right over the line. What can I say - Ten points. If I hadn't already crossed (and if it hadn't been a Landcruiser), I might have felt inclined to climb over his bonnet. Actually, I'm just waiting for an MOTW to be spotted in a company vehicle with a mobile phone number on the side. That'll be my chance to call that number and ask "Hey, do you always drive like that?" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - TOXIC UPDATE An update from the Swanston Street McDonalds story in TCWF268. I'm told by reliable sources that the word is getting around about the rabid Maccas operative. Apparently she can sometimes be seen standing at her counter waiting for customers while people queue up at the others... And maybe public opinion about the French is starting to effect the TV ads? The Nokia phone ad, which used to talk about stylish French people in the south of France and their stylish phones has been modified to talk about stylish Europeans and their stylish phones. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE TOXIC CUSTARD COMPUTER GLOSSARY PART 18 RAM What you do when the plug won't quite fit into the socket. ROOT Not named after sexual activity, but rather after the root of a plant or tree. This is the name given to a superuser in the Unix environment. All you need to remember about this is that you can make everybody panic by pretending to type the following apocalyptic command while you have root access: rm -r * RTFM Read The Fucking Manual. The F has never, repeat NEVER, stood for "flaming", no matter how many times the computer media try to claim otherwise. I mean -- "read the flaming manual"? Far too nice and Strawberry Shortcake. You might as well add "please". Ditto for KISS. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We've all heard that there are millions upon millions of Web pages full of trivial and useless information. Well now here's proof! With an official Usefulness Rating of 4%, TCWF on the Web is at the following URLs: http://www.catt.ncsu.edu/www_projects/tcwf/ http://www.forthnet.gr/humour/tcwf/ http://www.cuug.ab.ca:8001/~cyrec/tcwf/ And if you favour the wonders of FTP, try: ftp://ftp.funet.fi/pub/doc/humour/ToxicCustard ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be distributed complete without a charge provided no modifications are made. Excerpts by permission please. -- Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia---Give me a home, where the kangaroos roam Work: dbowen@cpe.com.au-------> Computer Power Education, Advance R&D Project Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu / DanielBowen@msn.com---TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu Individuals and organisations portrayed are the produce of my diseased mind.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Toxic Custard Festival" t o x i c c u s t a r d w o r k s h o p f i l e s Number 273, 30th October 1995. From the mind of Daniel Bowen ==========================="non mi ricordo"========================== Festivals always look like so much fun, don't they. It's something about the atmosphere of stuffing three hundred thousand people into a couple of blocks for a weekend. Enjoy the food, watch the people, buy the merchandise, wonder why the bands playing there haven't made it big... then listen to the music and wonder no longer. It always looks like about 98% of the people are just roaming around looking at things, with 1% of the people being stall and shop owners, and the remaining 1% being the people who are actually eating, shopping, or otherwise participating in the available activities. There are three tricky things to do in a festival of any magnitude. One of them involves eating a souvlaki with one hand while trying to hold the can of Coke in the other. The second is trying to move around in one of these crowds. And the third is trying to *stay still* in one of these crowds. And believe me (parent mode on) - none of these are made easier when accompanied by a wheeled device of perambulatory qualities. For both the latter activities, it's easiest just to go with the flow. Just follow the people in front of you. It doesn't really matter where they're going - just follow them and enjoy the scenery and atmosphere. Somewhere at the front, there's a single person who is determining the destination of thousands of people. Let's hope he's not going to the toilet. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Why do people jaywalk? Time and time again, I find myself waiting at the crossing like a responsible citizen (and trying to get in the habit of setting a good example for my son), waiting for the little green man to appear. Someone else will judge the traffic carefully, and sprint across the road, breaking every one of Hector The Cat's rules in the process. Twenty seconds later, I set off after them, and usually after less than a minute of walking at my usual frenetic pace, I'll overtake them. If they were in a hurry, why didn't they walk faster once across the street? And if they weren't in a hurry, why risk death walking against the signal? Why not just walk faster on the footpath? Maybe it's instinct. There's a historically unsound theory that says that humans want to keep moving, otherwise they might get squashed by a dinosaur. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Maybe I've always been a jokester. I've been remembering my first big practical joke. How I planned it. How I inflicted it upon the family. And how it flopped completely. It was the 70's. Kiss were king. Yes, Kiss. I couldn't understand the fascination with Kiss. Imagine, some kids were collecting Kiss bubblegum cards! Sick I call it, ssiK. Give me VFL footy cards any day! Yeeeeesss.. I'll swap you a Bernie Quinlan for a Neville Bruns! One Sunday, I had seen that channel 10 were going to show part of a Kiss concert. 5pm Sunday. And so I resolved to show my hatred of Kiss. And as we waited for the 602 bus home from Elsternwick, I planned it. If the timing was right, we would get home before the concert was over. I would turn the telly on, and switch to channel 10. Kiss would appear. And I would scream, holding my head in my hands like it was exploding, and collapse on the floor. What a killer joke. The family would be in hysterics. They wouldn't be able to stop laughing. I'd be a star once again. I'd love to be able to finish this story, but I can't. Alas, I can't remember the reaction, other than to say that the plan was a flop. Either when I turned on the television it was a commercial break, or everyone else went into other rooms, or they just plain didn't laugh when I collapsed in a heap (possibly because it wasn't funny). Maybe I'll ask them if they remember. Then the story might get finished. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE TOXIC CUSTARD COMPUTER GLOSSARY PART 19 SCREEN The display, the VDU, VDT, the terminal, the monitor, the CRT, thing that looks like a television. SCROLL LOCK For 99.7% of people, the least used key on the keyboard. After "Pause." Oh, and what does "SysRq" do? SERIAL PORT Another one of those confusing sockets on the back of the computer, which is thankfully a different shape to almost every other socket, thus preventing you plugging your keyboard where your modem should go. SHAREWARE A concept whereby people download (or otherwise obtain) software for free, or for a nominal fee. They then try it out to see if they like it. They then keep it forever, unless they have a pang of guilt, or have a software allowance from their boss, or the nag messages are annoying enough, in which case they grudgingly send in the registration fee. SYNTAX ERROR What the computers of the early to mid 80's used to say if you asked them to "TELL ME THE TIME" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Toxic Custard back-issues (and more!) can be found on the marvvvvvvvy World Wide Web, at: http://www.catt.ncsu.edu/www_projects/tcwf/ http://www.forthnet.gr/humour/tcwf/ http://www.cuug.ab.ca:8001/~cyrec/tcwf/ Back-issues are available by FTP from: ftp://ftp.funet.fi/pub/doc/humour/ToxicCustard **And now you can also find Toxic Custard on the Microsoft Network (MSN). Go word: tcwf ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be distributed complete without a charge provided no modifications are made. Excerpts by permission please. -- Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia---------> Where the 7-11s sell 4'n'20 pies Work: dbowen@cpe.com.au-------> Computer Power Education, Advance R&D Project Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu / DanielBowen@msn.com---TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu The opinions expressed here may not even be mine. I dunno where they're from. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "It's true! It's Toxic Custard!" ===== ==== + + ===== ==== ===== + + by Daniel + + + + + _+ + + + Bowen ---+ + + + + ====---------------------+- + ====----------- + ==== ===== + "quid hoc sibi vult?" ==== + + 6/11/95 Perhaps there aren't any real hitmen available to the general public. They all seem to be undercover policemen. That's why you keep hearing about people getting arrested for trying to pay an undercover cop to kill their relative or friend or neighbour or daughter's cheer-leader opposition. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sewing mystifies me. And I think it's something genetic. Because whenever I find myself in a sewing shop - Spotlight, Lincraft, any of those shops I never even knew existed before I got married - I see the pattern. The genetic pattern of behaviour. Women who go to these shops know where everything is. Instantly. They can walk in the doorway and within five seconds determine whether or not what they want is in there. The men are bewildered. They walk around slowly, perhaps looking at things, perhaps not, but certainly wondering what it all means. Strange devices adorn the shelves. More varieties of different brightly coloured material than was used in the entire career of the Village People. And in the corner, rows upon rows of patterns. Patterns for clothes. Wait, you mean clothing is MADE? I thought it just grew on coat-hangers. Actually, when I was at school I used to work in a menswear shop. That's where they sell clothes for men, not where men come in to swear. It was always a battle to keep everything tidy in the shop. Don't believe the cliches that men aren't fussy about what they wear. And even if they aren't, their spouses or mothers are. Almost everything in the shop got tried on by someone at some stage in time. Except perhaps for that rogue pair of flared jeans that had been at the bottom of the Levi's pile for fifteen years. Generally, the trick was to be folding things back up while the customer was trying on the next piece of clothing. There was one customer who used to come in regularly. After a while, we all got to know him because every time he came in, he'd try on everything in the shop. Well, not everything, but certainly a large proportion of the garments on offer. But he never bought anything. It was absolutely impossible to sell anything to him. So after a while, we just tried to look busy when we came in. One day he came in, and one of the newer people served him. He didn't know, poor guy. Sebastian, by some miracle, had never served this bloke before. The rest of us just stood back and sniggered. But we were all amazed when half an hour later, Sebastian reported that he'd actually achieved the pinnacle of his sales career, and sold this man a pair of underpants. Incredible. We were suitably impressed. Ten minutes later, the man came back, and returned them. And I never found out why. Sebastian just didn't want to talk about it. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This week's MORON OF THE WEEK, the driver of red Ford RBN172, apparently has some difficulty in understanding the gist of the following simple rule: "Do not overtake a stopped tram." Just to make sure there's no interpretation problems, let's go through the components of the wording of this rule one by one: Do not - advice against a particular action, avoid this overtake - move past a stopped - stationary, not moving tram - big green thing than runs on tracks down the street Not really open to many incorrect interpretations, I would have thought. Okay, so there are a few qualifiers listed below the rule in the Victorian Traffic Handbook, but the basic law is pretty plain, a straightforward law designed to prevent people getting on and off trams from being squished flat. Oh well, at least the guy had the decency to apologise. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE TOXIC CUSTARD COMPUTER GLOSSARY PART 20 THUMP What I do when my computer at work starts whining. Only works for a few seconds though. TRANSFER FILES An operation which when performed on any large file (which is defined as something that takes more than ten minutes to transfer), will fail with about thirty seconds to go. TURBO BUTTON A switch found on early-ish IBM PC and compatible machines, when they realised that it may be necessary to slow a computer down from the speed of a snail to the speed of a dead snail. The button is still found on many PCs, for no apparent reason other than to confuse people when they go for the reset button. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On the World Wide Web, you can find TCWF back-issues and compilations. And you can steal the new "Custard Now!" logo for your home page! http://www.cuug.ab.ca:8001/~cyrec/tcwf/ http://www.catt.ncsu.edu/www_projects/tcwf/ http://www.forthnet.gr/humour/tcwf/ And back-issues are available by FTP from: ftp://ftp.funet.fi/pub/doc/humour/ToxicCustard Toxic Custard is now on the Microsoft Network (MSN). Go word: tcwf. But you'll need to have filled in the E-form thingy for adult access, 'cos they thought we were a bit naughty. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be distributed complete without a charge provided no modifications are made. Excerpts by permission please. -- Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia----------> Where the Circle-Ks sell Big Ms Work: dbowen@cpe.com.au-------> Computer Power Education, Advance R&D Project Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu / DanielBowen@msn.com---TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu Everything here is totally fictional, and it's all mine, mine, mine, MINE!!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Unlucky Toxic Custard" ()()() ()()() () () ()()() T o x i c C u s t a r d () () () )( () () W o r k s h o p F i l e s () () () )( () ()() Number 275, 13/11/95. By Daniel Bowen () ()()() ()()()() () -----"nonumque prematur in annum"----- Why do people crossing at traffic lights push the button half a dozen times in quick succession? Do they really think the lights will change any earlier? Has anybody ever in the history of the universe got across the street earlier by pressing the button multiple times? Perhaps they think the traffic light software will figure that lots of people are waiting to cross, and change sooner. Do me a favour people. Push the button. Once. The little light next to it will go red to let you know you've pressed it correctly. And it won't get any redder. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This week we don't have a Moron Of The Week. No. We have an *Unlucky* Moron Of The Week. Now, given that I didn't actually see the alleged moronic behaviour, I would normally not attach the label moron. However, when the evidence of the alleged moronic behaviour indicates that the alleged moron challenged an inanimate object (such as an alleged fence in St Kilda Road near Barkly Street), and lost, then I personally feel that the moronic label is quite suitable. It is, to be quite honest, difficult to see that anybody else could have been responsible. I for one, would testify on behalf of the fence. It hasn't moved in years, Your Honour. So, this week's Moron is the driver of red Honda EXY508. And although it may have appeared at first glance that the fence was just as badly damaged as the car after the altercation, it is probable that whoever had to fork out to have the car repaired (front wheel looked very precarious, and an awful lot of dents and broken glass) would have considerably more forking to do than whoever had to fork out to have the fence repaired (some poles and wire knocked out of place). You see... it's all down to forking. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I'm sorry. It's a terrible thing, I know. But don't you see it? Don't you see the supreme irony of the Nigerian government executing six *Human Rights activists*? My wife is sorry too. And she thought of it. And she's an Amnesty member! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Instead of shaving, why don't men wax? Pull the hairs out of the chin and upper lip, one by one, at the root. It wouldn't need to be done every day. But then, it *would* hurt like hell. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE TOXIC CUSTARD COMPUTER GLOSSARY PART 21 UG "User Group", suffix of organisations where lots of people who have got nothing better to do with their third Wednesday evening of every month than talk about the latest in interface cards to similarly minded people. Also occasionally heard when computer users return to their caveman roots when the technology gets the better of them. UNDELETE The DOS command that you can never remember how to use when you need to use it, ie when you've just deleted that novel/thesis/ theory about the space/time continuum you've been writing for the last five years. But of course - you *had* a back-up, didn't you. UPS Uninterruptible Power Supply, a device that can fail all the time without anyone noticing, until it happens to fail during an electricity outage. UNIX An operating system, which provides proof that the more powerful any piece of equipment is, the more difficult and cryptic the commands used to drive it. I still haven't worked out why the command to show file details is "ls". USERNAME One of the two essential pieces of information needed to logon to a multiuser computer system. (The other one is the password). Usernames (or Logon IDs) come in four varieties: * The one you can pick yourself, completely free of restrictions, therefore varying from the ridiculous (eg mongoose) to the sublime (eg daniel) * The one that is chosen for you, based on a fairly reasonable derivation of your name, say the first letter of your first name, and your surname (eg dbowen). If you're unlucky, a length limit applies and your surname gets mercilessly shortened. If you're doubly unlucky, your first name gets an X instead of the actual letter, because someone else already has that username * The one that is chosen for you, based on a really dumb derivation of your name, like the first four letters of your surname, plus the first letter of your first name (eg bowed) * The one that is chosen for you, and derived from what can only be described as Satan's License-Plate Username Chaos Algorithm Of Confusion. Any resemblance between the username and your name, initials, or anything remotely familiar to you is pure coincidence (eg edc942dbp2). And it changes twice a year Apart from "mongoose" and the dreaded X, the author has been subjected to all of the above at various times of his online life. The "db" in the last one WAS pure coincidence. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yo! Aussie webbers! TCWF now has an AUSTRALIAN mirror! Yes, at last a Web site on my own continent! It's at http://www.highway1.com.au/tcwf/ and for the Northern hemisphereans, at http://www.catt.ncsu.edu/www_projects/tcwf/ http://www.forthnet.gr/humour/tcwf/ If you're strange enough to prefer FTP: ftp://ftp.funet.fi/pub/doc/humour/ToxicCustard On BillNet, The Microsoft Network, Go TCWF ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be distributed complete without a charge provided no modifications are made. Excerpts by permission please. -- Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Aust.-->Where you can buy Heaven in the Seven Eleven Work: dbowen@cpe.com.au-------> Computer Power Education, Advance R&D Project Play: dbowen@gnu.ai.mit.edu / DanielBowen@msn.com---TCWF: tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu This whole lot is fictional. Honest. I read it in the Deader's Rigest.------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ the Toxic Custard Workshop Files by Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia Copyright (c) 1995 Daniel Bowen. May be freely distributed unmodified and without a charge provided this notice remains intact. For subscription and back-issue information, contact tcwf@gnu.ai.mit.edu