"a fish, a barrel, and a smoking gun"
for 8 February 1996. Updated every WEEKDAY.

Hit & Run XX

Almost as exciting as signing the

petition to get a cig machine

installed into the high school

cafeteria, we've made our page

black, to join the Voters

Telecomm Watch-sponsored protest

of the signing of the

Communications and Decency Act

into U.S. law. Did we say

protest? Well, OK, maybe we

don't need to leave the office,

but we promise to play some

tracks off of that "Protest

Rock" disc we picked up at the

local Tower Records outlet.

Admittedly, it probably took us

about as long to turn our page

white on black as it did the EFF

to Photoshop the AIDS ribbon

blue, but no one ever said

raising awareness would be easy.

Maybe if John Gilmore says "The

net interprets censorship as

damage, and routes around it,"

once more, it will all go away.


[The Dilbert Hole]

What does it take to leap from

the Yahoo Parody listings to

actual humor without falling

into the irony gap? We're not

exactly sure, but if it has

anything to do with repeated

references to anal sex, then the

Dilbert Hole is onto something.

Much like the Dysfunctional

Family Circus, the brilliance of

Cafe 22's not-so-subtly tweaked

Dilbert strips lies in its

fidelity to the source: though a

lot of people seem to love

Dilbert because it is "amazingly

accurate", we find the strips

contained in the Hole to be

equally resonant of life in the

cubicles. Sure, the level of

humor is along the lines of

adding "in bed" to the end of

Chinese cookie fortunes, but

we're always heartened to

reaffirm our belief that

détournement will never be passé.



Even in 1996, it's still far from

OK to pass gas loudly in a

crowded elevator. The act of

simultaneously admitting one's

error and salvaging one's suave

composure, while interesting as

a hypothetical, borders on the

impossible in practice. Luckily,

those willing to forego the

obvious anal-fixations in favor

of the more resonant

psychological terrorism aspects

of stunts like this may still

find outlets for their

aggression. Howard Stone, a

budding auteur of the aesthetics

of social passive-aggression,

sums up his workaround to this

dilemma neatly: "I discovered

that the van I had to drive

could very easily be persuaded

to produce very loud,

frightening backfires as and

when I wanted it to and as I've

always been keen on photography,

I tried an experiment." As

everybody knows, the motive for

shouting "fire" in a crowded

theater is as much the desire

for better seats as it is a

search for a simple answer to

the nagging question, "is anyone

alive in here?" The visual

evidence is in, the answer would

appear to be yes, and that nasty

lingering odor? Fire, fear, or

fumes - what's the difference?



Clinical studies may or may not

show that a combination of

hypnotic carpet designs, Ladies

Home Journal chocolate cream

dream pie recipes, and Muzak

versions of "Owner of a Lonely

Heart" relax dental patients

enough to obviate the need for

nitrous oxide, but we oftentimes

find that the Muzak alone makes

the visit worthwhile. So you can

imagine our delight at the

discovery that not only is Muzak

launching a new Web division for

music retailers, radio stations,

and record labels, but it's also

well on its way to piping its

soothing tunes out of a PC near

you: "In the works are

SiteSound, a service that

provides audio to enhance

commercial Web sites." The drama

and glory that is Suck only

needs a soundtrack, and you can

bet we'll bypass both Pavement

and PJ for such rousing Muzak

classics as "Nobody Does It

Better" and "The Winner Takes It



[Tsutomu Shimomura]

We hope Nicholas doesn't hate us

for failing to resist the 24

Hours in Cyberspace launch

party, what with the free vodka

and all the chocolate-covered

biscotti we could stuff into our

pockets. The night was made

complete when Kevin Mitnick nicker

Tsutomu Shimomura strolled into

the warehouse festivities.

Though the New Yorker might have

ridiculed the mountain-biking,



embellishments he gave to the

tale of "trapping" Mitnick,

Shimomura's literary pretensions

earn him the Suck badge of

approval - the world needs a

hacker hunk in much the same way

Peanuts needs a crazed

pedophile. True to form, he

graced the 24 Hours gig wearing

an "I just got off the slopes"

parka and skin-tight short-short

cycling togs, his manly-muscled

legs ending in high-tech open

sandals. Duke tried his hardest

to live up to his reputation as

professional pain-in-the-ass,

asking annoying questions on

Shimomura's feuding with Gilmore,

the ethics of packet sniffing,

and cypherpunk politics, but

Tsutomu maintained his

consummate laid-back nonchalance,

with just a hint of quizzical

pity for the young punk. Though

the humiliation would've stung,

we'd have liked to see Tsotumu

"take down" our blowhard brother

with a swift blow to the dome -

the wash of blood on the stack

of complimentary calendars

would've scored a fold-out in

the coffee-table book, easy.

courtesy of the Sucksters