From: Andrew Lee Newsgroups: alt.comp.virus Subject: [WAY OT and Long] a.c.v. History and Family tree {Part 2} Date: Tue, 12 Nov 2002 16:56:58 +0000 (UTC) Note: Read Part 1 first, and especially the note about this being satire. If you have no sense of humour, you might like to skip this post. Deep in the outback of a large continent, a man meditated. His piercing black eyes bored deep into the screen which glowed in front of him. His fingers poised like steel daggers above the keys of an old and battered keyboard. He'd been around the block this guy, and he knew a thing or two about viruses. He also knew a thing or two about assholes, at least, he knew enough to know one when he smelt one, and he smelt one now. The thick stench of bullsh*t rose in a steady steam from the post he was reading, and it told him all he needed to know. There was an asshole at the other end of that post, and it was full of sh*t. He leant back in his chair, and interweaving his fingers, he pushed his palms outwards and away from him, until each knuckle resounded with an ominous crack. As the sound, which had been like that of several fireworks being let off in a confined space, died, he leant forward and began to type. The words began to form in the fast firing neurons of his brain, and his fingers began to fly flame as they moved faster and faster over the keys. A blizzard of words later, he was done, and a legend was born. The Requiem for Anusg. (http://tinyurl.com/2moj) Who was this antipodean wizard? This scourge of the snake oilers, this destroyer of worlds, this chap who didn't seem to like the Candyman very much, and liked Sooge even less? It was of course Rod Fewster, progenitor of the bastard gladius, uncle of the French Revolutionary Fwederic Bonbon, and the fairy godfather of PaX. In an almost opposite part of the planet, in a small cave just outside of Oxford, a tiny man in a purple polar hood reached for a screwdriver, and with it's silvered tip, carefully prized the keys from his keyboard. With loving care he replaced them in a random order, and consecrated the newly formed keyboard by reading the code of Ripper over it in a black ceremony over which we shall draw a modest curtain. In time, the fevered typing upon this keyboard did break, and the words did become onelongsentenceofgibberishthatnooneunderstoodanymoreandthusthe Schnapperdidthreatentoleavea.c.v.beforehedevengotthereforallthetuattsandm oreonsandidoiotshadmightilyoffendedhimbyrefusingtoreadhisposts.(http://ti nyurl.com/2mp8). But stay he did, and partnered up with the Millenium Slug to become part of the a.c.v. Circus. We insert here a recent report from the "A.c.v news" about the a.c.v. circus, allegedly written by a.c.v. reporter in the field "owl". -------------------------------------------- _Newsgroup Users Clown around_ No circus would be complete without clowns, and the a.c.v. circus is no exception. Most famous of all, has to be that master of morph, the constantly slippery Millennium Slug, who, while he is most at home sliding slowly down the walls of his own insanity, is not infrequently found possesing the bodies of circus chimpanzees, and on not a few occasions, clowns. The documenter of these strange and un-nerving events is one 4Q (http://fourq.host.sk/The_Millennium_Dickhead.htm), (love chile of PaX and Sheeva), and he is also the owner of the only known evidence of the clown partnership "Pratman and Noggin" (http://fourq.host.sk/Care_in_the_Community.htm), pictured after a particularly strange performance, in which Pratman was almost mauled by Lucky the Lion (a.c.v.'s official mascot), and in which Noggin bravely hid himself in a bottle of whiskey. Honourable mentions must also go to the netcops who police the circus, and stop the sideshows escaping. The appropriately named Art Kopp is also on a personal mission to ensure that DOS anti-virus scanners can be easily updated with his various updaters. Art is the grandfather of all the net Kopps, quick to anger, and not much slower on the draw with his insistence at every opportunity, and to all who will listen, that AV programs should detect all known trojans. Art and his sensible sidekicks Steve Topilnycky and Jeff Setaro (holder of the a.c.v. posting guidelines), are usually found (shock horror) actually trying to *help* the clueless morons^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^H^ er...hapless victims of the worms thrown into the crowd by green haired evil clowns who usually try to take over each performance. The ring master of this anarchistic bunch of performers is a cuddly and lovable minor deity who insists that the a.c.v. circus is really called Fabulous FitzGerald's circus, to hoots of derision from the other performers. One of the favourite acts in a circus is the juggler, but a.c.v. is a little different, the a.c.v. juggler frequently steals balls from other performers, repaints them and throws them indescriminately in the air, insisting that he has caught them all, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they have all come crashing down around his ears. For this reason, as soon as the juggler appears, most of the other performers line up to kick the crap out of him, until the next act comes along. Until next week, your friendly a.c.v. reporter in the field, owl. -------------------------------------------------- In a camouflaged bunker deep in an undisclosed location, a terrified individual pecks at the keys of his antiquated keyboard. He wears a tinfoil hat and has wrapped his PC in lead. He is the Tracker,who, frightened as a small child by his father Sugien's tales of hardware destroying viruses, has been left an emotional wreck, and grown up to become extreme survivalist. The tracker is engaged to HissyFit'n PaminiFarm, but he is quivering in his boots because he just realised that if he's ever going to have sex with anything other than his own hand, he's going to have to open the bunker. Opening the bunker could mean that the 4 trojan horses of the apocalypse could fly straight in and sodomise his precious PC. For this reason, their love is doomed to be carried out in a.c.v. and Pamini's desperate cries for help against her imagined attackers will be forever heard echoing the hoary halls of a.c.v. unanswered and unheeded. --- In our next chapter of the Acv history and family tree, we examine the trial and eventual convicrtion of the Soooge for the heinous crime of bearing false witness about the size of his schlong. We discover an abberation of flesh dressed in a string vest (tucked into his pants) and his arch nemesis, the moleH^H^H^H^ miner. As if that wasn't quite enough (really) we examine the parentage of "FromTheRafters" and finally discover the lost Caps Key in the family line of kurt wismer. -AJ