Norm Nowrecki - Troll Tracker - Ch. 2

Norm Nowrecki was mortally pissed.
Fudgepacker had played him like a two dollar banjo and that jangling metaphor had induced a cognitive and musical dissonance unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He hummed the NYW theme as loud as he could, in an attempt to drown out the Dueling Banjos that had screwed itself in his mind like the worst worm that had ever been let loose.
    "I have to focus!"
SMEGMA (Subsentient Maniacs Encouraging Gibbering Mindless Arguments) had many haunts. Norm's 133 was downloading the postings to alt.usenet.kooks, a known SMEGMA hangout. Fudgepacker was undoubtedly using an alias but Norm knew his style. Fetus Fudgepacker had a very limited vocabulary that was all too well known to Norm and so, he set up filters to trap all postings using the obscene expressions most favored by Fetus. Once the qualified postings were directed into Norm's looneybin, he would parse each one in an attempt to catch Fudgepacker's noxious scent.
Norm walked over to one of the many Jatoba piles that crowded his tiny office. This particular one had been arranged into a rough simulacrum of a couch. With a Janka side hardness of 2820 pounds at six percent moisture content, the Jatoba couch was hardly a place to rest one's head, although the natural germicide contained in the wood was a definite plus in an office such as Norms'.
    "Where is Fudgepacker hiding?"
He'd already gone through all the postings on the newsgroups most frequented by trolls; alt.troll, alt.flame, alt.sexuality.confused - no sign of Fetus or SMEGMA. It was no wonder that he was feeling disoriented. He contemplated Nietzsche's quote, which had become a mantra to all troll trackers:
    "He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
The cheesy winmodem smelled like fried halitosis - the download was complete.
Norm was running IP numbers through the Sam Spade tools when his Motorola chirped out the NYW theme. Could this be Fudgepacker calling to taunt him? He banged the Motorola on the Jatoba pile that served as his desk, hard enough to pop the outer layer of duct tape - he held the Motorola to his ear as a voice whispered.
    "Tage Frid."
"Tage Frid" was the password used by his friends. Like the biblical "shibboleth", it could not be properly pronounced by their enemies,the trolls.
    "Momma's Basement. Midnight."
The line went hollow with silence.
Momma's Basement was a troll club on the Southside. Norm had been there before when tracking down other trolls. The trolls gathered there and celebrated their iconoclastic individuality by dressing all in the same clothing. Black on black on black. The place looked like a convention of pimply-faced, cross-dressing, Roy Orbison impersonators but the music was by the house band The Defecators, who had made their mark by spot welding their guitars into a B flat cord that was played over and over in accompaniment to the hoarsely shouted lyrics of Wanker's Melody.
The place stank of Yoohoo and the remains of half consumed Twinkies.
He hated this part of the job.
Norm gathered up his troll disguise and headed for the door.
    (next time - "Momma's Basement".)
Regards, Tom Thomas J. Watson-Cabinetmaker Gulph Mills, Pennsylvania http://users.snip.net/~tjwatson
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...
Outstanding! Keep it coming.
Ken Muldrew snipped-for-privacy@ucalgazry.ca (remove all letters after y in the alphabet)
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he's gonna suck us all in on this, I just know it, and then he's gonna extract big bucks from us (at least a dollar two nintey-eight) to read the final chapters....I know it, I know it...I feel it in my bones he's gonna do it.........
Press on Thomas....your audience awaits your every word.........made my day.
Bob S.
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On Fri, 10 Oct 2003 14:32:37 -0400, Tom Watson wrote:

Hot diggity. Enfop the second half of that sentence, and you could win the Bulwer-Lytton. (<http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/ )
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On Fri, 10 Oct 2003 20:45:59 +0000, Buttonhole McGee wrote:

Oh, and by the way, that's pronounced "sibboleth."
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuugh!
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On Fri, 10 Oct 2003 20:45:59 GMT, "Buttonhole McGee"

My thoughts perzactly.
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Tom Watson wrote:

This be good! Keep 'em comin', please, please, please.
Scott
--
An unkind remark is like a killing frost. No matter how much it warms
up later, the damage remains.
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Don't stop now.
--
Owen Lowe and his Fly-by-Night Copper Company
Offering a shim for the Porter-Cable 557 type 2 fence design.
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"wonderful!" - American Woodworker "inspired" - Popular Woodworking "Go tom go!" - Wood Magazine "A wonderful synthisis of modern ideals fused to the timeless base of the dark human desire for vengance" - FWW
Just so long as the final chapter has something to the effect of:
The troll smirked as he stroked the <ENTER> key to send off yet another barrage of pre-adolescent taunts. "Lamers" he wispered, giddy, to himself, "they'll never catch me".
He blissfully closed his eyes, oblivious to the now rapidly winking HDD light.
Half a continent away, Norm waited...3...2...1...yes, there. He the ISP had given up it's prey and he was now watching as the packets began to spew. The IP address was validated. Port 135 was open. His mouth stretched into a mirthless grin. "End of line."
Fingers danced a teasing ballet. The remote computer convulsed, turned, spat, and then bowed it's digital head in acquiescence. But no seppuku for you. Not yet. Nothing so good.
Tommy Troll awoke the next morning to his mom pounding on the door. "Tommy, get out here!! Right NOW young man!!" "Aww s**t", thought Tommy, groggily. "Musta left the browser open to asian hampster fun..".
He opened the door. His mother stood, fists on her hips fury in her jaw.
"Uh oh."
"Just what do you mean to do, posting pictures of your father and I to alt.furry.rambunctious?!!! And asking for comments? With our HOME PHONE #?!!!You are GROUNDED for the next YEAR from that machine!!!!"

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