Also, someone asked why so many people feel the need to insult me on
this public, Web-indexed forum, such as
To this I can only respond, it's because I have the peace of mind and
inner spirit that these fellows fear they can never possess.
My opinion is that people insult other people in public to compensate
for personal feelings of inadequacy in the emotional, psychological,
physical, intellectual, social, sexual, psychosexual, financial,
political, religious, phallic, sportsfangoing, quake-playing, and/or
research-laden aspects of their lives.
To be blunt, these people cannot help but insult those to whom, for one
reason or another, they feel inferior. It's something I have had to
deal with my entire life, and since FoRK is like the Superman-Bizarro
Mirror World of life, it would only make sense that such phenomena
follow me here as well.
That moron Rohit sent me a personal email when he meant to FoRK it.
Only though the strength, courage, and moral fiber of my rugged inner
character was I able to bootstrap enough motivation to pull this out of
my Berkeley mail and resubmit it for those who'd like a sampling of
Rohit's pedestrian attempt at wit.
> > From email@example.com Sun Jun 15 18:58:27 1997
> > Subject: Would you believe 22Mb?
> > To: firstname.lastname@example.org (I Find Karma)
> > there are ~3800 forkmails , addding up to a 22MB html archive!!
> Adam responds:
> > Damn. So THAT'S where all of our time goes...
> I guess I can agree that we can can preproduction on Indiana Jones and
> the Lost Null -- /dev/null is alive and well and living on xent...
> (PS: the name xent actually comes from the role of arch-villain I played
> in a college mockumentary of Indy at Tech...)
We close with a frightening thought. Rohit expects that any woman who
will eventually become his significant other, will not just be willing,
but actually *want* to read this 3800+, 22MB arsenal of FoRKspew.
We've already ascertained that no one on this list actually reads
everything posted here (gentlefolks, get your delete finger ready!). To
expect that --- nay, even hope that --- some woman would love Rohit enough
to slog through thousands of emails about shooter girls, enough jargon
to make Bob Metcalfe comfortably numb, and occasional goodnatured
flamefests (call me the master baiter: JoeK, you wuss, by listening to
only melodies and harmonies you aren't giving your ear the workout
they'll need to survive the sound and fury of the nuclear armageddon
coming in 1999 since your eyes will be closed for fear of turning into a
pillar of salt) is tantamount to expecting that one day through science
and engineering someone will invent a method of nailing a piece of Jello
to a tree. Or a method of pushing toothpaste back INTO the tube. Or a
method of lighting a match on a piece of soap. Or a method of dribbling
a football. Or a method to ski through revolving doors.
Give it up, TravelMan. Bitboy's here to give you a pocket full of
PS - Rohit, is my subject line good enough for you? Maybe someday you'd
like to see my object line, too?
My God, he takes everything that's good about the Web and perverts it!
-- Adam Rifkin about Tim Byars