So I'm reading through the RFCs and I get to 765-XXX, (limited release) "The FTPing of X-rated gif pictures from sites that have no idea that they're the latest central repository." It's ok reading, if you skip the bits about how ftp was designed to transmit large breasts over networks in a manner that'll guarantee excellent 24 bit renditions of a poor quality image scanned with a hand scanner by a member of the "Parkinsons Sufferers for Erotica Club" from page three of a weekly newsprint based paper.

I skim all the claims, because I'm after the hidden commands. I find that there's a compress feature that looks like just what I want. I pull across "janine572.gif" which is apparently janine and two of her close friends molesting a guava. I turn on the compress feature and grab the picture and exit to view it. I then find out that XXX compression reduces the picture size to about 1cm x 1cm. Real effective.

So now I have to go back to the site, and I'm seeing what site-specific commands they have, and lo and behold I see "HNSA". I execute it a couple of times, but my process just freezes, so I login again to ask the remote server what HNSA does. I then find out it's an acronym for Hang and Notify System Administrator. Shit!

I telnet to the time port of the machine and it's 1am over there, so I've got maybe 7 hours till the mail comes through to our system administrator saying that I've been downloading gifs of my Uncle Jim (out of his Navy blues) with a bacon slicer, two two live chickens and a pot of cottage cheese. Hmm. I've going to have to work fast.

First of all I start sending screeds of mail to the system manager, saying things like "Dear System Manager, could I please have access to the" over and over again, like I got some form of mailer error, (to use up the disk) then fake some mail from root at my site asking who the hell's putting all these pictures on our site and can they stop, as our disk is full. Unconvincing, but who gives a shit, anything's better than nothing. I call my Uncle Jim and tell him the story, saying that somehow someone got hold of some pictures and I'm sure it's him because of the birthmark the shape of donald duck on his backside. I tell him the site name, and say that I think the administrator had something to do with it because he started pointing the finger at me after I complained about it. Around then family bonding cuts in, and even if my uncle is one of the strangest people in dungarees, even if he does abuse his prescription, even if he's uglier than Oprah on a fine day, even if I did it, no-one doesn't do that to my uncle and get away with it.

I tell him my plan.

"You get the Navy to fly you there as a site emergency - say that you've just found out they're developing nukes in the physics lab without stamping them with neat acronyms like NORAD or ICBM or SHITLOOKOUT, and find the guy and stomp his face with a housebrick."

"What will you do?" he asks.

"Hey, I'll be doing my bit" I snarl (Shit, you'd think it was all *my* fault - I mean I didn't tie him up in duct tape to take the photos y' know) "Just you hold up your end of the bargain"

He does and I do my best to get him committed.

I ring his boss (The Commander and Cheif) and ask him if that's the right way to spell chief. "I before E, except after C" he chuckles.

He's next.

I tell him my uncle's finally flipped and that those photos I posted of him 6 weeks ago should prove it.

"Oh, you sent those?" he says "Shit, for a minute there, I thought someone had answered my personal ad..."

He really is next.

I skip around the subject a bit then tell him that my uncle *really* flipped out and thinks the sysadmin of a certain ftp site is Mary Poppins in drag

"Really? Do you know where I could get a peice of her action, and is that how you spell piece? " He says

"I before You" I say "Except when I'm taping this conversation and, as a member of the defence forces he was duty bound to act on the information I supplied to save lives."

"So what are you saying?" he mumbles.

"That you'd better stop my uncle from hurting any more people. After he fed those pills to Elvis, I thought he'd taken stock of his life - but now I realise he's beyond hope"

"I see. Well, I'll despatch someone to deal with him immediately"

I look over to my telnet session. Still active. Damn! Ah, there it goes, %%% Network Unavailable %%%. Uncle Jim's obviously well armed.

Now to deal with his boss.

I ring Multi-Multi-Multi limited, a small firm of swedish gentlemen who don't make lollies anymore after their MMM's failed. (Moms Melting Mammalaries) They never caught on. So now they're pissed off - but they've still got the equipment.

"Hey guys" I say "Do you think I've written myself in a corner?"

"Yes, I theenk you overplayed your hand with ringing us - it's very poor writing style to add characters to a dying plot"

He's right. But that's ok, a 600 ton weight falls on them and mashes them slowly and painfully to death proving that I can take criticsm, but not very well.

Before the plot can move on I get a call from Knobby-Knob-Knonlett and Sons, purveyors of fine sentences. They want to send a guy around to show me some of their designer woven plot endings, including some in which large breasted woman come and fulfill the favourite fantasies of people they wouldn't cross the road to pass water on in real life.

I tell them to call.

A guy comes and shows me his samples. He's got all sorts of endings, from the budget "They all woke up" to the streamlined and silky "I never saw her again, but from that day on, the African Plains never held the same fascination for this young man from Pakistan"

I ask if I can have an ending on appro, to be returned in a week if I don't like it. He thinks that's fair so I pick the one where the story ends and I run away and never have to pay for the ending.

- The Ending -