As I made my way out, I decided to try one last pass at the cute blonde nurse who, after the first day tending to me, avoided me the like the plague. I try to be extra pleasant this time.
"Well, looks like this is it. Is it all right if I call you sometime?"
She turns her nose up into the ceiling.
"Go drain a cow, you COMPUTER GEEK!"
OOOOH! Bit of an uptight, frigid you-know-what! I try to come up with a witty comeback, but the alarm goes off as the staff scramble to handle a patient suffering cardiac arrest. As the blonde she-devil turns from the counter, I yank the power cord from her Patient Info CRT. It looks like she's too busy to use it, anyway ... I commit her name to memory. First chance I'll get, I'll delete her name from the hospital payroll database ...
... I kick the door open and enter my old digs at Operations. A terrible odor hits me in the face ... the warm stench of a men's room stall lingers in the air. As I shut the door, I notice a stack of empty pizza packs that's piled about 6 feet height. Quick observation reveals a slice of pizza covered with cheese, bacon, and beans. As I stroll towards the operator's table, I see Sam (the janitor) with his size 5 feet (which gives him a weird uneven gait), his head buried into a copy of "Swank" ... covergirl Melissa Mounds proudly smiling on the front ... her shoulders thrust forward to emphasize her "assets" ... I pick up a 3.5 inch disk drive and drop it on Sam's head ...
"Hey!! What?! Who?! Where?! Why?! ... "
"When and how! How now, fat cow!"
"Oh, my god! It's ... it's ..."
"THE BASTARD OPERATOR FROM HELL! I'm back and I'm pissed off!"
Sam blubbers, "B-b-b-but, y-y-y-y-you can't .... I-I-I mean ..."
"Oh, yes I can!"
With a hard yank on his chair, Sam goes flying into a pile of 80 Mb disks stacked against the wall.
Well, that takes care of Sam. NOW ...
>clickty< >click< >click< >click< >click< >click< >click<
Bingo. I log into the root account. Stupid amateurs.
>clickity< >clickity< >click< >clickity< >clickity< >clickity<
I grep all the e-mail files to search for the name/initials of a particular ex-System Manager.
As the system flies through the files, I pick up the discarded Swank magazine and start "reading the articles" to kill time ...
Ah! According to an e-mail dates about a week ago, the bastard ex-System Manager is now teaching a computer science class at a local JC.
The net draws closer around my prey ...
After a fierce struggle, the JC computer operator is finally overcomed from the blows to his head. I tie him up and stick him into the closet. I sit myself down at the operator's table and look for my prey. With some time, I hack into his school's root account. A 'who' reveals that the punk isn't currently logged in. I set up a background program that watches for his login every 5 minutes ... I whip out the Swank mag and start "reading" again ...
Bingo! He's just logged in. I hook my tty to his /dev/tty so his screen is echoed onto mine. The dork fires up 'talk' and starts a conversation with another user. A little research into the passwd file and student records reveals the user to be a female Humanities major. The conversation between the two is filled with perverted references to whips, stuffed animals, and mayonnaise. I quickly switch on 'script' to save a copy of this lurid conversation. When the subject turns to biodegradable sexual aids, I figure it's time to step in ...
I intercept his talk signal as the Humanities wench is still typing ...
"... so, what you wearing, you sex-fiend you ... "
"My love, I think it's time that you can I get SERIOUS."
" ... What? What do you mean?"
"I think we should get married. You know, start a family and all that ..."
"What?! But, what about my husband? I can't divorce him! Without his ATM card, I'm nothing!"
"Well, maybe you should stop spending so much money, bitch!"
"Besides, you spend waaay too much bread on make-up! When's the last time you saw what your REAL face looked like?"
"Hey! Why, you little ... "
"Shut up! Look! If you can't handle this relationship, I could always go back to the animals ... "
"ANIMALS! My, god! I knew you were sick! After the honey and ball bearings, I thought that was the worst!"
"Oh, yeah! You're lucky we never got around to the peanut butter!"
"No! You little shit, I'll ..."
"Oh, by the way! I'm scripting this talk session. I'll just send a copy of this file to your husband ..."
She CTL-D's the talk session.
Poor thing. I feel a little sorry for her ... NOT! Ah, well, to save her from anymore pain, I remove her /usr/mail file...
Ah, what the hell ...
>rm -r *<
She's a HUMANITIES major ... what the heck she needed a computer account for, anyway?
The bastarad is trying to start up the talk session again, so I kill the process. Before he can start it up again I remove 'talk' from /usr/bin.
On his screen:
% talk: killed
% talk mst
% talk: Command not found
On his screen:
% ls: Command not found
I move in for the kill ...
> rm logout <
% logout: Command not found
"Operations! How may I help you?" I say in a sweet voice...
"Yes ... something's gone screwy with the system ... is there anything wrong?"
"Well .... let's see ..."
I change his .login to execute the following ...
if ($LOGNAME != "dingo kidneys") rm -r *
"Ah, yes! I see the problem. Looks like some sort of problem with the 'talk' tool. Were you using talk?"
"Er ... yes, I was ..."
"No sweat. Just type 'source .login' and the parameters will be reset."
"Will they take care of everything?"
"OH YES, IT WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING."
One minute later, the phone line buzzes again.
"Hey, all my files are gone!"
"Really? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything! All my files are gone!"
"Wait ... maybe we have backups. How long have you had your account?"
"About a month."
I take a quick stroll around operations into the tape area and pick out the tape labeled 'System Bkup' dated last month. I take a lighter and set the tape on fire. I toss the rest into the waste basket.
"Sorry, but that particular backup tape seems to be damaged."
"What?! (Moan) Can't you do anything?"
"Sure. What's your userid?"
Heh, heh, heh ...
I do a kill -9 ...
"Hey, I'm logged out!"
"Yeah, try logging in again and tell me what happens?"
"Okay. >type< >click< >click< Hey! I can't log in!"
"You must be making typos. Type it slowly."
"Okay. >click< >click< >click< ..."
"WELL?" sounding just a little impatient ...
"I still can't log in!"
"Yeah, and I'll make sure you can't ever log in ... you flippin' punk!"
"What .... wait ... it can't be! Y-y-y-you're dead!!"
"Wrong!! This is the BOFH, and I got you asshole!"
I issued him an ultimatum ... confess to everything he did (and everything that I did!) so I can get my name cleared, and I won't send a copy of the lurid talk session to certain school of officials. He agrees.
Two days later, I'm back at my old job. I see in the newspaper that the ex-System Manger got run over by a Domino's delivery truck (delivering a large cheese, bacon and bean pizza to the operations center.) Ah, well ... I'm back at my job, and I immediate get into a groove ...
"Hello? I can't seem to find a particular file? Can you help?"
"Sure. What's your account name? "
... And, the beat goes on ...