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2006: Year of the Gummybear

14 feb 06

In case you didn't know:

Nameservers are computers enabling emails sent for your domain name to be correctly received, as well as visitors of your Web site to come to the good site.

I love gandi.net. Parsing their broken english gives me a warm, fuzzy, francophilic feeling.

Oh yeah! Happy valentine's day! Often, just for the sake of digging a mire of self pity in which to wallow, I'll try to get myself upset that I don't have a girlfriend/spouse/sex slave on valentine's day. Unfortunately, it never works. This is partly because most of the time, and for the most part, I don't want a girlfriend, spouse, or sex slave. Holidays to me have significance measured by how many buildings and services are closed on them, and for how long.

I'm going to join the gaithersburg city civic-center exercise public communist pool-and-gym thing, because it's cheaper and more morally upstanding than "acme x-treme fitness" -- something like 1,000% cheaper, I believe. Shameful, shameful. City services are very much like university services, and both are very much like open source software (sorry): harder to get to, sniff out, and perhaps use, but in the end the result is the same. Poor marketing is at fault for this unaccessibility -- no one is trying to entice you to use the city's facilities; they're just sitting there for you to use if and when you want to. It was the same thing at university, I remember, and it always sort of shocked me to see these great services just sitting there, gathering dust, but totally available and functional.

Of course, the open source comparison is sort of stupid, especially inasmuch as I just wiped linux off my hard drive and replaced it with my good ol' copy of pirated (yaar) windows xp (courtest of a one mr. n.j. Worthey). I know he reads this occasionally, so I have to keep linking to him.

I tried installing some software, and read on the web that the way to do it was via the command line, and typing "% extr-b-xfff 124.515. %%%%% &&& >-- barf ass 2398092638. Ddd-----+" or something, whereas in windows you double-click the installer. At that point, I realized that I was doing everything I wanted and "needed" to do with windows: hosting my site, running python, typing in a text editor, playing mp3s, browsing the web, and perhaps one or two other things that currently escape my consideration. Furthermore, doing them didn't amount to a sysiphian task.

Sometimes I think it would be great to be a heroin addict; one's life would be so simple. The heroin user is sort of like the christian fundamentalist: suddenly, the truth is spelled out, and the path to happiness, truth, salvation, etc, is clearly mapped out for him. It's everything, and nothing else matters. He doesn't have to think about complex postmodern nihilistic options and the minutiae of everyday life, because the answer and goal is right there.

It makes life extremely simple to focus on just one thing, and potentially very satisfying: when you have heroin, the universe is good. When you don't have it, the universe is bad.

I can see why drug addiction is appealing in and of itself, apart from chemical need -- it gives a purpose to life, something to stave off the meaningless void, or the zen of the One of existence, whichever you prefer. It really is very much like worship of a god, the more I think about it.

But a god-substitute (or purpose-substitute, or whatever) -- the antidote for nihilism -- can come in may forms; it's just that heroin and fundamentalism are rather striking examples of it. You hear a lot about money becoming someone's god, or sex becoming someone's god, etc. What they're really saying is that money has become that given person's "one thing," just as the way god is supposed to be that person's "one thing." I believe this is why the religious are so confused and horrified when they hear that someone is an atheist. "but...but...why do you go on living?" an atheist (who hasn't yet embraced money, heroin, etc) is someone who has lost everything, has lost the one thing. The purpose has gone out of his life, and it's empty. Or, if he's never had it, he doesn't know what he's missing.

This is what nietzsche was talking about when he said "god is dead" -- this very loss. Not that god doesn't exist anymore, but that no one believes in him, and that the result is nihilism -- a total lack of purpose, meaning, understanding, or even life-force. People no longer have an effective "one thing," and attempts to replace it with money, drugs, power, etc, are only going to have detrimental effects.

Eastern thought has some answers there. It never proclaimed there to be a grand purpose of life, or one single thing or pursuit -- the only thing "advocated" was existing. In an old "artist's statemnt" (haha, dear lord), I mentioned how zen is the resolution of nihilism -- "if you have no reason to be, then just be." nietzsche talked about nihilism and how its consequences would be disastrous for human civilization. I think if he'd been into this whole eastern thing, then he might have suggested meditation and zen as an effective solution.

Of course, antidotes might also be going back to god or taking up heroin, but I think once god is dead, he can't be brought back to life -- going back to a purpose in the face of everything philosophy and science has expounded upon is something reserved for only the culturally sheltered or the simple-minded. Once you lose god, you can't get him back. But it's still tempting -- to renounce reason and knowledge, and embrace monotheism (that "one thing"), in order to stave off existential depression and the void. For those of us who never had him to begin with, well...we look around for a heroin dealer.

It's hard to "believe in" something that's not there; only so much insanity can be self-induced. I think this might be why religion is so effective -- it grabs people early on, before their reason is fully intact, and says "look -- here's your purpose!" and then, in the face of everything we know and see, they cling to this even though they know better on some level, because the loss of purpose is too terrible to think about, let alone induce. Heroin is a good god-substitute -- it's more expensive, but at least it exists.

Heroin is to god as methadone is to heroin.


10 feb 06

Howard D. Butt is waiting to die.

I walked around in a graveyard yesterday while my car was getting its oil changed. The cemetary was in bad shape, with gravestones neglected and tumbling over, and squares of frozen earth sinking over burried coffins. There were a few stones that caught my eye. One was large, and had carved on it, simply, "BLOOD." this was someone's last name, apparently, but it might have been a good idea to include a first name or a pair of dates, so as to avoid the monolith of blood residing in a graveyard. It would have made a good photo.

I also saw the stone of a burried baby, born in the 1920s, who had died after only two months.

Most notable was a stone commemorating the couple sharing the sirname "Butt," which is funny in and of itself. The husband, one mr. Howard d. Butt, has not ("had not"? It's been a day) yet died, but still had his name inscribed ominously next to his wife's: "Howard D. Butt: 1943 - _____." so, as I walked through the graveyard, I thought about howard d. Butt, who is waiting to die.

Also on my oil change wanderings, I went into kinko's to take a morning dump in their restroom. Although supposedly public (a big sign reading "RESTROOMS" faces out to the sales floor), it's nestled back in the tattered and freyed background world of "employees only." there I read some notice about "team members must do so and so and blah blah," and when I thought about it I realized that every service industry business now refers to employees as "team members." I also saw a notice by a closed door that read (paraphrase) "leaving this door open will result in termination." "to terminate" means "to fire."

You must remember the formula for advertising success (apologies to internet culture):

  1. Grinning idiot, preferably non-anglo, non-male
  2. Sentence with a period after it, and often with every word capitalized
  3. ?
  4. Profit

I am not a team-player, nor am I detail-oriented, nor am I enthusiastic, nor am I fast-paced, nor am I motivated, nor am I a people-person. I operate isolatedly in reactionary opposition to the will and action of others who share with me an immediate, contextual culture, in careless, broad strokes, sullenly, slowly, because I am forced to survive, and I hold little but contempt for humanity.

The ironic part is that these qualifications don't necessarily make me a bad employee; note that I left out "lazy."


09 feb 06

Sharp and astute readers might have noticed that I don't blog anywhere near as much as I used to. Possibility one: after two and some odd years, I've finally run out of steam. Possibility two: I'm going through a not-unheard-of slump, and things will pick back up again in some time. Possibility three: working 10, 11 and even 12 hour days doing "general tree care" didn't leave me much time or energy to write.

I tend to think it's the last. Well, that problem is solved -- I'm back to delivering pizzas, one of only two jobs I've really enjoyed, the other being cashier at a gas station. I like these because they're almost entirely stress-free, as well as solitary. Something like "gravedigger" would probably be ideal, especially considering that I like some physical labor along with the solitude and placidity. A big disadvantage of pizza driving is that it's very hard on one's car.

Mine has 110,000 miles on it, which might be problematic. My old car, the first car to have my name on the title, a 1987 chrysler lebaron, the ugliest piece of shit ever made, made uglier still by fifteen years on the road, died in 2002, not while but when I was pizza-driving. Granted, its death may have been unrelated to careening all over east baltimore county and west baltimore city in a filthy jersey, smoking marlboro reds, and listening to "98 rock" while in the charge of a grimy wad of money and a few fat, sticky, red, plastic-leather, pizza-containing envelopes -- the car may have been getting ready to conk out anyway. It was sold to me in 1999, just a bit before I left for school near balitmore, by a weasely mechanic who worked at that same gas station I mentioned. I think he rebuilt the engine, and didn't touch anything else (brakes, transmission, etc). I got a few miles out of it, at least, and a few years.

When it broke down, finally, on i-70 and in the dead of winter at midnight (i had a friend follow me), I entered a pleasant phase of what seemed like self-sufficience, but of course was the illusion thereof, considering that I was dependent on thousands of federal dollars. I had a bike I bought for $150, used (same bike I have now), and I rode to school every day through the grounds of a mental hospital. I had a bushy beard then, and I remember some teenagers driving the hospital grounds while I rode through. They saw a silent, sullen man riding his bike along, wearing a white dress-shirt and grey, tattered pants cut off to mid-calf, and one of them yelled out the car window "did you ex-cape?"

Those were the golden years -- one period of time in my life in the united states where I can say I was content. I rode my bike to and from campus, and spent a great deal of time on said campus. Some weekends, I took a train to gaithersburg (not sure how often that happened). My memory is sort of hazy, and I don't know exactly how long this happy time lasted. However, it can be calculated, using some reference points. I took a job at pizza hut in order to pay for my trip to japan in the summer of 2001. I kept working after my return, and my car died in the winter, so it must have been January of 2002 then. Since I graduated in may of 2002, those golden years were actually more like a golden five months.

One thing that certainly contributed to their luster: I didn't have a job, and as I mentioned was suckling at the teat of federal student loans, which I'm now paying back, sort of. Sometimes I think being a bum wouldn't be so bad, if I were to choose the right locale. Ie, san francisco, vancouver, seattle, etc -- someplace where the elements wouldn't kill me (even though they might make me miserable). Another possibility would be to relocate somewhere in mexico. I practiced my spanish with the hispanic tree-climbers at my tree job -- I know more than I thought I did. If I were to take a class, I think I'd pick it up quickly. I've been hearing it and reading it regularly for 20 years or so, even if it's just something like "horario domingo" on the ride-on bus.

So, I feel like I'm back in my element, delivering pizza.

Thinking about suicide is a good way to get through just about anything -- one can think to one's self: "this isn't so bad; if it gets really horrible, I'll just kill myself." then, suddenly, the world doesn't seem so serious anymore, because consequences and situations don't have to last longer or have more impact than you want them to have. So long as you're free and a free agent, you always have the ultimate power to "end it all," as it were, and everything else becomes of very secondary concern if you know you have this power.

The danger comes when this power is taken away, in the case of the disabled, elderly, imprisoned, religious, etc. So, I think it's good to have that suicide button ready at all times, just in case it's needed at the spur of the moment. It's not a "depressive" thing -- suicide is a "power" thing. "if I don't like it, I have the power to make the decision to stop it."

I remember something someone said about suicide. Maybe it was nietzsche. To this day, I use my trick to remember how to spell that name -- first of all, the "i" and "e" are in the order they should be to get the "ee" sound in german. Then, you have my mnemonic acronym: "Tomorrow's Zen Seems Corrupted Hearsay." finally, it's just matter of appending that final "e," which isn't tough to remember. I've made correct "nietzsche"-spellers of you all, in just one easy lesson! Anyway, the quote (it is, indeed, from nietzsche's writings):

The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night.

Mr. Nietzsche is talking about precisely what I am -- that the pain of life can only be taken so seriously because of that eternal option the free agent has of, from his perspective, annihilating the universe. If you're lying there at night, stewing about the petty stressors of the waking world and feeling sorry for yourself, then thinking "geez, who cares? I can always kill myself" is an effective comfort. After realizing this, getting lost on a pizza run doesn't seem so bad. If life is just a little game that can be ended when the player doesn't want to play anymore, then any and all possible action cease to have but trivial, laughable, imaginary consequences. suicide is the ultimate freedom, and it's interesting to note that it's been made into a sin by the abrahamic religions (we're all familiar with their record on preserving human freedoms).

The prospect of ending life itself reveals the discomforts of life to be temporary at best, if not totally meaningless.

Suicide is the most powerful, noblest thing a person can do. The greatest thing any man has to fear is his power to die, to end his own life, being taken away from him. This is the ultimate impotence, and the ultimate torture. I have another nietzsche quote for you:

There is a certain right by which we may deprive a man of life, but none by which we may deprive him of death.

I have to reiterate that I'm not being morbid, or depressive. Discussing suicide rationally is taboo in our society, because it's the ultimate blasphemy: the power of life and death, which is supposed to be god's greatest power, is placed in your own hands. This is a pompous, defiant act, thumbing your nose at your creator -- deciding how and when you're going to die is unforgivable by god.

Suicide, properly and dispassionately analyzed, is a tool for living life to the fullest. If you aren't afraid of life because you know you have the power to end it, then this can only have beneficial effect on your life choices, and how you view those choices. The only thing to fear, to fear terribly, is being deprived of this right to die in the time, place, and manner of your choosing.

Shit, it's late. See, this is why I don't blog -- it eats up sleepy-time.


04 feb 06

Twenty Things

  1. The Gmail web interface constitutes a better email client than Thunderbird. Can you search mail with Thunderbird? No. Are there quick keyboard commands? No. The big problems with the web interface are the small quota (2.6 gigs or so) and advertisements, which are deal-breakers for more people (mainly open-source zealouts) than you might expect.

  2. I've been playing my Telecaster on the neck pickup with the tone down all of these years, because my old jazz teacher told me to. I realized about a week ago that the body pickup, tone all the way up, and sort of "slappy," pinch-harmonic style of strumming, gripping the pick (always a Dunlop 2mm Purple Derlin 500 Standard) so that the side of the thumb grazes the strings after the edge of the pick, sounds a lot better. Essentially, I'd not been embracing my guitar's true Telecaster nature. Rejoice in the quiddity of all things unto themselves, as they say. Well, maybe they don't say precisely that, but the sentiment is common wisdom: "don't fight the medium."

  3. I've been trying to install Ubuntu Linux on an old PC upstairs, and have been having big problems: "Installing the base system" fails every time, and then I get a "kernel panic" when I follow instructions and try to reboot without the install CD. I hardware issues might be the problem, because the live CD won't work either, nor will a DOS boot disk, entirely (I can't FORMAT C:). It might be time to consider buying a new PC (or Mac Mini), but I'm not made of money here.

  4. I want to plant some flowers in the backyard come Spring. Perrenials, obviously -- I'm into "low-maintenance" backyards. My only worry is that the huge volume of grass-killer I stupidly and needlessly poured into the Earth last October is still poisoning the soil. But, it's been raining a lot. We'll see.

  5. I've become a bit of a Semitophile in the past few months, and have started supporting Israel as well as generally admiring and having affection for the Jews. Is this weird and oddly racist? At least it's "racialist," which my old art history prof defined for me as (paraphrase) "being aware of racial and ethnic distinctions, albeit not necessarily while considering one to be better than another." Can you appreciate the culture of one ehtnic group more or less so than another without being labeled "racist"? For instance, can I hate Jazz, Reggae and (not "or") Rap without hating Black people? Am I allowed to dislike cultural features of Judaism that make it distinct? Is this tantamount to hating the Jews? Is this the "inherent racism" that some people say is shared by every human on the planet? I'm not sure.

  6. I sold my "Musicman" amp for $220 a while back. Now, I want to buy another amp for at least that much, and probably more. I am extremely stupid.

  7. I'm looking around the room to think these up.

  8. Ever since I fixed up the back and front yard, I've liked cloudy and/or rainy days, for two reasons: 1. They're good for the plants, and 2. I realized that they're pretty, when I look out the back sliding glass door and see the grey-on-grey shapes, or even just the uniform, pastel grey.

  9. I haven't used my digital camera in a while, since I lost a bunch of really nice photos I took of the railroad tracks. I'm not sure if this is because I feel discouraged, or because there aren't that many interesting subjects to photograph around here. A bit of both, probably.

  10. I bought a $250 "Digitech Wammy Pedal" a few months ago, and overwhelmingly use it as a $30 chorus pedal. Recently, I haven't been using it or my delay pedal at all. Furthermore, I'm not the least bit upset about this. I think it's related to a general practice of mine when it comes to creative output: if I stop liking something I'm doing, and want to try something else, I don't hesitate to wipe out hours or days of work and start over. Maybe this is par for the course -- in the category of "everyone does this." Incidentally, do you know what else everyone does? Everyone says "everyone does this.".

  11. One of my favorite things is local store-brand grapefruit juice. Often times, the store brand is better-tasting than name brands. I think this might be because the store stocks these more regularly, and they don't go stale. Conspiracy.

  12. I'm wondering if this format of "100 things" or whatever constitutes banal, typical blogging, and then furthermore if this is inherently a bad thing. Is something trite and ugly just because lots of other people do it? Partially, yeah, I think.

  13. My mom's old Gibson is 56 years old, and has absolutely, stunningly perfect intonation, much better than my Telecaster's. However, I'd still rather play my own guitar, and switched back to playing it exclusively when it came back from the shop. This constitues the opposite philosophy of "dump everything and start over," or embracing pure aesthetics over any other value. I am an inconsisten creature. Relatedly, I am also a postmodern creature.

  14. This guy at work is one of the most fascinating people I've met. He grew up as an unabashed "redneck" in PG county, fighting and being high on drugs pretty much every day, dropping out of school when he was 15, spending time in juvy hall, having x children by y "old ladies," etc. Now, at 48, he curses more than anyone else I've heard; every third word that comes from his mouth is "fuck," "fuckin," "shit," "mo'fuckin" or "mo'fuckas," along with a "black-sounding" variety of Maryland accent. But the way he talks and dresses, and possibly his alcoholism and addiction to cigarettes (even though we see this aross the board) are the only things that keep him from being seen as a smart, competent, thoughtful guy, a good listener and sensitive man. He has a secret life outside of tree work: he does online gaming -- "Ultima," which is analogous to "World of Warcraft." He can slide seamslessly from talking about oiling the hydraulic lift on a wood chipper (or something) to talking about hunting a "dreadhorn" (an evil unicorn) in his war party. I can see why some people (like my aunt, who majored in philosophy at Berkely and ended up as a goat farmer) get enamoured with the "working class" -- they're just as weird, disparate and smart as anyone else, and are perhaps friendlier and "more real." Or, maybe it's just that they speak such a different language that a pasty sheltered academic can't help but re-approach his analysis of them, and generate an unprejudiced asessment. Then the whole thing makes me feel like I'm being some kind of "cultural tourist," or "slumming", as it were, and I feel all icky and class-conscious in a bad way. I'm really a horrid racist.

  15. There's a reclining clay figure on an end table here, and no-one can figure out where it came from. I'd always thought I'd made it, but the initials on the bottom aren't mine. It's not something that someone would buy. Whenever I see it's not resting its back against something, I always move it that way, because I know it must be uncomfortable.

  16. The mantras "Just don't think about it," "I have no emotions," and "Try not to fuck up. If you do fuck up, try not to panic. If you do panic, try not to panic some more" are actually pretty helpful in controling the mind. Also, pretending one is an actor who's playing the part of "someone who doesn't give a shit what other people think (or maybe even 'other people'), to the point of being mildly autistic" is something I'd like to try.

  17. I used to gel my hair and dress nicely in high school. From mid-7th grade through senior year was a dark, dark time, in terms of appearance conformity; in fact, it's one of my bigger regrets. I should have stayed an interesting guy who would wear a flannel shirt with mustard stains on it, tucked into a pair of sweatpants, and "Reebok" high-top sneakers.

  18. Sometimes I think I really do hate people.

  19. In high school, I was often taken for snobby as opposed to shy and unconfident. It was partially true, actually. Or maybe snobbiness is merely a personally acceptable synonym for being unconfident and shy.

  20. Hosting my own site really isn't as difficult as you might think. Briefly, it's just a matter of getting an ISP that doesn't block uploads over port 80 (Comcast, at least around here), downloading the Abyss web server, registering a domain with gandi.net, setting up an account at afraid.org and entering your domain there, downloading the "FreeDNS" dynamic IP updater, and entering afraid.org's nameserves in gandi's interface (ns1.afraid.org, ns2, ns3, ns4). Well, maybe it's a little hard, depending on what your background is like. But certainly it's not as hard as configuring Apache with your own nameservers. I can't think of any reason someone would use Apache when Abyss is out there, for Linux, Windows and OS X, except (again) open source zealoutry. Humans are so annoying. Actually, I think Abyss can't do multiple hosts, and it might not be suitable for large sites. But it can do CGI. I dunno.


03 feb 06

It's happening...losing the urge to blog...fading...fading...


29 jan 06

I was thinking some more about yesterday's spam, and I realized that the reporting I did was probably useless. The folks at arenanc.com registered their domain through securewhois.com with itsmydomain.com, but they host the site themselves. To my knowledge, a registrar isn't going to care, nor is it obligated to care, what people do with the domains it provides.

Sending an email to "telecom italia" (with a "grazie molto :-)" at the top) was also probably useless -- the computer it came from is pretty clearly infected with malware that is sending out spam. In other words, this is some innocent italian teenager with a PC in his room, opening and executing bizarre attachments and/or hanging out on the net without a firewall. These are not idiots at arenanc.com; they're coding sophisticated trojans that autonomously send spam from a victim's computer -- spam that's well-designed enough to slide its way past gmail's spam filters.

The question remains: how do you report a spammer that doesn't send its own spam? Even if I were to report them to their ISP, it doesn't constitute definitive proof that they ever sent the email -- it's just some forwarded text. I tend to overuse the word "constitute."

My first steps were to run a reverse DNS querry on the domain arenanc.com, the penis pill mongers to which the spam linked. This gave me the hosting ip address: 58.56.12.76. Running a WHOIS from one service told me that arenanc.com uses namervers at themilktrucks.com (cool domain). Another WHOIS shows me nameserver at ezmass.com. Both http://themilktrucks.com and http://ezmass.com point to the same page. Furthermore, those two along with http://arenanc.com all point to the same IP address (58.56.12.76). The next step was to find the ISP of that IP address.

Whois.arin.net tells me that 58.56.12.76 falls under the APNIC, the "regional internet registry (RIR) for the asia pacific region." I'm getting a bit out of my league here -- I'm not entirely sure how regional internet registries, iana.org, and ican.org all relate to one another, even though they do. The internet is complicated. Maybe I'll try to read something more about that at some point. Moving along.

One WHOIS querry (i can't remember the service) run on 58.56.12.76 shows me a reference to a nameserver at lacnic.net, the latin american and carribeaninternet address registry (analogous to apnic, I believe). I don't know if this has anything to do with anything. I'm going to ignore it.

I asked whois.apnic.net about 58.56.12.76, and came up with a record for "china telecom," where I found this email address: anti-spam@ns.chinanet.cn.net.

Here's a summary:

  1. get interested in a particular spam
  2. look at the full headers, and discover that it's been sent by an infected computer somewhere. Contact that ISP.
  3. run a WHOIS on the website linked to by the spam, and discover only that themilktrucks.com domain was registered through securewhois.com, which ironically exists to prevent spammers to harvest emails from whois information, with itsmydomain.com. Contact both of these guys. Discover that nameservers for the site are .themilktrucks.com and .ezmass.com.
  4. run a reverse DNS querry on themilktrucks.com (or any other of the three domains I found) to get the hosting IP address.
  5. run another random WHOIS on this IP address, and find out that 58.56.12.76 is in an IP block under apnic.
  6. run a WHOIS on the ip address at whois.apnic.net
  7. discover china telecom to be the internet provider of themilktrucks.com. Email them, with a "xie-xie :-)" at the top.

Another way of looking at it:

  1. an infected computer in italy sent me a spam via a trojan horse's exploiting of port 25 of telecom italia.
  2. the associated website was registered at itsyourdomain.com, and went through an anonymizing service called securewhois.com (both of which are located in schaumburg, IL).
  3. the associated website uses nameservers at themilktrucks.com and ezmass.com, which point to the same web page as arenanc.com. This makes me think the same people who publish the site are in direct control of the hosting server.
  4. according to a reverse DNS querry, arenanc.com, themilktrucks.com, and ezmass.com all point to the same page, and share one IP address.
  5. according to whois.apnic.net, that IP address is hosted by China Telecom ("customer first service foremost"), in beijing.

Unfortunately, there's no proof of malicious computing, because arenanc.com doesn't send out its own spam -- they leave compromised computers worldwide to do that, this one happening to have telecom italia as its ISP. If only I could show china telecom that I actually did receive this email, and am not a competing penis pill vendor, eager to put anaranc.com out of business.

Anyway, this is more of a hobbyist thing, obviously -- no one in their right mind is going to go through this sort of trouble when they can just delete the spam and be done with it. But it was sort of fun, and provided a blog. I seriously doubt anything will come of it; themilktrucks.com is already on a few blacklists.

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