PhobosAnomaly

Man I remember the fax bomb. Either huge numbers of black pages to burn through the recipients’ ink toner, or two bits of A4 taped together neatly to form an infinite loop.

The latter was stopped when sending machines got a buffer that images were stored in before they were sent (as opposed to the OG fax machines that dialled the recipient and “live streamed” the pages by scanning and sending at 9600 baud or whatever the handshake was at), and most buffers threw an error when they were full (usually because the sender was taking the piss) and never sent. Shame.

Cheers. It also made me think of a bit of newspaper advert abuse that an old colleague of mine told me.

Another pair of people, another spat over something minor, but one wasn’t to be outdone. In the first week of January, he put an advert into a local popular newspaper, saying something similar to:

Leave your old Christmas trees with me for a charity project! Bring your Christmas trees to 45 Smith Drive, Newport*, if I’m not in then leave them on my lawn!

The net results was days worth of Christmas trees being drive-by yeeted into his garden. Said it was the best 50p per word they’d ever spent.

*edit: I’m sorry if you live at 45 Smith Drive in Newport, and I hope the Christmas tree gods are unkind to you!

Story time!

I forget the origin of the beef, but I remember a guy who grew up with another dude who was just a complete tool to my friend. It wasn’t outright bullying, but general arseholery and making his life difficult when it really didn’t need to be.

Anyway, my friend has a long memory and a longer grudge streak. I was finishing college at a time when print media was still king but social media was exploding in popularity.

My friend has decided “fuck this, I’m going to ruin this dude’s life for a bit”. He put an advert in the local paper or freeads (for non UK spuds: the freeads or classifieds is a newspaper-style private advertisements in one place - like a print version of a snapshot of Facebook Marketplace or Vinted for a local area).

Free TV. Call 07000100100 for details.

Anyone to this day knows that anything advertised for free attracts the most annoying, persistent, and unhinged type of people on earth. The freeads was published the following week. I didn’t socialise with the guy on the business end of my friend’s wrath on account of him being a massive cockwomble, but I understand his phone started to go wild with texts and phone calls asking about a free television - bear in mind that cheap consumer TVs weren’t really a thing and a TV purchase was a “buy it for life” thing at the time, so a free TV was just an amazing deal.

It would appear the demand for a free television was too much for the guy. In true mid 2000’s fashion, a social media message went up from the clearly annoyed guy, to the tune of:

Hi all, I’ve started to get loads of prank calls, so I’ve changed my number. It’s 07000200200 now.

With the internet and social interactions online still in the wild west era, this was fairly common. My friend chuckled to himself. The plan worked. Not satisfied with that though, he put another advert in the following week’s freeads:

Free TV. Call 07000200200 for details.

The publication date rolls around a few days later, and tens of thousands of this newspaper gets delivered to stores across the region. Obviously, mere hours after the thin yellow paper booklets are released to the public, the idiot’s phone starts going banzai. Dozens of calls a day from all corners of society, relentlessly asking about collection and delivery of a television at no charge.

The guy was livid.

Livid, but not smart. He had gotten pissed off with the calls, and was unable to stop the barrage of bargain hunters hitting his digits to get a gogglebox gratis. He went back to his phone network operator and makes the appropriate changes. Not one for releasing his number in a private, carefully controlled manner - the gist of the following was posted to social media a few weeks later:

Not sure why I’m getting so many prank calls, and my mobile network are useless. My new number is 07000300300. Let me know if someone asks you for it because I’m getting annoyed.

Most normal folk wouldn’t have risked being burned a third time and released their number in person or by SMS message. That said, I suspect the Venn diagram of twats like this guy who had spent an elder childhood making people’s lives difficult; and those who don’t appreciate the drawbacks of one-to-many communication, aren’t far off a circle.

My friend sees this status update or whatever it was called back then, cuts out the reply slip of the freeads, enclosed his payment, and sends in the following for publication the following week:

Free TV. Call 07000300300 for details. Shout “camel” when I answer so I know you’re genuine.

Hilarity likely ensued. My friend found immense satisfaction that the guy who tried to socially ostracise him and physically manhandle him for “fun” was now getting Guantanamo Bay levels of psychological torture, and 90% of calls that he answered started with someone hollering the name of a type of Saharan quardraped species.

The guy never posted anything after that. Not his new number, not any angry rants, nothing at all.

I respected my pal for that stunt. So much mental torture for so little effort. I lost touch with the friend but I still think of him now and then, and I hope that he still chuckles to himself with that prank under his belt, because I certainly do.

Depends how want to feel really! It’s rhyming slang for “dead”. Apologies if it wasn’t clear.

It’s the antithesis of “vote blue no matter who”.

“Vote red, if your kids are brown bread”.

I actually feel dirty just writing that.

Looks like you tried to do bullet points?

Yes!! That said, that Genie SIM started my love affair with not giving a fuck and writing multipage messages, which at the time was a bit of a “fuck you” to folk whose phones didn’t like them one bit and presented them as individual messages in their inbox.

Didn’t need the double ticks in those days, bitch we had read receipts and awwww yeah you had a message to prove you were left on read 😂

When entry level mobile phones became mainstream in the UK (probably around 2000, around the time of the Nokia 3210/3310), SMS were charged at 10p/12p a pop.

Around a year or two later, a mobile network (O2 for the fellow Brits when they changed from Cellnet) kicked off their online offerings with a Genie SIM, which allowed for a whopping 300 free text messages if you applied £15 credit in a month, which remained for calls while you still had an allowance. Data was delivered over dialup at the time. GPRS was far too fancy for data.

My social life went to another gear after that. At least until mid month when my free messages and minutes evaporated.

There’s been a pivot away from “classic” speedruns games over the last few years - I get that Doom or Sonic 2 or Goldeneye or other 90s games aren’t guaranteed a place every year, but it seems like the games that kicked off the speedrun scene are often overlooked these days.

That said, there is Quake, and there is SMB3 where I dont know who the runner is but that couch is a banger.

I was looking forward to seeing Still Wakes The Deep runs, but I find them really… unexciting, I think is the sentiment. Like the 2016 Doom onwards, the runs are technically outstanding, but there’s a lot of walking on invisible geometry with collision detection, or random tricks like railboosting in Doom that seems to break a game. I get that that is an entirely subjective opinion though, maybe I’m more suited to No Major Glitches runs!

classic

I hear you, the issue for me is that a third of your country people voted for the cunt, another third didn’t care enough not to vote against the cunt, which leaves a large majority of Americans complicit in this - enough in my view to effectively use the term as a blanket reference to most people in the country.

Speaking on a more granular level, I wish you well and the best of luck - but the majority of your population can go fuck themselves.

Did someone say…

…panda lamp?

My other half’s mam fuckin’ loves Candy Crush, plays it most (if not every) night, maybe clears a level or two.

What really makes me smile is that whenever she drops a bollock and effectively renders a grid unwinnable, she’ll take the L and come back tomorrow. Fuck the MTX and fuck the extra time/re-rolls/level skips; she just goes back the following day and tries again.

Mad respect, if nothing else than to be the marginal player base that fucks with the “line goes up” metric.

no u cant the lemmy cuss brigade will arrest u, my uncle said so and he works at nintendo

Man when I’m a few miles in to a run, the last thing on my mind is having any form of meaningful conversation, particularly something that needs a bit of time and effort put into it.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to keep putting one foot in front of the other, stay upright, try to not die, and still have to come up with a gentle way of letting someone down.

Next time on “Time and a Place”: asking a pilot out to dinner during an emergency landing.