RMS Goes to the Zoo

With a twinkle in his eye and a skip in his step, RMS slammed his sky-blue Chevette's rusted-out car door and turned on heel toward the MIT Zoo entrance. Today was a Sunday, and RMS had decided the daily stresses of Free Software, the GPL, and his crazy drug-smoking habits could go away for just one afternoon while he enjoyed the zoo.

"That'll be twenty-five dollars, sir," the lady at the admission booth said glumly. She looked at RMS expectantly.

"I was expecting this zoo to be Free," RMS stated loudly, eyes darting around to gauge onlookers' reactions. There were none: RMS's capital F had went unnoticed. "Can you ensure me that this money will not help fund –"

The admissions lady cut him off. "Twenty-five dollars, or twenty bucks with a Bawls can," the lady cut in.

With a grumble and shake of his beard, RMS handed over twenty five of his hard-earned dollars. Considering that the GPL works to unemploy programmers, one must wonder where this money came from.

By evening, RMS found himself in front of the penguin exhibit. He felt himself start to sweat, which would have been no surprise—his thick, full, grizzly beard was worth a thousand down comforters—except that he was wearing only a pair of nylon biking shorts and a travel pack around his waist. He stared at his hands. What was wrong?

"Awk" a nearby bird squawked. RMS wheeled in the direction the screech had come from. He was met with the steely, unfeeling stares of a penguin. "Awk! Ooooh God, the penguin said awk... Lord, lord lord, it's GNU/Linux. The penguin is Tux!!!" RMS blurted out. He felt dizzy, and cold sweat now washed over his brittle, hairy chest. He looked this way and that. From nearby a bird again squawked.

"Awk! Awk! Awwwwk!!!"

RMS ran as fast as his atrophied hippie-programmer legs could carry him, right through a gate and into an exhibit. He realized what he had done, and before he could turn around, he heard a low, ominous sound. Like the Devil's riding mower.

"Moooooooooooooooo!"

RMS gasped and darted his eyes around him as he stood deathly still.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

RMS was standing in the Gnu section, and it seemed these bull yaks were in rut and ready to mate with the first hairy thing with a hole in its center they found. Bad luck for RMS and his beard. Just then he felt cloven hooves push him down, and the world became fuzzy. RMS blacked out and remembered no more.

Emad's Hangover

Emad had been laying awake for about two hours. It was 10 in the morning and he had already missed two classes, Remedial Linux and Diversity & Tolerance. Had Emad been totally awake he would have groaned. Today's Diversity & Tolerance class was teaching how to put condoms on erect penises, something right up Emad's alley. Well, at least the erect penis part; he knew nothing about condoms.

Slowly, Emad lumbered out of bed. His joints ached. His head throbbed. What had happened the night before? He could feel dried feces in his pants and was pretty sure his asshole was ripped wide — Oh! He remembered a little too suddenly as he almost tripped over a pile of spent whippits, several beer bottles, and a giant black 48" oil-filled dildo — mounted — on a chainsaw engine. He had had Michael Sims and CmdrTaco over last night for a few cold ones but it seemed that, par for the course, they had all ended up sharing a few hot ones instead, that being their euphemism for homosexual encounters.

Emad made his way to the bathroom, and moaned. It was in complete disarray. The sink was filled with congealed diarrhea, the floor was sticky with drying piss, and the bathtub looked like a long-neglected water trough on a pig farm. It would take Emad hours to clean this mess. He tried hard to ignore the stench as he sauntered toward the toilet. Didn't Taco and Sims respect anything? Emad gave so much to them and their cause.

Upon opening the lid on his broken toilet he saw the special gift Taco had left for him: An inhumanly giant turd. It had to be at least a foot and a half in length! Taco had been planning this one, as he saw unchewed peas, corn, and peanuts that all told the story of Rob Malda's special dinner the night before. The monster turd curled around the inside of his toilet. Not wanting to let Rob Malda's magical ass-gift go to waste, Emad reached inside the toilet and gently grasped the brown meat.

Moaning, Emad began devouring the slimy but firm stool. He tasted the honey on the peanuts; he felt the peas pop as he chewed through the delicious crap-worm. His cock immediately sprang to life as he chomped down bite after bite of the mutant ass-birth. Could life get any better? Down to the last bit of his meal, he gagged and coughed. Needing to wash it all down quickly, Emad yanked his tiny Iranian dick and aimed upward, pissing hard, catching the golden rain in his mouth.

After what seemed like a painful eternity, his bladder was empty and urine was running down his chin in rivulets. Emad, in the midst of his ecstacy, wondered: Could life get any better?

Emad: Iranian Cyber-Fag & Terrorist

An urgent matter of national security has come to my attention. A devious Iranian twink with an ego to match Rob Malda's is exercising a reign of terror on irc.slashnet.org. In this essay I will detail where Emad El-Haraty (“Emad”) came from, how he created his power-base, and what he intends to do with it. Some of the content may shock you. Though used to paranoia, faggotry, and blatant egoism, trolls are not used to dealing with issues of international terrorism. Hopefully this essay will prepare you before it's too late.

Michael Sims: Gay Nazi Conspirator

Few today haven't felt the touch of censorship that is Michael Sims's modus operandi. Anything labelled subversive by this fascist editor is immediately moderated to -1 and its poster's account subjected to all sorts of terrible modifications meant to make it impossible to reveal the truth about Michael Sims. Truth that I, in this exposé, will reveal to you.