We have completed the requested security report. We find that, while the newly redesigned Clunkline is impervious to most forms of internet tomfoolery, it is still vulnerable to some forms of “side-stream” attacks: attacks that come from outside a system, rather than within. For instance, a torrent of page requests that clogs your servers would be an in-system attack, but smacking your server with a sledgehammer would be side-stream.

Interestingly, hacking Clunkline’s password would be “brute force”, but breaking into your apartment, clubbing you to death, and stealing your server is side-stream. I dare say they have been misnamed! Back to the point. You should be aware that, in our test of your security protocols, our agents found it very easy to club you to death and steal your server.

We also note that Clunkline is vulnerable to missile strikes. When we targeted Grabass_Champion’s house with seventeen SCUD trucks, he did not appear to have any anti-missile defense systems in place to detect or destroy the incoming ordnance. The Forums server was obliterated. We recommend that, in the future, you install defenses against this sort of attack.

Lastly, there comes the issue of our pay. Our fee is $2.47 for every billable day, plus the cost of SCUD missiles and the price of our legal counsel. However, we know you cannot currently pay this, as we stole all the money from your checking account. In order to make things easier, we have passed the debt on to your family.

Have a nice day!

Jim Begley-Varch
Founder, Begley & Varch Security Systems

Date: 2008-07-02, 6:29PM CDT

Remember me? You were working at the Quizno’s down on Elm Street, and I was the guy right outside the door asking people for change so I could buy more cheap hooch. I’m not actually homeless, I just needed a new source of booze money after my parents canceled my credit card. Anyway, I feel like there was really something special between us when you came outside and yelled at me to go away. I think your name was “Kathy,” or maybe “Kristen,” but I’m not sure. I don’t really remember much of what happened after you hit me with the shovel. Call me?

• Location: Madison
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 381654729

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Test Subject Needed For Time Machine Prototype

Date: 2008-12-02, 9:31AM EDT

Like the title says, I just finished building my first time machine, but I’m not sure if it’ll work yet. I’d test it out myself but I’m afraid of getting all mutilated like in that one movie where something like that happened. Or maybe it was a drug-induced hallucination and not a movie. Either way, I want someone else to try it out first to see if it’s safe. Or if you don’t want to drive all the way out here, I could just tell you how I made mine (it basically involves writing “Time Machine” on the side of an old refrigerator box, but to be safe you should use the exact same kind of box as I did), then you could build a copy and test on that. I don’t care about making money off this thing so I don’t mind people copying my design or anything, I just need to take a trip back to last month so I can pay my electric bill so I won’t have to go to the library to use the internet anymore. Porn isn’t as fun when there’s old people yelling at you all the time.

• Location: Pittsburgh
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 410498462

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Would The Person I’m Stalking Please Be More Interesting

Date: 2009-04-15, 3:18AM EST

Hi. I don’t actually know your name, but you live in apartment 15 on 441 Third Avenue. I’ve been spying on you from across the street through my binoculars for a while, and I gotta be honest, it’s getting a little boring. I’m getting kinda tired of watching you check your e-mail or flip through the channels, and it’s especially disappointing after I spend all day waiting for you to come home from work. I’m not saying you have to start riding a unicycle around or anything like that, but would you mind mixing it up a little once in a while? It would really be great for me to start seeing some variety, especially since I don’t have any other hobbies– or anything else going on in my life, for that matter– besides this.

• Location: Pittsburgh
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 683515870

***

Date: 2009-08-03, 12:08PM CDT

Anybody wanna buy a broken car?

I’m trying to sell my old 1987 Dodge Shadow ’cause it doesn’t work anymore, and I still don’t have a job so I need the cash. So if anyone wants to give me a few grand they can have it. I think it still has most of the parts except the floor, and also one of the wheels has a boot on it. I tried to remove the boot using a large hammer (for the record, that doesn’t work), so the area around the back left wheel is pretty busted up now. Anyways, I tried doing that “cash for clunkers” thing that’ll buy your crappy old cars, but they wouldn’t take it ’cause the back seat is covered in puke, so I figured I’d try to get rid of it here. Anyone interested?

• Location: Madison
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 748031704

After he woke me up, there was no going back to sleep, so I wandered to my porch, and there you were, happily cannoning streams of urine into my yard.

At first, I was shocked, but the shock quickly gave way to admiration: here was a man with so little regard for the rules of society that he would piss where piss was not meant to go. And that made a statement, the audacity of which I could barely begin to comprehend. Here I was, an RA, whose job it was to reinforcce those very same petty rules, and suddenly, I began questioning what it was that I thought I was doing.

As you cavorted through the lawn wearing only socks on your hands, I reflected on what it was that I was doing: living in a prison of my own creation. I was telling myself that I could not ignore the childish disputes of my hallmates, could not eat a cake in the shower, could not pee willy-nilly with a dangling Free Willy. And the problem with that was… it was a lie. Rules weren’t who I was. They didn’t make me. They restricted me.

When you ran off to take a dump in my neighbor’s recycling bin, I felt like a changed man. I suddenly understood what it meant to live… to let myself be myself, and to neither make rules for others nor follow those made for me.

I stripped down to nothing, put my socks on my hands. I stepped out into my yard. Standing in your piss, I added my own. I laughed as the glory dribbled down my leg.

Freedom.

Freedom was in the pee.

The cause of these sounds mystifies me. What are they doing up there? Sometimes it sounds like they corralled a herd of fat people and sent them stampeding across the room. I do not know where they got the idea to race fat people. Our apartments are much too small to be conducive to contact sports, and apparently, fat people do not come with brakes. The collisions seem to entertain my neighbors, who continue to send wave after wave of fat people crashing into their walls. It’s all in the name of science that they perform these experiments.

Other times, they enjoy a good game of Roll the Polyhedron. It sounds as if they have purchased or built a boulder-sized iron polyhedron with irregular sides, and are thrilled by rolling it around the room. Nothing else could explain the patterns to the noises I hear. I attempted to replicate them by repeatedly stumbling over a fallen chair, but it just wasn’t the same. I won’t rule out the possibility that they have set up an obstacle course of chairs that they constantly fail to pass, but this would be in addition to polyhedron-rolling and not instead of it.

When they’re not falling over their furnishings or playing frisbee with pipes, they’re making loud bodily noises. The “clunk” that ends a victorious round of polyhedron-rolling is often followed by the obnoxious drunken classic, “Oooooooh!” You know that sound. It grates against eardrums in a way that nothing else short of a baby’s screech can. Nobody who has ever heard this sound has ever enjoyed it, unless you’re someone like Charles Manson, and your idea of a good time is hacking up Roman Polanski with a machete.

Their apartment is also home to the most hilarious vomiting I’ve ever heard. It’s impossible for me to explain in writing what is so satisfying about hearing a burp turn into a fountain of puke shortly after one of their games concludes. Maybe it’s the way it’s oddly muffled. Maybe it’s the spontaneity–the unexpectedness–of the barf, because I can’t see any of the drinking or gut-punching that leads up to it. Maybe it’s just simply schadenfreude. Either way, the only thing that could make it less funny would be if my ceiling starts dripping.

And about two times each day, I hear them pee off their balcony. Our balconies overlook a high-traffic four-lane road, a church, a children’s hospital, and a nursing home.

Lastly, they host orgies with multiple people who finish pathetically quickly. (HINT—to the question “what the hell are they doing”, this is the actual answer.)

One time after I heard them having sex, within 30 seconds they bounded down the stairs and ran outside like late retards running after the short bus. I did not check to see if they were clothed. But my point is, obviously they’re bad enough at sex that it does not tire them at all. They’ll go for 3 minutes, stop, and then 10 minutes later they’ll go again for 3 minutes. This is a TERRIBLE way to attempt sex.

Every time we hear sex, there are clearly more than two people in the room. The Surgeon General and I have discussed the possibility of making bets about what position they’re in, busting down their doors, and settling the score. “Eiffel Tower, baby! I knew I heard a high-five! You owe me $20!” And then turning to the only girl, “…and you owe me a blowjob.”

But what I know about my apartment building prevents me from ever doing anything that might resolve the mystery. We would never barge into their room and see what they’re doing, because a few years back, there was a small furry convention in this apartment building. We don’t know what apartments were involved, or if the perpetrators were ever brought to justice. But suffice it to say that this is enough to quell my curiosity.

That’s about as much as I can stand to write… any more will send me into an uncontrollable rampage, and The Surgeon General still hasn’t recovered from that time I watched Dougie Howser and stuffed an extra set of vertebrae up his ass. Next time, instead of discussing how the noises of my upstairs neighbors permeate through the walls, I’ll be doing an exposé on how the smell of my next-door neighbors permeates through the walls. Ta-ta for now!

Hard-core BDSM followers of the election are reportedly being forced to delay gratification until the final moment of the results coming in the night of Nov. 4th. Most average election-coverage followers will get the gist of the results and feel the maximum relief sooner.

Prediction analysts on adultfanfiction.net have already written up numerous scenarios for how the run-up to the election will progress. The main consensus is that Obama (and sometimes McCain, depending on favored pairings) has been jerking collective America around for so long that a desperation for it all to just be over has emerged in the minds of voters.

Less devoted followers of the election think the idea that this election is a raging priapism as too extreme. Instead, they merely compare America to someone who “has just been waitin’ a little too long to take a piss.”

“It’ll be like that ‘ahh… all empty’ feelin’ you get when yur all done pissin’,” said Arnold Frenulum of Arkansas. “T’aint nothin like bangin’ a chick what has been holdin’ out on ya.” This mindset is shared by a small subset of voters that will most likely dwindle as the last day and a half goes by.

Environmentalists are already beginning to question what the impact of such huge quantities of post-coital cigarette smoking could be for the Nation’s air quality. They are pressuring the Nation to “just go eat some ice cream instead, or play some Xbox, man, that’s all good too.” Nation was not available for comment and didn’t answer the door for the interview. We heard a lot of heavy breathing and “Come on, come on! Faster!” coming from inside Nation’s apartment as he refreshed FiveThirtyEight.com, waiting for the next polling update.

Although most health practitioners agree that vasocongestion usually dissipates on its own, age usually is a factor, and as age increases, the higher the possibility of permanence of the condition. As America will be turning 233 this July, it’s a good thing the damn election is finally coming. *Ahem.* The long-term effects of America’s foray into coitus reservatus will not be fully known until closer to the next erection.