I sat down at my Ultra 80 to enjoy an evening of tubes. It was quiet and pleasant for a while, until everything began to slow down. Something was taking more than its fair share of my four processors.
While I puzzled over this (for I could do little more than that, since the computer was not sufficiently responsive for me to reach an xterm, let alone to run prstat), a small, white window appeared on my desktop. "You shall perish like all System V scum," it proclaimed. In the lower left corner, there was a name written in text smaller than that of the message. I do not remember the name exactly, but I recall with certainty that it looked even more Welsh than "Pop Tart" does not. Certainly, both parts of the name ended with "ryn".
A few more such messages followed, and, while I do not recall them exactly, they seemed reminiscent of a certain scene toward the beginning of Hackers, that in which Zero Cool hacks into a TV station, though less corny. However, unlike Mr. Cool, I was unable to reply, and it was the other party who was, in fact, on my "turf".
Shortly thereafter, the mysterious and extremely Welsh intruder infiltrated my SPARCstation-20 as well. Rather annoyed, I shut both machines off. In retrospect, it would have been better to disconnect their ethernet cables or to bring up another machine and to sniff packets with snoop or an equivalently applicable program. These didn't occur to me at the time; indeed, I cannot guarantee that I was even sober.
I hadn't much else to do at that point, so I decided to sit down and resume an artistic pursuit. There, on the paper, was an anthropomorphic wolf of some sort posing lewdly. I seemed to have drawn his tail overly fluffy; the thing seemed to be fluffed up in alarm. Through means I do not recall, I simply reached into the paper, lifted the tail toward myself, smoothed it out, and returned it to its place. Were this actually possible, drawing would surely be much easier. Additionally, the fur was purple. I am not sure how I had colored the fur purple, since I do not own any markers.
My landlord entered the room, and I remarked to him about my peculiar circumstances. It was then that I returned to consciousness with little more than a vague and confused feeling of having been owned pretty hard.
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