March 13, 2018

Classically inept couriering

Filed under: Uncategorized — Benjamin Vulpes @ 8:34 p.m.

Catastrophes in complex systems typically fall out of failure cascades: for want of a nail, a kingdom was (quite nearly!) lost. I delivered most of the gear Pizarro expected out of my courier run, but the number of close calls and skin-of-the-teeth saves doesn't sit well with me, I executed poorly on several fronts, and could have responded better to on-the-ground challenges under time pressure. Cleared the pillbox, sir, but lost a few men doing so. In the spirit of my lecture on how to make mistakes, here is a summary of the trip, the things I did wrong, and what I'll do differently next time.

The root causes of my failure cascade were haste, niggardliness, and seeking insufficient counsel. I sought to staunch Pizarro's hemorrhaging of cash by moving the machines down to our datacenter in Montevideo as quickly as possible, on as much of a budget as possible. To this end, I picked a travel period that provided about one week less of preparation time than the other options in order to save ~400 dollars on the plane ticket, and crammed all of the machines into a single crate to save on baggage overcharge fees on the order of another hundred and fifty dollars.

As the clock wound down for departure, the RAID card in a machine I was provisioning for a customer refused to perform any RAID-ly duties. I'd had the foresight to buy a RAID card (that , if it proves out, will likely hit the standardized hardware list). A mixup in cable specification ensued, which I resolved in the hours immediately preceeding takeoff.

In the runup to this trip, I called both Aeromexico and GOL (the airlines on which I was to fly) several times to check maximum bag weight; and on all occasions was told that there was a weight schedule, the airport would tell me the fees, and that provided I paid the extra weight fees they'd have no problem loading and transiting the bags. When I checked the crate containing the four machines in at the Delta-operated gate, the first warning signs that everything might not go according to plan cropped up. First: the gate staff called down to the baggage handling area to confirm that they could in fact accept a bag weighing 150 pounds (who confirmed that they could indeed). Second: junior gategirl needed an assist from senior gategirl to figure out how to check the bags (one for the machines, one for the rails) through to Montevideo from Sao Paolo (which the Urugayos inexplicably insist on referring to as San Pablo), transferring from Aeromexico to GOL.

Bags checked, I checked my own butt through security, and settled down for a beer before the flight to Mexico City, four fifths of the way through which Delta paged me back to the baggage check, to inform me that they'd been wrong all of the times I'd asked about weight limits and that they were going to refuse to check the bag unless I could pull its weight down under 100 pounds. Thirty minutes later, I had extracted one machine from the once-checked bag, all power supplies and disks from the machines remaining in said bag, and sent the lonely machine back to my base of operations. My girl gracefully arose from her slumbers, brought me additional bubble wrap, and ran the abandoned server home. May the Republic be forever so blessed. Another five minutes passed, and at nearly precisely the same time as I discovered that the extracted drives and power supplies would not fit in my bag and leave it of carry-on size, the gate staff offered to check another bag gratis. I dashed around the corner, procured a bag that'd reasonably hold the remaining bytes, stuffed them in, and checked it. This is the point at which the gate staff and I both made our final, near-fatal, and certainly expensive mistake: they failed to check the bags through to Montevideo, and I failed to check the baggage claim ticket.

Fast forward forty eight hours, to baggage claim in Montevideo, where, having retrieved the rails and servers, I awaited the third bag of componentry. The gears meshed with a sickening thud in my mind as I realized that the Delta agents for Aeromexico failed to check the third bag through to Montevideo, and I'm now extremely likely to have a customs nightmare to navigate. I filed the appropriate papers with the GOL babes in luggage claim, shuttled the machines through customs with barely a second glance, and rode with BingoBoingo and a datacenter representative directly to the racks for installation of what material made it off the plane per the plan.

At our cabinet in the DC, the posts were too far apart for our rails, which demanded a trip (first to the ferreteria, and then the local chinesium dealer once it became apparent that the lady at the head of the line intended to wax poetic about the qualities of the single sheet of sandpaper she was considering buying) to acquire a crescent wrench. Wrench in hand, we retired to the basement to continue the racking project. Moved the posts, bolted everything back down, installed the rails, racked the machines, ran ethernet to the switch from each of the machines to the switch, and then bailed. Hotel, cambio, comida, cowork, and back to the hotel to patch up some amount of sleep debt.

The missing bag came in on the next flight, around 23:45 that night. In retrospect, there is a low chance that my being on hand to retrieve the bag as it came off of the carousel might have avoided the customs shitshow that ultimately ensued, but I elected instead to sleep and retrieve the bag first thing in the morning. File it under mistakes, because how is one to know.

I arrived at the airport at 09:00 the next morning, and after another thirty minutes of haranguing the information booth staff, managed to get my hands on a GOL representative to walk me backwards through security into the customs office to pick up my bag. The lady on duty, who'd waved me through with barely a second glance yesterday, now insisted that the items in my bag all counted as imports and needed proper handling, and sent me away with instructions to get an "expediter" to take care of the rest of the business and that they wanted nothing further to do with me.

At this point, BingoBoingo already had a lead on an expediter: the son of the man who owns the coworking space at which BingoBoingo rents a desk. Before leaving the airport, I reached out to this new contact, one Martin, to get the ball rolling on a quote to extract the goods. Back to the cowork, print various papers, and bake a list of items and prices that will plausibly pass with the MVD customs agents. We also put together a little dictionary of photos and descriptions we can hand to our expediter so that he knows which line items on our fabricated invoice correspond to which items in the bag, and get a disappointed board to signoff on the fees that we'll have to pay to get our gear out of hock (~1800 USD).

My mistakes: haste, which nearly cost us the ability to deploy a RAID-capable machine; inattention, which (by not inspecting all three baggage claim receipts) allowed for a bag misrouting and cost ~.19 BTC to fix; inadequately consulting with asciilifeform and mod6 during the first round of chaos when checking bags, which got me (entirely reasonably) caned for letting the irreplaceable FUCKGOATS out of my sight, and a failure to be at the airport for the next flight from Sao Paolo to minimize customs interception risk.

What I've learned: Baggage claim receipts are to be scrutinized. Input from the forum/board is to be sought aggressively when under duress and more likely to make bad decisions. Crates for transport are to weigh absolutely no more than 100 pounds, and if machines and crate and power supplies and drives all together exceed the hundred pound line, everything of value must be transported in carryon, lest it get separated and subjected to additional scrutiny. Based on my experiences with customs both times, anyone taking hardware to Spaceship Montevideo must conceal as much of it in servers as possible, and unbag that which cannot be plugged in, as items that are "new in box" trigger the customs officials no end. For instance, drives in caddies were effectively ignored, while those in boxes spent an inordinate amount of time in customs agents hands. Finally:

asciilifeform: for future reference : 1) they travel in a, e.g., 'pelican', labeled 'industrial sample', and you walk in with a prepared speech where you solemnly promise to whomever wants , that you will return back to usa with them . (in the quite unlikely event , like meteorite falling in the same funnel twice, that you are held to this on return path: 'orcs stole'em' )

On the upside, 3 of the servers, and all of the hardware those machines needed arrived safe and sound, although at a rather steep cost.

February 25, 2018

A Few Santa Clause Nightmares

Filed under: Uncategorized — Benjamin Vulpes @ 11:42 p.m.

This past holiday season, I relented on my lifelong grinchdom. My tiny family had a rough autumn in the family-planning arena, and I elected to cheer up my girl by embracing the spirit of teh season, and it warnt all bad at that1. I held the line at indoor trees and other assorted messes that inevitably fall to me to clean up (Aesthetics proposes, Operations disposes...), but conceeded to pitch in to the tune of watching the child while ladybird hung lights on the front of the house2 and even greenlit various wreaths and a seasonal mantle decoration. Love and filth, filth and love; at least I've managed to teach an old dog the new trick of sleeping in his own damn bed.

Watching terrible nineties films is apparently a very important part of Christmas For Americans, and so along with some other dreck (not counted among, The [1992] Muppet Christmas Carol, which has a marvelously dim view of Dickensian life), I watched The Santa Clause3. The movie itself is nothing to write home about, but the girl and I baked a few alt fanfics that I still chuckle at from time to time lo these months later. So, for your enjoyment, some Santa Clause Nightmares.

Santa Clause 2: The Patricide

At the close of The Santa Clause, the child character who's just like every other virtuous child character in every American movie states that he "wants to go into the family business". After the extremely stressful events of The Santa Clause, the subsequent nasty divorce, mom and stepdad's unrelenting shittiness to Tim Allen/Santa Claus and the kid in question whenever he stands up for his father, the eventual rot of mom's new marriage etc; kiddo grows up to be a total shitbag. The twisted adolescent interprets the titular clause to mean that in order to a) free his father from the unending labor that is annual gift-delivery and b) go into the family business he must kill his father and put the suit on. So he does.

The Eternal Deliveryman

Santa's magical powers are twofold: flying the sleigh and freezing time so that he can deliver all the presents (all moments where he is depicted meeting a child are wistful self-sabotage, longing for a touch of the human while he executes his eternal duty). While time is frozen, Mr. Claus is limited to moving about the world at the subjective speed that a team of reindeer could pull a sleigh on the ground; which is not particularly fast. Nevertheless, he must deliver all presents to all children in the world while moving at this subjectively glacial pace.

Net result: Santa endures an eternity delivering presents every year, gliding from house to house while the rest of the world sits frozen, with only the occasional glance at a Tussaudly snapshot of fireside rumpy-pumpy, occasionally relaxing the time-freeze for a precious moment of interaction with an innocent bairn. After this annual eternity of isolation from all elven contact, he returns to the North Pole for a subjective weekend (a year in mortal time) of rest and recuperation while the elves pack his sleigh for the next outing.

Death of a Santa Claus

Tim Allen plays a paranoid schizophrenic who thinks he's Santa. The show is shot from his perspective, complete with embellished court dates, meetings with the divorce lawyers and CPS representatives. The third act of the movie enters his final dreams as he freezes to death in Central Park, imagining a grand reconciliation, introducing the elves to his ex-wife, winning shared custody, proving to everyone that he actually was Santa Claus all along, and validating the love of his son.

Happy Holidays.

  1. Stan Kenton has a few charmingly kitschy big-band Christmas albums. His "Twelve Nights" is particularly entertaining, gets the whole band involved over the course of the (entirely over-the-top) verses. []
  2. "You get up there and hang lights already! I intend to keep my hands nicely warm down here on the lawn with child duty." We live on a busy street, it is what it is. The landlord will install a fence this spring, which should dial down the necessary amount of alert one has to be while gardening or hanging lights. Such are the upsides of renting from actual humans instead of corporations. []
  3. 1994, with Tim Allen and a bunch of other people I also don't recognize or care about because my parents failed to innoculate me with American Culture(s). []

February 22, 2018

Why are the kids hell-bent on killing each other?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Benjamin Vulpes @ 7:36 a.m.

...being an interesting question, unlike "how do we reduce firearm-related fatalities?". The political issue of gun control, much like the political issue of abortion is one of those interesting fnords where what the Lippmans have gotten you thinking about has approximately zero to do with the events, and anyone who's so damned foolish as to self-importantly advocate in any direction on the topic of gun control in the aftermath of, say, a school shooting, is simply playing into the hands of a political machine built on cagily partitioning the voting moocows into two numerically nearly equal groups, and is doomed to never grok the inconsequentiality of their bleating. The root problem that nobody's ever going to bring up is that there is too much flabby man-meat sitting around being useless and everyone knows it in their gut, but can't articulate it because That Would Be Wrong. I immodestly propose that more war and explicit hierarchical structurings of society is a far better solution than "gun control".

Look, America is a colossally fucked-up place, with national narratives fabricated wholesale from the lottery that is pop culture. Our kids want to kill each other; that's the interesting thing. Ease of access to firearms is maaaaaybe possibly relevant in some way, but you gotta realize that's an untestable claim, that you'd have to unravel the fabric of American political reality just to run the experiment, and far more likely to turn around and show that we've hosed our kids so badly they're happy to build bombs in their basements absent ready access to firearms in any event.

No, the reason why US kids are shoosting up their own schools and cohort mates is because they live in an utterly impossible nonsensical and self-contradictory world, and some fraction of them see right through the lies we feed them, can't cope with the contradiction and instead of killing themselves, try to take out as many of the unthinking dreamers as they can. "Education is your ticket out of the ghetto!", we tell them, while caging them in statal daycares that even the brightest cannot emerge from capable of performing undergraduate work on par with the college-going segment of our parents' generation, and then lefties have the utter absence of self-awareness to be horrified that the kids drop out in favor of sports and mass entertainment; without ever realizing that as desperate as the odds of draft picks, college recruitment, and pop culture are, they still beat the everloving shit out of failing out of college with thirty thousand dollars in debt. "Men and women are equal!", we tell them, and then the girls we trained to "lean in" take a step back in their thirties and realize that they can't find a mate much less actually afford to raise the children outside the nightmare daycares. "The world is getting better and less racist every day! Look, we had a black president! And soon we'll have a female president!" Har. I hope it's Oprah; we need some more magical thinking in the White House.

It's 2018, and lest I trigger the "oh my god do we really still have to do this" immune reaction, I'm supposed to toe the party line that men and women have absolutely no differences that aren't acculturated into them and so don't actually matter. "If you can't see how the patriarchy makes us this way and not any sort of evolutionary pressure, YOU'RE A PART OF THE PROBLEM!!!1", but maybe evolution itself is a patriarchical shitlord, just spitballing over here. Nevertheless, boys are violent and girls aren't. "Girls are violent too, but they're socialized to be emotionally violent, and mostly to each other." Doesn't seem like a particularly clean bijective mapping, to me. Also, that seems like the sort of dynamic that would arise from one sex having hundreds of times the reproductive capacity of the other sex; that the plentiful (and therefore cheap) sex would be more prone to being spent by the meta-forces of culture and nation and ethnicity and what have you to preserve themselves, and the more dear sex (the one whose reproductive throughput is, how you say, the limiting reactant for outcompeting other groups in the long run) less prone to engaging in extremely risky behavior. Is it really such a baffling thing that most armies were mostly male? Dudes are useless, and isn't Twitter feminism constantly telling us that anyways? "White men are traaaaaash", they fry. How is it that y'all fail to connect the dots here? Yes, we're violent trash. The next question that occurs to me and I suppose nobody else in this godforsaken country is "well how are we going to harness and dispose of all the excess floppy man meat?" and very definitely not "how do we turn these turds into diamonds?"

Upstack, in the frame of "just why are they so intent on killing each other", perhaps it's not so much that they're intent on killing each other as it is that the trends Putnam called out in Bowling Alone had eroded what little cultural imperative to not rampage about with an automatic at school America had left by 2007 when the handset/social media industrial complex was just getting into swing. Surely you've felt that sense of alienation while driving in rush hour, or negotiating the subway; I certainly did before I did away with the commute entirely. Folks on the road behave miserably to one another because (in a dilute form of John Gabriel's Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory): license plates are entirely unmemorable, you'll never see the same people twice during your commute, and extracting trivial gains has ridiculously outsize psychological import to a significant fraction of the idiots stuck in traffic on the regular. Rush-hour-grade aggression is uncommon on even rush-hour trains but you're still going to encounter folks clipping their nails and blasting the latest recycled pap. Add a pocket-sized internet terminal, America's best and brightest dedicated to the production of ever swoopier Skinner boxes substituting pictures of friends for fornication with friends or even just making eye contact with them while they talk, a liberal dash of the old suburban alienation, shake for eight years and I gotta ask why is this kind of violence even surprising? I'm getting Black Lives Matter deja-vu all over again; "you idiots never actually listened to rap music, did you, you just heard one of your trigger words and then your brain shut off before you heard the odes to how shitty life is for black Americans". I struggle to believe that kids even concieve of other people as real in 2018. I'd ask where the calls for "portable touchscreen control" are, but I went to my neighborhood cafe where they know my whole family yesterday, this couple sat at a table together swiping on their phones for the ENTIRE duration of my visit so nevermind, nobody's giving up their iPhones, not even to save the world much less their own lives.

So boys are violent, and the Jobs/Zuck machine has eroded what little human connection the poor kids had, and now they have zero compunction about plugging each other for kicks. Greaaat. Since I'm on the topic of boys and violence, how fucking pathetic is it that we've engaged in a 2-decade foreign entanglement and we have gotten no gold out of the arrangement, and our technology is so damn hot that we also haven't burnt off any of our excess man meat? Are you familiar with the trope of sending the kids outside to run around the block a few times to burn off steam? Well I hazard that the lack of such at the national level is the crux of everything that's fucked about this country. It turns out that we don't actually need that much guyflesh around to ensure the propagation of whatever groupings, and moreover while there are always trash people with whom nobody wants to mate, the fraction is on the order of 70% for guys and 30% for women (variance being higher in the male sex). You get out and talk to women, right? You ask them about their boyfriends, or their dating habits and whether they're pleased with that which is on offer? Obviously you don't, but assuming you did you'd learn what I've learned which is that most American girls are utterly starved for quality males, and it's because American guys are trash. Most of us have never taken any risks (no, $80,000 in college debt doesn't count as a risk, you got fleeced, chucklefuck), had any adventures, have any interesting stories to relate or interesting things to show a girl. No, the fancy restaurant that just opened up that cooks shit from the high-end Sysco brand doesn't count either! She's seen something almost exactly like it five times already this month and already hates you just hearing where you're taking her.

The correct organizing principle is for men to be cheap to society and valuable to women; and for women to be dear to society and cheap to men. The corololzy is that because they're going to crap out a lot more boys than y'all need, it's utterly imperative to winnow. So, war now?

I did dream up an alternative the other night, and by "modern progressive standards" it is a B+ would-relive-again nightmare. Post megastate-collapse society restructures around individuals who build power bases around capital equipment, control of important territory, or any of the classic loci; the scale of these organizations range from ~fifteen bruisers and a tactician all the way up to veritable lords of the land with a castle or three and a small standing army constantly whacking itself with itself. Everyone has sex with whomever they wish within the constraints of the situation (clearly there's slavery, there's also chattel labor, perhaps some of the bruisers are posessive of their stable, the world probably supports a exciting cornucopia of different arrangements after lifting the statal boot grinding us all into an undifferentiated paste of monogamybeerandsports), perhaps Bitcoin mining truly runs on abaci and optical relay networks and so we can still have some good things without condoms, but this shouldn't be a problem for the well-capitalized (by which I mean "can afford to plan on twenty year horizons"), as another set of hands can always be put to work washing sheets, milking cows, banging on steel things, training with the squads, or laboring in the vehiclesalvagewerks. Children grow up barely cognizant of their parents (if they even know each other), and get put to work by whichever adult grabs their ears that day if the kid in question want to eat until they find a home in the barracks, kitchen or wherever. They break their necks in combat training or drop an engine block on themselves, and that's life. It's cheap. Hopefully the org doesn't waste too many potential breeders this way, but it shouldn't matter because you're cranking new ones out all the time anyways. Population overgrowth might be a thing, but that's what war is for!

Hey, that you think that I'm horrifically sexist for sharing this dream is only indicative of your internal state, not mine. It's entirely statistically possible for babes to make good in the bruiser squads, or to operate trade delegations, work the motorcycles, or to perform the accounting. It'd be downright foolish to let any teachable intelligence go to waste in such a world! Or to burden it with diaper-changing...

It's a delightful solution to all of the American systematics. Education is reserved for those whom it'd benefit, as chosen by their elders instead of being a daycare, so we've solved the school shootings problem, and also the absurd costs of putting the entire population through what is called "education" but clearly is not. Excess manflesh (okay you got me, the assault squads were mostly male in this dream) has productive outlet for its violent tendencies through regular beatings of each other and the odd murderous caper. The girls get guys they actually want instead of the stagnant doom of monogamy-for-all, diversity in the gene pool blooms and we regularly cull the dead weight.

Poor odds that I'll live to see it, though.

January 25, 2018

The Scourge of Abortion in Equalitarian Cultures

Filed under: Uncategorized — Benjamin Vulpes @ 2:01 a.m.

Elective abortion is an unholy scourge upon the land. Not because "it's murder!" or any other Jewish pearl-clutching, but because in the progressive lands of enlightenment (which is to say everywhere American sex-ed and general pantsuitism has caught on) the culling ends at birth, and is ordered exclusively by the womenfolk. This culling of the obviously-deformed by 24 weeks has the culturally abhorrent effect of convincing folks that the breadth of human ability is vastly narrower than it actually is.

Decades ago, the American two-party system neatly split the country into two sets of single-issue voters1, whose planks are only mutually exclusive if one takes a particular Progressive ideological point as a given. On the right, Jews; on the left, Women. In any given election, the Jews always vote for the sanctity of life, and the Women always vote for their own sovereign rights. It's hard to find fault with the herd for acting according to its own holy scriptures; the Jews have labored for millenia under an angry god who both commanded that they shalt not murder (except under exigencies that mostly boil down to "don't murder Jews"), and similarly, the Women have labored for millenia as chattel property of males, recently fighting tooth-and-nail to stake out and maintain sovereignty over their own corporeal selves on fronts ranging from rape and sexual assault to abortion.

No surprise then; the Jews and the Women will go at it hammer and tongs for as long as they both accept the sanctity of human life as the foundation of the rest of their ideologies. Jews play this as "thou shalt not murder", and Women as "get your hands off of my body".

Unfortunately (and unsurprisingly, as even the most wishy-washy reform Jew or modern American Evangelical Christian will stoutly affirm their commitment to the Ten Commandments, and most women some version of "all babies have mothers, I am or some day would like to be a mother, therefore all babies are my babies by the Extensive Property of Wannabe-Motherhood" under minimal prodding), this shared platform of progressive idealism is rotten to the core, and they have built a rotten society of pressed shitboard atop it, for it will hold naught else, and DR Horton cannot produce housing units out of anything else at the rates and prices that all of the meat issuing forth as a result demands.

Down here in the real world, "human"2 life is no more, and no less valuable than "canine" or "feline" or any other life. Death comes for us all myriadly, and by and large all attempts to thwart him with legislation and safety regulations are doomed to either outright failure or to distort the market of reality in unknowable ways, what you might know as "the law of unintended consequences". Wholly granted that traffic deaths are down significantly from their lofty heights before the US mandated Ford ship cars with seatbelts, but neither you nor I will ever see any statistical analysis that can untangle the spittoon of factors at play there. What about the next step, mandating the use of those selfsame seatbelts: again granted that lives were saved, but is anyone you give half a shit about clamoring to spend time with the kind of person who goes for a ninety-MPH drive through moose country without a seatbelt?

This is the American Left's unforced (and yet inevitable) mistake in its implementation of elective abortion: they flattened their own apparent fitness distribution. Mark the words carefully, they didn't actually flatten the fitness distribution, they simply put tools into the hands of the ever-more-impoverished breeders to selectively eliminate the most glaring flaws of the genetic lottery (flaws that will surely cost dearly, instead of the hoped-for outcome of childrearing that they contribute more to one's decline than they cost in one's youth) and only if done before the 24th week, a completely arbitrary number.3

Moreover, trimming the bottom fifth sigma isn't even the worst thing in the world, either for the parents who elect, or for the cultures made of parents who elect. As the man says, "There's a way to go yet, decaywise". The scourge only rears its conjoined head when people elect in the context of an equalitarian political regime; which is to say one dedicated to the religious notion that "everyone is equal". You see, once upon a time, that which we today casually vacuum out on a statistical likelihood hobbled around under its own limited power, lending living proof to the distribution of abilities.

Absent the shambling horrors, the American Left is utterly free to believe in a flat distribution of ability. The men and women who make the world go round are just lucky, you see, lucky like the Kardashians. Lucky like Obama. Obama's just another ordinary guy like you or me, except that he worked way hard and went to the right schools. Steve Jobs, Sean Carter -- just ordinary lucky guys. It's definitely impossible that they could have been several times smarter than everyone around them when it mattered.

The Jews still understand, but they take the other side of the trade. Sure, some of the kids come out fucked up and die a few weeks later. Some plain crap out during a casual game of footie, or even off themselves in horror at the uncaringly bleak world and a timely realization of their own inadequacy and brokenness. The particularly demented modern Christians will go so far as to martyr themselves on the cross of a child with an extra chromosome. A "blessing", they call it. "My angel", elsewhere.

At the end of the day though, the left has produced a great deal of male biomass to dispose of, and all sorts of hangups about the value of human life. Not much by way of a better world, though.

  1. No, nitwit, it's not the 99% vs the 1%, it's two parties of 0.5% and flexible makeup pitting the two teams of ~44.5% against each other []
  2. Quotes here because in Republican parlance, "human" life is all that matters, and being called "human" or "person" or "man" or "woman" by ones peers or more importantly, superiors instead of any of the other common slights some of the highest praise possible. []
  3. Have you noticed, by the way, how statists love these entirely arbitrary numbers?
    BAC? age of consent? PPM CO2 in the atmosphere? They love the magic for marvelous reasons; arbitrary magic numbers make excellent wedges to split the people from each other for one, for another cops cannot be trusted to use their judgement or exercise discretion lest the doors to corruption open (as if they're not already flapping in the wind; but this is how the Pantsuit does: they seek to distract you from the thieving they do with their NGOs, grant-chasing organizations to "make the world a better place!", and defense contractors by constantly banging the drum that "we are at the forefront of eradicating corruption!"). []

January 16, 2018

The thot plickens (or: I r a cryptocurrency scamzor!)

Filed under: Uncategorized — Benjamin Vulpes @ 8:57 a.m.

Continuing from the previous entry, I just got several copies of the same pasta delivered even to companies from which I have been divested for some time! Gracious, the competence on display...


This is NOT worth it. You seem like a smart guy; spending your time stealing from innocent, hard working people is going to bite you in the ass. Send the 50000 dogecoin back to the wallet address below:


You, unfortunately, did your little scam to the wrong group of people by stealing from me. We know you have stolen from A LOT of people Ben. After posting online people are coming out of the woodworks about how you have stolen cryptocurrencies from them as well.

We are ready to flood Google SERP results for Benjamin Kaplin, Ben Vulpes, Benjamin Vulpes and Kara Fern (Portland, OR) with: ** BENJAMIN KAPLIN & KARA FERN CRYPTOCURRENCY SCAM ARTISTS **

Whenever anyone Google's you or Kara Fern, these will be the first links to show up, forever. can just send the 50,000 dogecoin back that you stole and this will all be over.

Stop Stealing from People.




This is NOT worth it. You seem like a smart guy; spending your time stealing from innocent, hard working people is going to bite you in the ass.

You, unfortunately, fucked with the wrong group of people by stealing from me. Now, we know you have stolen from A LOT of people Benjamin.

We are ready to flood Google SERP results for Benjamin Kaplin and Kara Fern (Portland, OR) with: ** BENJAMIN KAPLIN & KARA FERN CRYPTOCURRENCY SCAM ARTISTS **

Whenever anyone Google's you or your wife, these will be the first links to show up, forever. can just send the 50,000 doge back and this can all be over:


I'm kicking myself in the ass cause I was even nice enough to pull over on the side of the road during the rain and risk getting into an accident to send you the doge LOL.

Benjamin Kaplin and Kara Fern, we know where you live, we know what your hobbies are (besides stealing), where you used to work, what you do for a living, what school you went to, we know just about everything we need to know. All you have to do, is do the right thing.

Send the 50000 doge back Benjamin & Kara.


Good luck with your SERPing, ya broke-ass; If you're looking to run this operation on 50% margins, you've got somewhere around 300 USD to deploy websites and buy rankings against them, and I can trivially trash that by publishing on the site that actually bears my name. Even though I could not give fewer shits about what USG.WORLDBOOK indices regurgitate from the bowels of the web about me, the odds are vehehehery bad that you're going to topple me from the results for my own name, and get worse when I start weaponizing your own copy against you1. Those three hundred bucks (or six, if you want to burn all of your imaginary unrealized gains) just aren't going to go that far.

For the sake of completeness, let's enumerate what could have happened: someone impersonated me, and scammed someone of a pathetically small amount of greentext cryptocurrency; I actually scammed some fools; or this is a hilariously bad blackmail attempt.

In the first case, the losers are losers and shit out of luck by virtue of never having verified anything the impersonator wrote against either my style or my cryptographic keys; ignorance of the law (that business may only be done with keys) is no excuse for being so stupid that you should never have been let out of the womb. I deem this unlikely; any who actually know me would know how I do business outside of the #trilema Web of Trust.

In the second case, I invite the accusers to enter the court of the Republic of Bitcoin, and present documents bearing my signature that declare a debt or otherwise entitle them to any amount of anything for settling by the Lords. These documents do not exist, this will not happen.

The third option, that this is a risible attempt to blackmail a Lord of the Republic of Bitcoin by threatening to smear his reputation, will stand as the fact of the matter by my writ.

Have a good night. I'll see "you"((Can't be a person without a key, and none of this came RSA signed.)) in the Court.

  1. Ripping the arms off of the offensively stupid and beating them to death with said arms is my favorite hobby! You know that, right? You said that you knew that! []
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