#24 A man came home from work late...

Scenario: Frustrerade pappa kommer hem från jobbet och blir tillfrågad av sin 5-åriga son.

Källa: http://www.tonycooke.org/free_resources/holiday_resources/fathers_day.html

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A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5-year old son waiting for him at the door.

SON: 'Daddy, may I ask you a question?'

DAD: 'Yeah sure, what it is?' replied the man.

SON: 'Daddy, how much do you make an hour?'

DAD: 'That's none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing?' the man said angrily.

SON: 'I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?'

DAD: 'If you must know, I make $50 an hour.

SON: 'Oh,' the little boy replied, with his head down.

SON: 'Daddy, may I please borrow $25?

The father was furious, 'If the only reason you asked that is so you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you are being so selfish. I don't work hard everyday for such childish frivolities. The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.

The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boy's questions. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money? After about an hour or so, the man had calmed down ,and started to think:

Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $25.00 and he really didn't ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door. Are you asleep, son? He asked. 'No daddy, I'm awake, replied the boy.'I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier said the man. It's been a long day and I took out my aggravation on you. Here's the $25 you asked for.

The little boy sat straight up, smiling. 'Oh,thank you daddy! He yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow he pulled out some crumpled up bills. The man saw that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out hismoney, and then looked up at his father. Why do you want more money if you already have some the father grumbled.

Because I didn't have enough, but now I do,' the little boy replied. 'Daddy, I have $50 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?

Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you.
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little son, and he begged for his forgiveness.

It's just a short reminder to all of you working so hard in life. We should not let time slip through our fingers without having spent some time with those who really matter to us, those close to our hearts.

Do remember to share that $50 worth of your time with someone you love.
If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of hours.

But the family & friends we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

#23 Köttbullsgatan nummer fläsk

Scenario: En ologisk text.

Källa: http://www.student.nada.kth.se/~westrin/websida2008.html

----

Nyligen en gång, för länge sedan, bodde jag på Köttbullsgatan nummer fläsk, tre trappor upp på nedre botten. Där låg jag en natt i min bottenlösa säng och intensivläste spännande tågtidtabeller som jag hittat i en bladlös pärm, medan solstrålarna smög sig in. Plötsligt hörde jag ljudlösa steg i trappan, och in i mitt rum steg en flintskallig man med rött hår. Han stack en bladlös kniv utan skaft rak igenom bröstet på mig, men som tur var hade jag hjärtat i halsgropen så jag överlevde. Och med hjärtat i halsgropen sprang jag ner till den försvunna hamnen för allt jag hade och köpte en tågbiljett för resten. Tut-tut sa båten och så gick bryggan. Efter en resa och några sekunder blev jag skeppsbruten och flöt iland på en sönderrostad spik. Jag hade kommit till en öde ö där kannibaler dansade nakna med händerna i byxfickorna. Utan att röra mig sprang jag fram till en till grunden nedbrunnen hydda, sparkade upp dörren och hoppade in igenom fönstret. därinne fick jag se en död man livs levande läsa lusen av en loppa med grönt hår. På ett tomt bord intill låg en fulladdad Smith and Wesson pistol av märket Berretta utan kulor, samt två uppätna mackor utan pålägg. Jag plockade bort skinkan, åt upp fyra av mackorna, tog kavarvarande tre med mig för att äta senare, tog bössan och gick ut i djungeln. Solen började skina. Så jag sprang in i en grotta för att inte bli blöt. Därinne fann jag mig stå öga mot öga med tre hungriga lejon som rapade mätt och belåtet. Jag sköt det ena av lejonen med mitt sista skott, och det tredje med mitt näst sista. sedan lyfte jag bommullstussar till jag fick ryggskott. Med det skottet sköt jag det andra lejonet. Med rädsla över att de döva dansande kannibalerna skulle ha hört mig, sprang jag vidare, då jag råkade ramla ner i ett bottenlslöst hål, där det satt en ilsken tiger som jamade och spann vänligt. nu hängde mitt liv på en skör tråd, och på den tråden klättrade jag upp. Mina ben var fortfarande paralyserade av skräck då jag sprang ner till stranden. Där fick jag se de arbetande på öns tehus ha kafferast. Jag blev så rädd av denna åsyn, att jag gallskrek ända tills det eka. Och på den ekan hissade jag gomseglet och seglade hem.

Och jag lovar, det är helt och hållet sant;-)!

#22 [Novell] The Last Question

Scenario: Novell om universums sista fråga.

Källa: http://filer.case.edu/dts8/thelastq.htm

----

The Last Question

By Isaac Asimov
     Isaac Asimov was the most prolific science fiction author of all time. In fifty years he averaged a new magazine article, short story, or book every two weeks, and most of that on a manual typewriter. Asimov thought that The Last Question, first copyrighted in 1956, was his best short story ever. Even if you do not have the background in science to be familiar with all of the concepts presented here, the ending packs more impact than any other book that I've ever read. Don't read the end of the story first!

This is by far my favorite story of all those I have written.
     After all, I undertook to tell several trillion years of human history in the space of a short story and I leave it to you as to how well I succeeded. I also undertook another task, but I won't tell you what that was lest l spoil the story for you.
     It is a curious fact that innumerable readers have asked me if I wrote this story. They seem never to remember the title of the story or (for sure) the author, except for the vague thought it might be me. But, of course, they never forget the story itself especially the ending. The idea seems to drown out everything -- and I'm satisfied that it should.

---

     The last question was asked for the first time, half in jest, on May 21, 2061, at a time when humanity first stepped into the light. The question came about as a result of a five-dollar bet over highballs, and it happened this way:

     Alexander Adell and Bertram Lupov were two of the faithful attendants of Multivac. As well as any human beings could, they knew what lay behind the cold, clicking, flashing face -- miles and miles of face -- of that giant computer. They had at least a vague notion of the general plan of relays and circuits that had long since grown past the point where any single human could possibly have a firm grasp of the whole.

     Multivac was self-adjusting and self-correcting. It had to be, for nothing human could adjust and correct it quickly enough or even adequately enough. So Adell and Lupov attended the monstrous giant only lightly and superficially, yet as well as any men could. They fed it data, adjusted questions to its needs and translated the answers that were issued. Certainly they, and all others like them, were fully entitled to share in the glory that was Multivac's.

     For decades, Multivac had helped design the ships and plot the trajectories that enabled man to reach the Moon, Mars, and Venus, but past that, Earth's poor resources could not support the ships. Too much energy was needed for the long trips. Earth exploited its coal and uranium with increasing efficiency, but there was only so much of both.

     But slowly Multivac learned enough to answer deeper questions more fundamentally, and on May 14, 2061, what had been theory, became fact.

     The energy of the sun was stored, converted, and utilized directly on a planet-wide scale. All Earth turned off its burning coal, its fissioning uranium, and flipped the switch that connected all of it to a small station, one mile in diameter, circling the Earth at half the distance of the Moon. All Earth ran by invisible beams of sunpower.

     Seven days had not sufficed to dim the glory of it and Adell and Lupov finally managed to escape from the public functions, and to meet in quiet where no one would think of looking for them, in the deserted underground chambers, where portions of the mighty buried body of Multivac showed. Unattended, idling, sorting data with contented lazy clickings, Multivac, too, had earned its vacation and the boys appreciated that. They had no intention, originally, of disturbing it.

     They had brought a bottle with them, and their only concern at the moment was to relax in the company of each other and the bottle.

     "It's amazing when you think of it," said Adell. His broad face had lines of weariness in it, and he stirred his drink slowly with a glass rod, watching the cubes of ice slur clumsily about. "All the energy we can possibly ever use for free. Enough energy, if we wanted to draw on it, to melt all Earth into a big drop of impure liquid iron, and still never miss the energy so used. All the energy we could ever use, forever and forever and forever."

     Lupov cocked his head sideways. He had a trick of doing that when he wanted to be contrary, and he wanted to be contrary now, partly because he had had to carry the ice and glassware. "Not forever," he said.

     "Oh, hell, just about forever. Till the sun runs down, Bert."

     "That's not forever."

     "All right, then. Billions and billions of years. Ten billion, maybe. Are you satisfied?"

     Lupov put his fingers through his thinning hair as though to reassure himself that some was still left and sipped gently at his own drink. "Ten billion years isn't forever."

     "Well, it will last our time, won't it?"

     "So would the coal and uranium."

     "All right, but now we can hook up each individual spaceship to the Solar Station, and it can go to Pluto and back a million times without ever worrying about fuel. You can't do that on coal and uranium. Ask Multivac, if you don't believe me.

     "I don't have to ask Multivac. I know that."

     "Then stop running down what Multivac's done for us," said Adell, blazing up, "It did all right."

     "Who says it didn't? What I say is that a sun won't last forever. That's all I'm saying. We're safe for ten billion years, but then what?" Lupow pointed a slightly shaky finger at the other. "And don't say we'll switch to another sun."

     There was silence for a while. Adell put his glass to his lips only occasionally, and Lupov's eyes slowly closed. They rested.

     Then Lupov's eyes snapped open. "You're thinking we'll switch to another sun when ours is done, aren't you?"

     "I'm not thinking."

     "Sure you are. You're weak on logic, that's the trouble with you. You're like the guy in the story who was caught in a sudden shower and who ran to a grove of trees and got under one. He wasn't worried, you see, because he figured when one tree got wet through, he would just get under another one."

     "I get it," said Adell. "Don't shout. When the sun is done, the other stars will be gone, too."

     "Darn right they will," muttered Lupov. "It all had a beginning in the original cosmic explosion, whatever that was, and it'll all have an end when all the stars run down. Some run down faster than others. Hell, the giants won't last a hundred million years. The sun will last ten billion years and maybe the dwarfs will last two hundred billion for all the good they are. But just give us a trillion years and everything will be dark. Entropy has to increase to maximum, that's all."

     "I know all about entropy," said Adell, standing on his dignity.

     "The hell you do."

     "I know as much as you do."

     "Then you know everything's got to run down someday."

     "All right. Who says they won't?"

     "You did, you poor sap. You said we had all the energy we needed, forever. You said 'forever.'

     It was Adell's turn to be contrary. "Maybe we can build things up again someday," he said.

     "Never."

     "Why not? Someday."

     "Never."

     "Ask Multivac."

     "You ask Multivac. I dare you. Five dollars says it can't be done."

     Adell was just drunk enough to try, just sober enough to be able to phrase the necessary symbols and operations into a question which, in words, might have corresponded to this: Will mankind one day without the net expenditure of energy be able to restore the sun to its full youthfulness even after it had died of old age?

     Or maybe it could be put more simply like this: How can the net amount of entropy of the universe be massively decreased?

     Multivac fell dead and silent. The slow flashing of lights ceased, the distant sounds of clicking relays ended.

     Then, just as the frightened technicians felt they could hold their breath no longer, there was a sudden springing to life of the teletype attached to that portion of Multivac. Five words were printed: INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

     "No bet," whispered Lupov. They left hurriedly.

     By next morning, the two, plagued with throbbing head and cottony mouth, had forgotten the incident.

---

     Jerrodd, Jerrodine, and Jerrodette I and II watched the starry picture in the visiplate change as the passage through hyperspace was completed in its non-time lapse. At once, the even powdering of stars gave way to the predominance of a single bright shining disk, the size of a marble, centered on the viewing-screen.

     "That's X-23," said Jerrodd confidently. His thin hands clamped tightly behind his back and the knuckles whitened.

     The little Jerrodettes, both girls, had experienced the hyperspace passage for the first time in their lives and were self-conscious over the momentary sensation of insideoutness. They buried their giggles and chased one another wildly about their mother, screaming, "We've reached X-23 -- we've reached X-23 -- we've --"

     "Quiet, children." said Jerrodine sharply. "Are you sure, Jerrodd?"

     "What is there to be but sure?" asked Jerrodd, glancing up at the bulge of featureless metal just under the ceiling. It ran the length of the room, disappearing through the wall at either end. It was as long as the ship.

     Jerrodd scarcely knew a thing about the thick rod of metal except that it was called a Microvac, that one asked it questions if one wished; that if one did not it still had its task of guiding the ship to a preordered destination; of feeding on energies from the various Sub-galactic Power Stations; of computing the equations for the hyperspatial jumps.

     Jerrodd and his family had only to wait and live in the comfortable residence quarters of the ship. Someone had once told Jerrodd that the "ac" at the end of "Microvac" stood for ''automatic computer" in ancient English, but he was on the edge of forgetting even that.

     Jerrodine's eyes were moist as she watched the visiplate. "I can't help it. I feel funny about leaving Earth."

     "Why, for Pete's sake?" demanded Jerrodd. "We had nothing there. We'll have everything on X-23. You won't be alone. You won't be a pioneer. There are over a million people on the planet already. Good Lord, our great-grandchildren will be looking for new worlds because X-23 will be overcrowded." Then, after a reflective pause, "I tell you, it's a lucky thing the computers worked out interstellar travel the way the race is growing."

     "I know, I know," said Jerrodine miserably.

     Jerrodette I said promptly, "Our Microvac is the best Microvac in the world."

     "I think so, too," said Jerrodd, tousling her hair.

     It was a nice feeling to have a Microvac of your own and Jerrodd was glad he was part of his generation and no other. In his father's youth, the only computers had been tremendous machines taking up a hundred square miles of land. There was only one to a planet. Planetary ACs they were called. They had been growing in size steadily for a thousand years and then, all at once, came refinement. In place of transistors, had come molecular valves so that even the largest Planetary AC could be put into a space only half the volume of a spaceship.

     Jerrodd felt uplifted, as he always did when he thought that his own personal Microvac was many times more complicated than the ancient and primitive Multivac that had first tamed the Sun, and almost as complicated as Earth's Planetarv AC (the largest) that had first solved the problem of hyperspatial travel and had made trips to the stars possible.

     "So many stars, so many planets," sighed Jerrodine, busy with her own thoughts. "I suppose families will be going out to new planets forever, the way we are now."

     "Not forever," said Jerrodd, with a smile. "It will all stop someday, but not for billions of years. Many billions. Even the stars run down, you know. Entropy must increase.

     "What's entropy, daddy?" shrilled Jerrodette II.

     "Entropy, little sweet, is just a word which means the amount of running-down of the universe. Everything runs down, you know, like your little walkie-talkie robot, remember?"

     "Can't you just put in a new power-unit, like with my robot?"

     "The stars are the power-units. dear. Once they're gone, there are no more power-units."

     Jerrodette I at once set up a howl. "Don't let them, daddy. Don't let the stars run down."

     "Now look what you've done," whispered Jerrodine, exasperated.

     "How was I to know it would frighten them?" Jerrodd whispered back,

     "Ask the Microvac," wailed Jerrodette I. "Ask him how to turn the stars on again."

     "Go ahead," said Jerrodine. "It will quiet them down." (Jerrodette II was beginning to cry, also.)

     Jerrodd shrugged. "Now, now, honeys. I'll ask Microvac. Don't worry, he'll tell us."

     He asked the Microvac, adding quickly, "Print the answer."

     Jerrodd cupped the strip or thin cellufilm and said cheerfully, "See now, the Microvac says it will take care of everything when the time comes so don't worry."

     Jerrodine said, "And now, children, it's time for bed. We'll be in our new home soon."

     Jerrodd read the words on the cellufilm again before destroying it: INSUFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

     He shrugged and looked at the visiplate. X-23 was just ahead.

---

     VJ-23X of Lameth stared into the black depths of the three-dimensional, small-scale map of the Galaxy and said, "Are we ridiculous, I wonder in being so concerned about the matter?"

     MQ-17J of Nicron shook his head. "I think not. You know the Galaxy will be filled in five years at the present rate of expansion."

     Both seemed in their early twenties, both were tall and perfectly formed.

     "Still," said VJ-23X, "I hesitate to submit a pessimistic report to the Galactic Council."

     "I wouldn't consider any other kind of report. Stir them up a bit. We've got to stir them up."

     VJ-23X sighed. "Space is infinite. A hundred billion Galaxies are there for the taking. More."

     "A hundred billion is not infinite and it's getting less infinite all the time. Consider! Twenty thousand years ago, mankind first solved the problem of utilizing stellar energy, and a few centuries later, interstellar travel became possible. It took mankind a million years to fill one small world and then only fifteen thousand years to fill the rest of the Galaxy. Now the population doubles every ten years --

     VJ-23X interrupted. "We can thank immortality for that."

     "Very well. Immortality exists and we have to take it into account. I admit it has its seamy side, this immortality. The Galactic AC has solved many problems for us, but in solving the problem of preventing old age and death, it has undone all its other solutions."

     "Yet you wouldn't want to abandon life, I suppose."

     "Not at all," snapped MQ-17J, softening it at once to, "Not yet. I'm by no means old enough. How old are you?"

     "Two hundred twenty-three. And you?"

     "I'm still under two hundred. --But to get back to my point. Population doubles every ten years. Once this GaIaxy is filled, we'll have filled another in ten years. Another ten years and we'll have filled two more. Another decade, four more. In a hundred years, we'll have filled a thousand Galaxies. In a thousand years, a million Galaxies. In ten thousand years, the entire known universe. Then what?"

     VJ-23X said, "As a side issue, there's a problem of transportation. I wonder how many sunpower units it will take to move Galaxies of individuals from one Galaxy to the next."

     "A very good point. Already, mankind consumes two sunpower units per year."

     "Most of it's wasted. After all, our own Galaxy alone pours out a thousand sunpower units a year and we only use two of those."

     "Granted, but even with a hundred per cent efficiency, we only stave off the end. Our energy requirements are going up in a geometric progression even faster than our population. We'll run out of energy even sooner than we run out of Galaxies. A good point. A very good point."

     "We'll just have to build new stars out of interstellar gas."

     "Or out of dissipated heat?" asked MQ-17J, sarcastically.

     "There may be some way to reverse entropy. We ought to ask the Galactic AC."

     VJ-23X was not really serious, but MQ-17J pulled out his AC-contact from his pocket and placed it on the table before him.

     "I've half a mind to," he said. "It's something the human race will have to face someday."

     He stared somberly at his small AC-contact. It was only two inches cubed and nothing in itself, but it was connected through hyperspace with the great Galactic AC that served all mankind. Hyperspace considered, it was an integral part of the Galactic AC.

     MQ-17J paused to wonder if someday in his immortal life he would get to see the Galactic AC. It was on a little world of its own, a spider webbing of force-beams holding the matter within which surges of submesons took the place of the old clumsy molecular valves. Yet despite its sub-etheric workings, the Galactic AC was known to be a full thousand feet across.

     MQ-17J asked suddenly of his AC-contact, "Can entropy ever be reversed?"

     VJ-23X looked startled and said at once, "Oh, say, I didn't really mean to have you ask that."

     "Why not?"

     "We both know entropy can't be reversed. You can't turn smoke and ash back into a tree."

     "Do you have trees on your world?" asked MQ-17J.

     The sound of the Galactic AC startled them into silence. Its voice came thin and beautiful out of the small AC-contact on the desk. It said: THERE IS INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

     VJ-23X said, "See!"

     The two men thereupon returned to the question of the report they were to make to the Galactic Council.

---

     Zee Prime's mind spanned the new Galaxy with a faint interest in the countless twists of stars that powdered it. He had never seen this one before. Would he ever see them all? So many of them, each with its load of humanity. --But a load that was almost a dead weight. More and more, the real essence of men was to be found out here, in space.

     Minds, not bodies! The immortal bodies remained back on the planets, in suspension over the eons. Sometimes they roused for material activity but that was growing rarer. Few new individuals were coming into existence to join the incredibly mighty throng, but what matter? There was little room in the Universe for new individuals.

     Zee Prime was roused out of his reverie upon coming across the wispy tendrils of another mind.

     "I am Zee Prime," said Zee Prime. "And you?"

     "I am Dee Sub Wun. Your Galaxy?"

     "We call it only the Galaxy. And you?"

     "We call ours the same. All men call their Galaxy their Galaxy and nothing more. Why not?"

     "True. Since all Galaxies are the same."

     "Not all Galaxies. On one particular Galaxy the race of man must have originated. That makes it different."

     Zee Prime said, "On which one?"

     "I cannot say. The Universal AC would know."

     "Shall we ask him? I am suddenly curious."

     Zee Prime's perceptions broadened until the Galaxies themselves shrank and became a new, more diffuse powdering on a much larger background. So many hundreds of billions of them, all with their immortal beings, all carrying their load of intelligences with minds that drifted freely through space. And yet one of them was unique among them all in being the original Galaxy. One of them had, in its vague and distant past, a period when it was the only Galaxy populated by man.

     Zee Prime was consumed with curiosity to see this Galaxy and he called out: "Universal AC! On which Galaxy did mankind originate?"

     The Universal AC heard, for on every world and throughout space, it had its receptors ready, and each receptor led through hyperspace to some unknown point where the Universal AC kept itself aloof.

     Zee Prime knew of only one man whose thoughts had penetrated within sensing distance of Universal AC, and he reported only a shining globe, two feet across, difficult to see.

     "But how can that be all of Universal AC?" Zee Prime had asked.

     "Most of it," had been the answer, "is in hyperspace. In what form it is there I cannot imagine."

     Nor could anyone, for the day had long since passed, Zee Prime knew, when any man had any part of the making of a Universal AC. Each Universal AC designed and constructed its successor. Each, during its existence of a million years or more accumulated the necessary data to build a better and more intricate, more capable successor in which its own store of data and individuality would be submerged.

     The Universal AC interrupted Zee Prime's wandering thoughts, not with words, but with guidance. Zee Prime's mentality was guided into the dim sea of Galaxies and one in particular enlarged into stars.

     A thought came, infinitely distant, but infinitely clear. "THIS IS THE ORIGINAL GALAXY OF MAN."

     But it was the same after all, the same as any other, and Lee Prime stifled his disappointment.

     Dee Sub Wun, whose mind had accompanied the other, said suddenly, "And is one of these stars the original star of Man?"

     The Universal AC said, "MAN'S ORIGINAL STAR HAS GONE NOVA. IT IS A WHITE DWARF"

     "Did the men upon it die?" asked Lee Prime, startled and without thinking.

     The Universal AC said, "A NEW WORLD, AS IN SUCH CASES WAS CONSTRUCTED FOR THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES IN TlME."

     "Yes, of course," said Zee Prime, but a sense of loss overwhelmed him even so. His mind released its hold on the original Galaxy of Man, let it spring back and lose itself among the blurred pin points. He never wanted to see it again.

     Dee Sub Wun said, "What is wrong?"

     "The stars are dying. The original star is dead."

     "They must all die. Why not?"

     "But when all energy is gone, our bodies will finally die, and you and I with them."

     "It will take billions of years."

     "I do not wish it to happen even after billions of years. Universal AC! How may stars be kept from dying?"

     Dee Sub Wun said in amusement, "You're asking how entropy might be reversed in direction."

     And the Universal AC answered: "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

     Zee Prime's thoughts fled back to his own Galaxy. He gave no further thought to Dee Sub Wun, whose body might be waiting on a Galaxy a trillion light-years away, or on the star next to Zee Prime's own. It didn't matter.

     Unhappily, Zee Prime began collecting interstellar hydrogen out of which to build a small star of his own. If the stars must someday die, at least some could yet be built.

---

     Man considered with himself, for in a way, Man, mentally, was one. He consisted of a trillion, trillion, trillion ageless bodies, each in its place, each resting quiet and incorruptible, each cared for by perfect automatons, equally incorruptible, while the minds of all the bodies freely melted one into the other, indistinguishable.

     Man said, "The Universe is dying."

     Man looked about at the dimming Galaxies. The giant stars, spendthrifts, were gone long ago, back in the dimmest of the dim far past. Almost all stars were white dwarfs, fading to the end.

     New stars had been built of the dust between the stars, some by natural processes, some by Man himself, and those were going, too. White dwarfs might yet be crashed together and of the mighty forces so released, new stars built, but only one star for every thousand white dwarfs destroyed, and those would come to an end, too.

     Man said, "Carefully husbanded, as directed by the Cosmic AC, the energy that is even yet left in all the Universe will last for billions of years."

     "But even so," said Man, "eventually it will all come to an end. However it may be husbanded, however stretched out, the energy once expended is gone and cannot be restored. Entropy must increase forever to the maximum."

     Man said, "Can entropy not be reversed? Let us ask the Cosmic AC."

     The Cosmic AC surrounded them but not in space. Not a fragment of it was in space. It was in hyperspace and made of something that was neither matter nor energy. The question of its size and nature no longer had meaning in any terms that Man could comprehend.

     "Cosmic AC," said Man, "how may entropy be reversed?"

     The Cosmic AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

     Man said, "Collect additional data."

     The Cosmic AC said, 'I WILL DO S0. I HAVE BEEN DOING SO FOR A HUNDRED BILLION YEARS. MY PREDECESORS AND I HAVE BEEN ASKED THIS QUESTION MANY TlMES. ALL THE DATA I HAVE REMAINS INSUFFICIENT.

     "Will there come a time," said Man, 'when data will be sufficient or is the problem insoluble in all conceivable circumstances?"

     The Cosmic AC said, "NO PROBLEM IS INSOLUBLE IN ALL CONCEIVABLE CIRCUMSTANCES."

     Man said, "When will you have enough data to answer the question?"

     The Cosmic AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

     "Will you keep working on it?" asked Man.

     The Cosmic AC said, "I WILL."

     Man said, "We shall wait."

---

     The stars and Galaxies died and snuffed out, and space grew black after ten trillion years of running down.

     One by one Man fused with AC, each physical body losing its mental identity in a manner that was somehow not a loss but a gain.

     Man's last mind paused before fusion, looking over a space that included nothing but the dregs of one last dark star and nothing besides but incredibly thin matter, agitated randomly by the tag ends of heat wearing out, asymptotically, to the absolute zero.

     Man said, "AC, is this the end? Can this chaos not be reversed into the Universe once more? Can that not be done?"

     AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

     Man's last mind fused and only AC existed -- and that in hyperspace.

---

     Matter and energy had ended and with it space and time. Even AC existed only for the sake of the one last question that it had never answered from the time a half-drunken computer [technician] ten trillion years before had asked the question of a computer that was to AC far less than was a man to Man.

     All other questions had been answered, and until this last question was answered also, AC might not release his consciousness.

     All collected data had come to a final end. Nothing was left to be collected.

     But all collected data had yet to be completely correlated and put together in all possible relationships.

     A timeless interval was spent in doing that.

     And it came to pass that AC learned how to reverse the direction of entropy.

     But there was now no man to whom AC might give the answer of the last question. No matter. The answer -- by demonstration -- would take care of that, too.

     For another timeless interval, AC thought how best to do this. Carefully, AC organized the program.

     The consciousness of AC encompassed all of what had once been a Universe and brooded over what was now Chaos. Step by step, it must be done.

     And AC said, "LET THERE BE LIGHT!"

     And there was light --

#21 Play tag game on hardcore as an adult

Scenario: 10 vuxnar spelar pjätt.

Källa: http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2013/03/04/the-awesome-story-about-a-group-of-men-who-have-been-playing-a-single-game-of-tag-for-40-years/

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THE AWESOME STORY ABOUT A GROUP OF MEN WHO HAVE BEEN PLAYING A SINGLE GAME OF TAG FOR 23 YEARS

Constantly looking over your shoulder, glancing under your car to see if there’s a body under there feels, as one person said, “like you’re in a Cold War epic.” Except, it’s much more benign than that — it’s an extreme, month-long game of tag that a group of men have been playing for the past 23 years.

They started out as teammates and now to keep the friendship going, they play a month-long game of tag each year. (Image: ESPN screenshot)

The tag among the 10 men, now in their 40s living in the Pacific Northwest according to ESPN, started when they attended Gonzaga Preparatory School. It was resurrected when they graduated as a way to keep in touch. It even has a formal “tag participation agreement.”

There are three rules added into the agreement to the traditional play of tag, according to Patrick “Patty” Schultheis.
The game will only take place during the month of February.
There are no tag backs (retagging the person who just tagged you).
If you are asked if you’re it, you have to answer truthfully.

When you view the list of the professional jobs the competitors hold, it might be surprising to you that they maintain their young-at-heart attitude and continue to play the game. There’s a teacher at Gonzaga Prep, a tech executive, an aerospace engineer and even a Catholic priest.

Father Sean Raftis (Image: ESPN screenshot)

“He is definitely exposed on Sundays,” one of the men said. Another called him a sitting duck. But all wonder if someone would really run up onto the alter while he was saying mass to tag him.

One of them says “maybe. I got tagged during my dad’s funeral mass.”

Just how intense does it get? There are costumes involved, like a “Village People” construction worker and another was a homeless guy. ”Joey T,” Joe Tombari, at one point in the video report is “coiled like a rattlesnake” in the trunk of Schultheis’s car ready to “fire out at him as soon as that trunk opens.”

(Image: ESPN screenshot)

ESPN’s video report has one of the players saying he thinks his target hurt his back while trying to evade the tag. “But it was worth it,” he said.

The Wall Street Journal profiled the bunch before the 2013 game began, reporting that alliances are formed and the wives even get recruited as spies (and are sometimes collateral damage):

“You’re like a deer or elk in hunting season,” says Joe Tombari, a high-school teacher in Spokane, who sometimes locks the door of his classroom during off-periods and checks under his car before he gets near it.

One February day in the mid-1990s, Mr. Tombari and his wife, then living in California, got a knock on the door from a friend. “Hey, Joe, you’ve got to check this out. You wouldn’t believe what I just bought,” he said, as he led the two out to his car.

What they didn’t know was Sean Raftis, who was “It,” had flown in from Seattle and was folded in the trunk of the Honda Accord. When the trunk was opened he leapt out and tagged Mr. Tombari, whose wife was so startled she fell backward off the curb and tore a ligament in her knee.

“I still feel bad about it,” says Father Raftis, who is now a priest in Montana. “But I got Joe.”

The last week of the month is so intense as no one wants to be left tagged — one guy traveled 300 miles to nab a target.

“You absolutely do not want to be it for 11 months. That is a huge yolk of shame,” Mike Konesky said.


(Image: ESPN screenshot)

Again, these guys are in their 40s. So how long are they thinking this sometimes cross-state and often physical game will continue?

Joey “Beef” Caferro said he expects to be chasing people down the hall in a wheel chair.

“I give credit to the game for letting me stay in touch with people whose friendships I cherish,” Konesky said.


After the month-long game is done, the men get together to share stories. (Image: ESPN screenshot)

#20 [Oatmeal] My dog: The paradox

Scenario: Hundägare berättar sin historia.

Källa:http://theoatmeal.com/comics/dog_paradox

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#19 [Cracked] 5 Things Nobody Tells You About Living in Japan

Den här sammanfattningen är inte tillgänglig. Klicka här för att visa inlägget.

#18 [Novell] Per-Eriks barndom

Scenario: Poeten har skrivit en novell om Per-Eriks barndom.

Källa: http://www.tbg.nu/news_show/175424/1

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Per-Erik ställer cykeln utanför huset. Han är smutsig i ansiktet. Han råkade halka på en frusen vattenpöl. Tack och lov att cykeln inte blev repad, tänker Per-Erik. Om han ser det går det illa. Måste in och tvätta av mig snabbt.

Per-Erik är bara 10 år och har inga egna nycklar men ytterdörren brukar inte vara låst. Han har tur och den är inte låst idag heller. Han stänger dörren försiktigt och börjar ta av sig ytterkläderna. Efter det rör han sig så tyst han kan mot toaletten. Han hinner precis sätta på kranen, när han hör Kent-Olofs tunga steg i hallen. Jävlar, tänker Per-Erik.

Dörren till toan slits upp. Skräckslagen tittar Per-Erik upp. I dörröppningen står hans styvfar, Kent-Olof. Det syns att han är arg... Kombinationen vrede och illa dold förtjusning får honom att frusta. Hans rödplufsiga ansikte och ofokuserade blick är tydliga tecken på att han druckit. Som vanligt, tänker Per-Erik.

"Jaså, din lilla råtta! Du försöker smyga dig in," säger Kent-Olof med rösten drypande av förakt. "Men så lätt lurar du inte pappsen."

Kent-Olof greppar Per-Eriks axlar hårt och vänder honom om.

"Du är ju alldeles svart i ansiktet! Vad har du nu ställt till med?" frågar styvfadern. "Våga inte ljuga bara för då vet du hur det går".

Ja, Per-Erik vet hur det kan gå. Han vet också att när Kent-Olof är så här full spelar det ingen roll vad han säger. Han kommer få stryk i alla fall.

"Jag ramlade med cykeln. Fast det var inte mitt fel. Gled på en ispöl," säger Per-Erik med darrande röst. En lite upprorisk impuls får honom att se Kent-Olof i ögonen medan han talar. Han vet att han egentligen inte gjort något fel. Tyvärr gör detta styvfadern än mer ursinnig.

"Vad säger du, ungjävel? Har du ramlat med den nya cykeln din mamma köpt till dig?" frågar Kent-Olof fastän han redan vet svaret. Han tar ett hårt tag i Per-Eriks tröja och släpar honom genom hallen fram till ytterdörren. "Hoppas för din skull du inte fördärvat cykeln för då jävlar!".

Per-Erik står kvar i den mörka farstun medan hans styvfar inspekterar cykeln. Han känner en smak av salt och smuts i munnen från tårarna som redan börjat rinna som en ström ner för kinderna.

***

Dörren öppnas igen och Kent-Olof kommer in. Hoppas. Hoppas han inte hittade något, tänker Per-Erik. Var Kent-Olof inte så arg, brukade det bli lite mindre stryk än vanligt. Av styvfaderns mörka blick att döma, verkade detta inte bli en av dessa dagar.

"Handtagen är skadade och det fanns repor på styret," säger Kent-Olof med forcerat lugn i rösten. Per-Erik hade inte lagt märke till det. Fast Kent-Olof hittade alltid någon anledning att "bestraffa" som han kallade det. "Du vet vad som gäller. Seså...snabba på, ditt lilla kräk!".

Per-Olof vet vad som gäller ja. Ner i källaren till det speciella rummet. Kent-Olof är inte dum, tänker Per-Erik. Han har valt ett rum där skrik, gråt och snyftningar inte kan höras upp till gatan. Grannarna skulle nog ändra uppfattning om styvfadern om de bara visste.

Per-Erik vågade dock inte berätta för grannarna eller någon annan. Kent-Olof har noggrannt redogjort för vad som kommer hända med hans mamma Sigbritt då. Så nu sitter han i rummet och väntar som vanligt. Är byxorna redan neddragna och rätt position intagen, brukar styvfadern slå lite färre slag. Fast inte alltid...

I tamburen står Kent-Olof och myser. Framför sig har han sina "bestraffningsredskap" som han kallar dem. Ibland när han är riktigt arg, hinner han inte välja något av dem. Då sliter han bara av sig bältet i rent ursinne på vägen ner till källaren, och ger Per-Erik vad han tål. Idag har han hunnit lugna sig och har tid att välja.

Kvastskaftet? Nej, det ska bara användas när Per-Erik varit riktigt stygg, tänker Kent-Olof. Det brukar lämna så fula märken. En gång hade en gymnastiklärare ringt och frågat. Sådana problem ville han inte ha. Skohornet var redskapet längst till vänster. Ett rejält skohorn av metall fast med en mekanism som gör det böjbart. Perfekt, tänker Kent-Olof och öppnar dörren till källaren.

Sigbritt har slutat lite tidigare idag. Som vanligt är hon trött. Att arbeta inom vården är inget hon gillar, fast pengar måste man tjäna. Det bästa är att vara borta från hemmet några timmar...och från honom, tänker hon. Hon ser Per-Eriks cykel som står lutad mot staketet. Kent-Olof är hemma. Hon vet vad det innebär.

Länge står hon där utanför och tvekar om hon ska gå in. Det finns inte mycket man kan göra, tänker hon. Att försöka ingripa kommer bara förvärra det hela. Hon vet bättre än de flesta vad Kent-Olof är kapabel till. Hon borde ha anat oråd redan innan de gifte sig, men Kent-Olof var ju så trevlig. Fast redan den första gången de hade sex märkte hon något. Något hon såg i Kent-Olofs ögon. Något djuriskt och skrämmande som glimtade till och sedan var borta.

Per-Erik sitter ihopkrupen på golvet. Byxorna har han dragit ner. Han väntar på Kent-Olof. Han tänker att nästan vad som helst vore bättre än det som väntar. Att springa därifrån...fast det går ju inte. Att dunka huvet i väggen så hårt att han svimmar eller dör. Att döda Kent-Olof.
Hans tankar avbryts av ljudet av en källardörr som slås igen. Styvfadern är på väg ner. Mycket riktigt, mindre än en halv minut senare står Kent-Olof i rummet.

"Du har byxorna nerdragna, din lille skit. Bra, då ska pappsen kanske inte slå så många slag idag," säger han. "Det beror förstås på. Är du duktig och skriker och gråter ordentligt, så behöver jag inte slå så mycket".

Per-Erik har varit "trotsig" flera gånger. Kent-Olof har slagit honom under så lång tid att han ibland inte ens bryr sig. Vid några tillfällen har det gått längre än så, och han har känt att han inte ens varit där. Att han inte finns. Då är han tyst och orörlig hur många slag han än tar emot. Han vet att styvpappan inte gillar det. Ibland har han försökt vara tyst just på grund av detta. Idag vill han inte ha så mycket stryk. Han ska gråta.

***

Sigbritt kommer in i tamburen. Hon tittar mot dörren som leder ner till källaren, men vänder snabbt bort blicken. Mascara har lämnat svarta ränder på hennes kinder. Så blir det ofta. Tårarna kommer när hon tänker på vad hennes son utsätts för. Hon känner ilska som sedan förbyts i hopplöshet. Ändå tror hon sig älska Kent-Olof. Han är ju så trevlig och mysig ibland, t.o.m. mot Per-Erik, i alla fall när hon är med. Det är som om det som händer i källaren tillhör en annan tillvaro. Det är något man aldrig talar om uppe i den vanliga världen, där allt verkar vara normalt.

Kent-Olof står tyst och tänker. Inget hörs i det stängda källarrummet förutom oljepannans dova brummande och en pojkes häftiga andhämtning. Han brukar låta Per-Erik vänta. Grabben ska aldrig veta exakt när han tänker börja slå. Kent-Olof funderar sällan på varför han gör det han gör. Ibland så förbryllar dock hans eget beteende honom, och detta är ett av dessa sällsynta tillfällen. Det absurda i situationen får honom att fnissa. Här står jag med ett skohorn i handen framför en pojke med röven bar, tänker han. Sedan börjar han slå.

Sigbritt sitter i köket. Hon inne på sitt andra glas vin sen hon kom hem. Hon har en bag-in-box gömd i ett hörn under diskbänken. Egentligen onödigt att gömma den, tänker hon. Kent-Olof känner säkert till det. Han verkar veta allt, men han låter henne dricka. Hon tänder en cigg och öppnar fönstret. Den rena luften som kommer in och den klarblåa himlen hon ser, känns nästan som ett hån. Det finns ingen lycka i den här världen, tänker hon medan hon drar ett djupt halsbloss.

Sigbritt försöker minnas lyckligare tider. Var de lyckligare innan Per-Erik föddes? Hon tänker sig tillbaks till när hon såg Kent-Olof för första gången. Hon hade jobbat som kassörska i ett snabbköp då, och en stilig ung man hade småpratat med henne i kassan flera gånger. Han brukade tugga tuggummi och ha ett par solglasögon uppskjutna i pannan. Han var väldigt charmig... Hon minns också att hon tyckte det var coolt att han helt struntade i att han uppehöll andra i kön medan de pratade. Hon såg det som tecken på att han var intresserad av henne. Och det var han... En dag bjöd han ut henne och utan tvekan accepterade hon.

De var också lyckliga i början. Väninnorna var avundsjuka och tyckte hon gjort ett verkligt kap. Även hennes släkt tog till sig Kent-Olof utan förebehåll. Nåja, inte alla... Hennes mamma var alltid kort i tonen mot honom. Hon föll inte för hans annars ofelbara charm... Inte nog med det, under några familjemiddagar satt hon och stirrade Kent-Olof in i ögonen så länge att det nästan blev pinsamt. Hon är död nu men Sigbritt minns ännu hennes sista ord.
"Akta dig för Kent-Olof," hade hon sagt.

"Aj!" ropar Per-Erik. Det första slaget chockar alltid honom och får honom att skrika till, även de gånger han försöker vara tyst. Han känner att det är skohornet Kent-Olof använder. Det är av nån sorts metall men fjädrar vid varje slag. Per-Erik bryr sig inte vad styvfadern använder, så länge det inte är kvastskaftet. Det gör väldigt ont och ger blåmärken som tar lång tid att försvinna. Han tänker att det egentligen är nåt sorts bevis om han skulle anmäla Kent-Olof, men han vågar ändå inte. Fast en gång råkade en gympa-lärare se märkena...

Kent-Olof har nu slagit tjugo slag eller mer och han fortsätter slå. Detta trots Per-Erik skrikit och bölat. Jävla Kent-Olof! tänker han. Han hade lovat att inte slå så mycket om Per-Erik följde alla regler, ändå är han nu uppe i över 25 slag. Per-Erik bestämmer sig för att bli helt tyst, trots han vet vad det kan innebära. Han märker Kent-Olof tar i ännu mera. Slag efter slag, hårdare och hårdare.

***

Sigbritt har nu tappat räkningen på hur många glas vin hon druckit. Ändå känner hon sig inte påverkad alls. Det har blivit kyligt i rummet, så hon går fram till fönstret för att stänga det. Utanför ser hon att himlen börjar täckas av moln. Den gråa färgen passar hennes tillvaro perfekt tänker hon. Aldrig är det riktigt bra men sällan riktigt dåligt heller. Allt är precis på gränsen till vad hon kan hantera, i alla fall om hon har tillgång till alkohol. Fast lycka är såklart något hon saknar. Det är som all glädje och allt som kunde varit roligt, sugits ut ur hennes liv. Hon tror hon vet vad det beror på...

Nere i det stängda källarrummet fortsätter Kent-Olof att slå. Inget hörs förutom det ljud som uppkommer när skohornet träffar sitt mål. Per-Erik tänker att Kent-Olof aldrig slagit honom så mycket förut. Detta skrämmer honom lite, men samtidigt bestämmer han sig för något. Styvfadern får slå honom så mycket han vill idag, men sedan aldrig mera. Aldrig mera, oavsett vad som krävs. Denna tanke gör honom lugnare och ger honom kraft att uthärda. Efter ytterligare några minuter slutar Kent-Olof slå.

"Fan vad utmattad jag är," säger han. "Varför var du så tyst, din dumma unge?"

Per-Erik ser på Kent-Olof. Han säger inget men hans ögon lyser av hat. Han drar upp sina byxor och den svidande känslan när tyget vidrör hans bak får honom att flämta till. Han släpper dock inte Kent-Olof med blicken. Till slut tvingas styvfadern titta bort.

"Nä, nu jag är helt utpumpad," säger han och sträcker sig efter en ölburk som finns i ett sexpack på golvet. Per-Erik ser att styvfaderns panna är våt av svett och hör hans häftiga andhämtning.
"Nu måste jag fan vila lite," säger Kent-Olof. Han slår sig ner på en trästol med ryggen mot Per-Erik. Ljudet av en ölburk som öppnas hörs. Per-Erik ser styvfadern bakifrån där han sitter i stolen och dricker. Han tar chansen och springer ut ur rummet. Utifrån drar han snabbt igen dörren och låser den.

Dörren är en tjock trädörr med ljudisolerande egenskaper som Kent-Olof satt in. Ljudet av bankningar på dörren hörs och inifrån Kent-Olofs röst. Röstens styrka förminskas av den tjocka trädörren, ändå får Per-Erik impulsen att springa därifrån. Han står kvar.

"Öppna dörren, din jävla skitunge!" ropar styvfadern inifrån rummet. "Vafan håller du på med?"

"Nej, jag öppnar inte," svarar Per-Erik. "Och du ska aldrig mer slå mig."

"Va säger du, ditt lilla kräk?" undrar Kent-Olof med en blandning av vrede och förvåning i rösten. "Fattar du vad jag kan göra med dig och din mamma när jag kommer ut?"

"Men du är inte ute nu," svarar Per-Erik. Styvfadern fattar att det sista han sa var ett misstag. Han förblir tyst en stund. Sen säger han:

"Snälla Per-Erik, släpp ut din pappa nu."

"Du är inte min pappa och jag är inte snäll," svarar Per-Erik och går därifrån.

Per-Erik kommer ensam upp ur källaren. Sigbritt ser honom komma gående. Upp för trappan och in genom hallen. Detta är inget ovanligt. Kent-Olof brukar sitta där nere och ta ett par öl efter han "disciplinerat" honom. Det som får henne att ana något är annorlunda, är hur Per-Erik rör sig. Ibland är han röd av gråt i ansiktet och går sakta med huvudet nedböjt. Dessa gånger känner hon en stor sorg inom sig, och får lust att krama den lille stackaren. "Rör mig inte, mamma" säger han ofta då. Det känns fruktansvärt som om han tycker att hon, hans egen mamma, har förått honom. Andra gånger är han arg och springer upp för trappan till sitt rum. Sen passar han på att smälla igen dörren hårt när Kent-Olof inte kan höra det.

Den här gången går han sakta och målmedvetet mot henne. Han går med ryggen helt rak. Något med honom ger henne intrycket att han inte längre är rädd för något. Solen som kommer in från fönsterna i rummet bakom honom, lyser upp hans blonda hår. Det ser nästan ut som en gloria. Åh, min lille ängel, tänker hon. Han kommer fram till henne och de kramas under tystnad en lång stund. De gånger de tidigare kramats efter en misshandel, har bägge gråtit. Denna gång känns det som om det inte längre finns anledning att gråta.

"Var är Kent-Olof?" frågar hon försiktigt. Förändringen hon märkt hos sin son, gör att hon anar att något hon både skulle välkomna och beklaga har inträffat. Egentligen skulle det nog mest kännas som en lättnad. "Är han död?"

Per-Erik tittar lite konstigt på henne. "Nej, mamma. Han är inte död. Jag har låst in honom i rummet nere i källaren."

"Ok, Per-Erik," svarar hon. "Vad ska vi göra?". Hon fattade beslutet redan när hon såg honom komma emot henne genom hallen. Hon tänker låta Per-Erik bestämma nu. Vad än han vill kommer hon att göra. Hon känner att hon är skyldig honom det.

"Vi måste försvinna härifrån," svarar Per-Erik. "Vi tar bilen och kör så långt vi kan. Vi kör till en plats där han aldrig kan hitta oss".

"Ok," svarar Sigbritt. Nycklarna till Volvon ligger i hallen. Han har sin plånbok i jackan...". Hon tänker en stund. "Han har gömt en del kontanter också men jag vet var de finns, och sen våra smycken. Det tar vi med oss."

"Bra," säger Per-Erik. "Det gör vi. " Han ser ut att fundera. Sen säger han "Ring till hans jobb. De har en telefonsvarare. Säg att Kent-Olof vill ha ledigt i två veckor och har bett dig att ringa. Det ger oss tid att komma undan".

Sigbritt tänker. Det känns inte riktigt bra. Hon har ännu känslor för Kent-Olof och vad kommer hända med honom där nere i källaren? Hon ser också framför sig när Kent-Olof kommer ut, och får reda på vad hon gjort. Tanken får henne att rysa och skaka av ren skräck.

Per-Erik verkar förstå vad hon tänker. "Vem älskar du mest, mig eller Kent-Olof?" frågar han och ser rakt på henne utan att blinka. Hon ser på honom. Han är en vacker pojke. Han är hennes ende son. Han är också den person i världen hon svikit mer än någon annan. Hon tar upp telefonen och ringer.

***

De sitter i bilen och har kört i flera timmar längs mörka landsvägar. Det är natt nu och få andra bilar syns till. Över dem är himlen helt klar och täckt av stjärnor. Per-Erik tar hennes hand och hon ser på honom och ler. Hon känner en känsla inom sig. Något hon inte känt på många år. Hon känner hopp.

#17 Harry Potter & The Well of Scammers

Scenario: Att skriva av Harry Potter böckerna för hand och bli lurad.

Källa: http://www.419eater.com/html/joyce_ozioma.htm

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TITLE: Harry Potter & The Well of Scammers
SCAMMER NAME: Joyce Ozioma
SCAMMER LOCATION: Nigeria
SCAMBAITER: Shiver Metimbers

One of the golden rules of scambaiting is 'make your scammer do all the work'. Tie the guy up. Make his life miserable by dragging out the dealings for as long as humanly possible. What better way to keep a scammer busy than to make them copy an entire book by hand?
First of all, I get the standard 419 scam introduction from Barrister Issah.

From: Barrister Musa Issah
To: Arthur Dent
Date: January 23, 2006
Subject: If you will be interested to act upon on receipt of this mail
My Dear
Greetings,I know this mail may come to you as a surprise,I am Barrister Mussa Issah the solicitor/counsel to the late Sanni Abacha who was then before his death, the President/Head of State of the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
Just yesterday his widow wife Mrs. Mariam Abacha called to intimate me of the condition of her family over the pursuance of fund by the Government over the husbands alleged loot.
In fact, She conferred in me that her son was working with a German National only for the German to take advantage of the situation, there by setting her son up in Germany where he went to claim his father deposit. You can verify this fact your self through the German Embassy over an alleged Abacha's Son, Mr. Abba Abacha trying to pull out the sum of (US$40 M) Forty Million Dollars from the Bank.
At this point in time, She solicited my humble self to look for a reputable gentleman who will be of great assistance to the family and somebody who can take over the sum of $27M (Twenty Seven Million United States Dollars Only)which is presently deposited in a Security Company, for investment. I will later on the course of this transaction disclosed to you the Security Company accordingly.
If you will be interested to act upon on receipt of this mail, please do contact me on the enlisted contact adress and more so be kind to issue me with your current Telephone Number for prompt conversation.
Thanks for your sincere understanding while looking forward to your positive response/cooperation.
Regards,
Barrister Musa Issah



I run my handwriting routine by the barrister.
From: Arthur Dent
To: Barrister Musa Issah
Date: January 23, 2006
Dear Mr. Issah,

Thank you very much for you interesting email, it was kind of you to contact me with your proposition.

Unfortunately I am not in a position to help you at this point in time as my company are conducting a very important 4 year long research project on Advanced Handwriting Recognition and Graphology systems.

Our work is extremely intensive and vitally important for our clients. They have committed over eight million dollars to our project and we are nearing the final stages. After nearly 4 years of research and development we are now only three months away from the conclusion and I am afraid I can allow nothing to interfere with the project until its completion.

We are always looking for paid volunteers to help with our project. If you are aware of anyone who would like to earn money by helping with our project by providing samples of their own handwriting to us then please do read the submission information below. We pay US $100.00 per page of handwriting samples.

Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



YOUR HANDWRITING SAMPLES WANTED TO HELP OUR RESEARCH PROJECT.

We are looking for people to submit samples of their own handwriting to add to our database of hand written text. Currently we have over three hundred thousand handwritten pages from people all over the world and we are looking for more all the time. All the handwriting is analysed by computer and the data will then be used to facilitate the completion of advanced artificial intelligence systems for our client, Cyberdyne Systems.

We are currently looking for people to submit by email attachment, scans of their handwriting samples so that we can increase the size and thus the computational power of our preliminary database.

NOTE: We will supply the text for you to copy by email attachment. You do not have to write your own story, poem etc. All that is required is that you duplicate the text we send to you in your own handwriting on paper and then scan it and return it to us by email attachment.

Handwriting samples are very valuable to our project so Singlesideband Systems are prepared to pay US $100 (one hundred dollars) for every sheet of handwritten text that is submitted to us. However please note that the MINIMUM number handwriting sample pages you can submit is 100 (one hundred). Of course, you may submit as many as you wish above that number. We would certainly take as many handwriting samples as you are able to provide.

If you think you may know anyone who may be able to help us in this project, please contact me at my email address below and we will forward you very simple instructions on how to submit your handwriting samples by email attachment.



Thankfully barrister Issah know just the people for my project.
From: Barrister Musa Issah
To: Arthur Dent
Date: January 26, 2006
Subject: Re: If you will be interested to act upon on receipt of this mail
Dear Arthur Dent

I write to acknowledge the receipt of your mail,sorry for the late response.
Thanks very much for your response, I quite appreciate despite your very busy schedule, you still make out time from no time to correspond with me.

I spoke with staffs after going through your massage this morning and all aspects of your reguest was fully deliberated on and I gave them go ahead to arrange things with you without further delay.

Contact them with below contact information as to discuss all modalities.

Mrs Joyce Ozioma esq
tel. :234-802-306-xxxx
e-mail: lawxxxxxxx@consultant.com

Mr Maurice Dim esq
Tel. :234-803-307-xxxx
E-mail: lawxxxxxxx@consultant.com

Though both telephone contact numbers are different, the email addresses are identical.
Your urgent response with the required informations/instruction will be required in order to make the project
successful.

Yours faithfully,
Barrister Musa Isah



I fire off the information to both addresses and also confirm to the barrister that contacts have been made.
From: Arthur Dent
To: Barrister Musa Issah
Date: January 23, 2006
Dear Mr. Issah,

Thank you for your reply and I can confirm that I have sent an introduction to the persons you specified.
Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



Introducing Mrs. Joyce Ozioma who steps up to the plate and offers her services. Strange. Her emails are coming from exactly the same location and computer as the barrister's. I sense that I am being deceived!
From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: January 26, 2006
Subject: If you will be interested to act upon on receipt of this mail
Sir'
We got your mail and the contents well noted. We were told about the handwriting research project this morning by chief Musa.B.E Isah esq and We would like to know how many samples you may require from us.
Presently, my colleagues and I are ready to sample ours, we can as well provide as many as we can from friends in various universities here in Nigeria. Kindly advice on how we will receive our reword
We anticipate the copy of the text sample by email attachment with other necessary informations.
Regards
Mrs Joyce Ozioma



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: January 26, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your reply and your interest in my company's project.

Basically we are after as many samples as possible of your handwriting. As outlined in my previous email, the MINIMUM number of pages we can accept is 100 however we would be most delighted to receive as many as you and your colleagues are able to supply. I have supplied some sample text to this email in the form of a book in PDF format, which is the most common format for presenting text. If you have any problem reading the fie then please get back to me for more information.

If you decide to duplicate the WHOLE book in your handwriting then we pay an additional bonus payment of $4,000 as well as the standard $100 per page.Here are the rules for submission:


SUBMISSION RULES

The MINIMUM number of pages we can accept is 100 however you may submit as many as you wish.

It is very important that each A4 page matches the book pages as closely as possible, so for instance if you are copying up to page 120 of the book, you should have 120 A4 pages of your own text. The number of your pages/scans must match the page numbers of the book.


1. Payment is made only on receipt of the full 100 or more pages. Note that we do not pay any money in advance of receiving the completed pages.
2. You may if you wish submit to us one page so that we can inform you if you are producing the work correctly.
3. The paper must be lined and the layout of the A4 page must match as closely as you can the layout of each page you are copying.
4. All writing MUST be in BLACK ink/pen.

Your pages of text must match the pages of the book text, so for instance if you are copying 150 pages from the book you will have 150 pages of hand written text. It is VERY IMPORTANT that your pages are numbered the same as the pages that you are copying.


IMPORTANT: Note that we can only make one payment to you, so for instance you cannot submit 100 pages, then get paid, then submit more pages. You are only allowed to submit work once and once only.

Once you have completed your handwriting, you will then need to scan each page and then send it to us by email attachment. It is very important that the scans are large and clear. Small or unclear scans will not be accepted and payment will be refused. As a guide we generally ask that the scan width be 1200 pixels wide.

If you are not sure of any part of these instructions, please do get in touch with me for clarification by email or telephone.

Also, please let me know by what means you prefer your payment to be made.


Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesidband Systems
I attach the PDF file for Joyce.



A few days pass and then Joyce gets back in touch.
From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 1, 2006
Subject: Re: If you will be interested to act upon on receipt of this mail
Good day sir,
I am writing to inform you that I have opened the attached book and I have commence work on the writing. I will be sending you a copy by tomorrow for approval.
Meanwhile, in my message of yesterday, I requested your telephone number(s) and your office address, as I have gone through your website and there was no telephone contact in it. I read from the site that you are currently upgrading your website, as such there was no address or telephone/fax contacts. I will appreciate you include them when replying this message.
Please respond to enable me send the first pages for approval by tomorrow.
Do have a nice day.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Joyce attaches a samle page.



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 2, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your very rapid response, it is most appreciated and I congratulate you on your professionalism.

I can confirm that the sample you sent to me is 100% acceptable, thank you.

Please will you advice me how many pages you are considering to duplicate and also by what mean you wish your payment to be made?

Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesidband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 2, 2006
Subject: handwriting project
Dear Sir,
Thank you too for your immediate response, this gives me confidence that I am on the right track.
As I earlier informed you, I am imploying other hands to make sure that the poject is successfully completed and right on time. I am anticipating copying the entire book as you said in one of your messages that it attracts a bonus of US$4,000.00.
Regarding receiving of the payment, I will prefer western union money transfer. I will issue you with names for the collection of my payment.
I will like you to advice on how the scanning should be send. Am I to send the entire pages on your email box or are there alternative email boxes?
I am contemplating sending about 20 pages through one email box, which will be about 15 email boxes for the entire book. All the same your candid advice will equally be appreciated.
Waiting for instructions from you.
Regards,
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 2, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your email and your payment option are entirely agreeable. Are you able to receive the payment amount in one single payment? I am asking because I know that in some countries there are restrictions on the size of Western Union payments. Please advise me.

It would be preferable to me if you send the completed scans to a spare email address that does not interfere with my normal email, therefore please send the scans to the following address: singlesideband.dent@xxxx.com any normal email should of course be addressed to this email address.

Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesidband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 2, 2006
Subject: Re: handwriting project
Dear Sir,
Your mail is well received and content well noted. Regarding the scanning, I will send them to the provided email box while other correspondence will be directed to this mail box as usual.
Paying me through western union as I earlier suggested will be ok as I will provide as many names as possible for the collection since it can not be sent in bulk but on a second though, I am considering the charges etc, so I am contemplating sending one of my relatives in the UK there to pick up the payment for me, that is why I earlier demanded for your address. I will appreciate you forward you address to me where the person can come for collection of my payment.
Advice me on how the charges will be paid if I provide names for sending the payment through western union to Nigeria here.
Thanks and best regards.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 3, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your email.

We will be paying any charges that are incurred so you need not worry about that. However, if you have contacts in the UK who would like to collect your payment from our offices then that is completely agreeable also.

Sincerely,

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesidband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 9, 2006
Subject: urgent response required
Dear Sir,

I will appreciate you call me through my number which is 234-802-306-XXXX tonight so that we can discuss as am about scanning the jobs across to you.

The scanning can not be completed in a day, that was why I asked if the total 293pages can be scanned and sent within 2 days. As I earlier notified you, I employed capable hands to complete the writing. I want you to advice on how long it will take to make payment upon your receipt of the total 293 pages.

I request for your urgent response and kind advice on the above.

Yours faithfully,

Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



I didn't bother to call, but a few days later Joyce decided to call me!
From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 11, 2006
Telephone call: Joyce Oziuma to Arthur Dent (205k MP3)
After the call I checked the email account Joyce was to send the work to and there is all was waiting for me:
Harry Potter 001
Harry Potter 002
...
Harry Potter 200
Harry Potter 293


Shortly after, Joyce emails me with her payment details.
From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 11, 2006
Subject: urgent
Sir,
This is to notify you that I have completed the scanning and sent the total copies of 293 to the email box you gave to me. I urge you to check it and get back to me.
Below is the information for the payment through western union money transfer, please the names, address, text questions and answers must be exactly as it is written:-

1. NAME : PRINCE UCHENNA OLOLO
ADD : PLOT 47 TRANS AMADI LAYOUT PORTHARCOURT, RIVERS STATE, NIGERIA
Question : NAME & WHAT
ANS : OLOLO & BUILDING
AMOUNT US$8,000.00

2. NAME : DIM JUDE OKECHUKWU
ADD : 15 OLADIPO FAFORE STREET, AKOWONJO LAGOS STATE, NIGERIA
Question : COLOUR
ANS : BLACK
AMOUNT US$2,300.00

3. NAME : NGOZI OGUGUA
ADD : AMADI AMA- PORTHARCOURT, RIVERS STATE, NIGERIA
Question : NAME & WHAT
ANS : OLOLO & BUILDING
AMOUNT US$8,000.00
4. NAME : JOY OZIOMA OLOLO
ADD : 1st Avenue, plot 265, 122 Rd., Gowon Estate, Ipaja - Lagos State, Nigeria.
Question : NAME & WHAT
ANS : JOYCE & WRITING
AMOUNT US$4,000.00
5. NAME : CHUKWUNONSO ANENE
ADD : WOJI ROAD, WOJI - PORTHARCOURT, RIVERS STATE, NIGERIA
Question : NAME & WHAT
ANS : OLOLO & BUILDING
AMOUNT US$8,000.00
6. NAME : DIM JUDE OKECHUKWU
ADD : 15 OLADIPO FAFORE STREET, AKOWONJO LAGOS STATE, NIGERIA
Question : COLOUR
ANS : BLACK
AMOUNT US$3,000.00
Note that it is very important that you include senders name and full address when sending.
Call me through my number 234 - 802-306-XXXX immediately the payment is sent and do not for get to give me the sender's name, address and the control number through this email box.
Expecting your response.
Thanks and best regards,
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Hmm. Looks like there are going to be six disappointed people waiting for their payments.



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 11, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your telephone call this afternoon and also for sending in the completed work which I confirm has now been received. I shall ensure you get what you deserve as soon as possible.

Unfortunately as it is the weekend I cannot authorise your payment until Monday morning as our account department do not work on Sat/Sun however I shall arrange your payment sometime on Monday afternoon (13th Feb).

Thank you once again and I shall contact you soon.

Sincerely.

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



After a delay of a couple of days, a frustrated Joyce gets in touch.
From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 13, 2006
Subject: Anticipating the fulfilment of your words
Dear Sir,
I am writing to remind you that I am still in anticipation of the payment information. From your correspondence of Saturday, I was meant to understand that the payment will be made "sometime on Monday afternoon (13th Feb)."
Sir, I will appreciate if you give me a call as soon as the payment is made on 234 - 802-306-0032 . Please while sending the payment information, do not forget to include the sender's name, complete address and the control number through this email box.
Anticipating the fulfilment of your words.
Thanks.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



I'll make her wait just a little longer!
From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 13, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

My apologies for the delay in getting back to you. We had an emergency with one of our clients computer systems and had to send a four man team, including myself to repair a very serious problem. Unfortunately this took much longer than I had estimated and kept me away from my office for nearly two days. I shall contact you again later today to arrange payment.

Sincerely.

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 14, 2006
Subject: Re: Anticipating the fulfilment of your words
Sir,
Your message of 14th February 2006 was received and content understood. I do hope that you have successfully completed the repairs.
I honestly expected the payment information just as you stated you will be arranging later today.
Mr. Arthur, to be candid with you, I am not pleased with your delay in paying me for a work I have completed for you. If you can remember, I severally asked you when my payment will be made upon completion of the project from my side, which you specifically told me 24hrs. Sir, I do hold people by their words, as such I will not want yours to be reverse. I completed my work and sent to you exactly the time I told you, which you confirmed was ok.
Please I will appreciate if you make my payment and send the transfer information to me through this email box by tomorrow.
I was even expecting we would have completed this and if possible you give me another one to handle, which I am arranging different people to do the writing as you stated in your previous correspondence that you need different handwritings. All the same, keep to your word, I have kept to mine by completing the work and sent same to you accordingly.
Meanwhile, I have been wondering why you don't pick your calls. I have tried severally in geting across to you by telephone without success, the phone will ring althrough without anyone picking, does it mean that you don't go out with your mobile phone or that you don't answer calls while working? Why is it that you don't call me on phone, at least to explain the situation of things?
Please do keep to your words regarding my payment.
I will sincerely appreciate receipt of the payment information by tomorrow.
Thanks and God bless.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



Lets see what Joyce has to say when I accuse her partner - the original Barrister Musa who first contacted me - of being a scammer.
From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 14, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Please would you explain to me why you are associating with a know 419 scammer? I have been contacted by Inspector Morse of the UK Police ( mores@xxxxpolice.co.uk ) to tell me that the person known as Musa Issah is a known felon and has been sending out many hundreds of scam emails and apparently there have been many complaints and reports about him.

I would like you to explain to me why you are connected to such a person. My company cannot be allowed to be associated with such people.

Sincerely.

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 14, 2006
Subject: No information from your side yet....... why?
Dear sir
Thanks for your mail, you are well understood. I commend your intelligence but sincerely advice you to be more careful with your choice of words when dealing with people mostly nationals of countries not within your continent less it be assumed that all from your base are abusive which I know they are not having dealt with many in the past.
But if I may ask, why is it that you have not said this all these while I have not submitted the hand written samples? If you feel Mr Mussa is a known felon as you and your inspector claimed, don't you thing is better you confront him rather that seeing explanations from me.Do you feel my explanations about him will be accaptable to you?
I can not but care less of your impression about me or the body I represent but all things being equal I must not fail to make you understand that I don't have an idea of all these accusation you and your so called Inspector Morse of the UK Police is levelling against your fellow man.
I'm a sabbatherian and I so much believe in law of cammah that was why I did the job for you without asking of mobilizing fee from you couples with love and respect I have for Mr Issah. If you feel you can eat my money and get away with eat well, that is for you but I'm assuring you that you can run away in the sight of man but can never run away in the sight of the Almighy God whom I serve.
Mr Issah you are talking about is well known personality here in Nigeria and I would'nt know your reason of passing your judgment without hearing from him, my advice is for you confront him as he is in position to clear himself from the alligations .
I am only concerned with securing the payment evidence of the job I did for you to enable me pick up the money and will appreciate you go ahead and arrange the payment to day please, then you can offer me jobs next time you want upon your confirmation of truth about Mr Issah.
Thanks.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 15, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

I am afraid you do not grasp the importance of the information that was given to me. It is not up to me to investigate Mr. Mussa, I am not a policeman or detective. I shall leave such work to the experts. I was just given a warning not to deal with him as apparently there is an imminent arrest of him and his associate due very shortly. The fact he is a scammer and a thief are not my words madam, but the words of a high ranking police officer. I would advise you to choose your own words more carefully.

I am glad that you state that you could not care less about my impression of you Mrs. Ozioma because I suspect that you are more closely associated with Mr. Musa and his activities than you are admitting to, therefore I am going to refuse to accept any work from you and the samples you have sent in to me so far shall be destroyed. You shall be receiving no payment from my company. We do not associate ourselves with criminal activity in any way, large or small.

Good day.

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



From: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
To: Arthur Dent
Date: February 15, 2006
Subject: sorry
Sir,
I received this your message with heavy heart and could not really figure out what is actually going on, why would anyone scam or steal from you ? please your urgent answer to this question will highly be appreciated.
Ofcourse I'm closely associated with Mr. Musa and some of his activities but that does not mean I must know every of his activities. Since you have made up your mind about the informations you claimed inspector forwarded to you and based on it passed the concluded without caring to know the truth, I will not question your judgement.
However, I still can not but care less over your impression about me why because I don't see anything wrong in working for you. If you think the words I used while expressing my feelings about the whole thing is bad then I'm sorry but that is the basic truth. Clear consience they say fears no accusation, you are suspecting Mr Issa to be one of the scammers as you and your inspector claims will not make me deny the fact that Mr Issa is a good man. I don't know him as a fraudster and can not tell you nothing but the truth. As a matter of fact, I don't know what went wrong between you and him and will not tell what I don't know.
I don't have any option than to let him (Mr Issah) know about the situation of things now before taking the matter to God in prayers since it is the only way to go about it for now. But do have it at the back of your mind that no one takes what belong to me forcefully and get away with it without having a bitter story to tell unless the God I serve is not alive. Sir, this is not a threat but a very sound warning.
Thanks.
Mrs. Joyce Ozioma



From: Arthur Dent
To: Mrs. Joyce Ozioma
Date: February 15, 2006
Dear Mrs. Ozioma,

Thank you for your reply however your talk of God is wasted on me. I am not a believer in such fairytales.

Good day.

Arthur Dent BSC. HHGTTG. PhD.
Director
Singlesideband Systems



Sadly that was the last I ever heard from Joyce. Perhaps she and Mr. Musa have gone into hiding suspecting a real imminent arrest?!
END.