This is just to apologize for making you ask yourself unpleasant questions.
The site was being haunted by a most unpleasant spambot. Dybbuk is the term that leaps to mind — a brainless, leechy kind of dead thing. Kept sending requests every few seconds to the comments script.The flakiness of the database was like pie crust made with real lard on a cold winter’s day. After the standard methods of laying the ghost had failed, there was nothing for it but sacrificing a chicken or installing a challenge system. And I had had chicken for lunch.
The challenge system makes you prove that you’re not a spambot before it lets you submit a comment. I hate that. Not because I have any sympathy with the nasty scripts that cruise this information boreen, but because I have so constantly to prove that I’m a human to non-humans. It’s more than a little degrading, isn’t it?
And then, it might make you wonder, am I a spambot? Many people at work think I may be, as I’m constantly bombarding them with cryptic mailings in a harsh jargonese. Dusty Scott Key, (the lesser known grandson of American poet, Francis Scott Key), wrote a short novel called, Notes from the Underground, where he ponders the issues of determinism and freedom and eventually decides that he is only free when he acts against his own self-interest. One can feel for the Underground Man. No spambot, he. Little prolix, though.
One can imagine a machine that can fold paper. One can not imagine a machine that would enjoy creating a new fold. Go ahead, try. Let us all then be mysterians, together.