Peoples i listen to:
}Umphrey's McGee{
}Aerosmith{
}Yes{
}Dream Theater{
}Golden Earring{
}Breaking Benjamin{
}Marty O'Donnel{
}Henry Mancini{
}H.I.M{
}Iron Maiden{
}Lemon Demon{
}Naoki{
}NickleBack{
}Richard Strauss{
}Rush{
}Slipknot{
}John Williams{
}Styx{
}Andrew and Adam{
}Amon Tobin{
}Black Sabbath{
}The Toasters{
}Bloodhound Gang{
}Daft Punk{
}Queensrych{
}Dim Rain{
}Psychosticks{
}OZONE{
}Rob Dougan{
}Ace Combat{
}Armored Core{
}DragonForce{
}Wierd Al Yankovik{

Type Your Name With Your...

Thumbs Together: stephen
Nose: stephen
Elbow: satephgenb(my elbow is big)
Tounge: stephen
Chin: eesdt4er-phjern
Foot: stephenb
Eyes closed and one finger: atepge.(i guess is did ok
Back of your hand: stephen
Mouse: stephen
Wrist: wstephben
Big Toe: st65ephemn
Forehead: e3ws 6556trd 34 4343 4334ii;lakdn fa;sldkj FUCK THIS

6.5/10 mehh i guess i did ok



I wrote this thing right here...lots of work im still adding on to it :)

In the early morning, snow falls and a cloaked being walks along the horizon. His garment brown and his mask a black of carbon. His infrared eye slits glowing a contrasting red against the bluish-white sky. He tops yet another dune of frozen precipitation and sights a shape on the horizon known as Nyngytha, amidst snow in the blizzard.
The cloaked being walked further towards Nyngytha, seeking warm food, and lodging, from the cold. As he reached the gates one sentry cried out “State thy name and whom you serve. If we deem you proper we will allow you entrance!” To which the being replied in a surprisingly rich baritone voice, “I am Sarin Ganizaki I serve no one except the world and her land.”
“Aye, a freeloader eh’? All right I guess you can come in as long as you do no harm to our city. But you gotta’ show ya’rnt a vagrant with a fee of 3 ounces of silver.” A modest fee, yet not anything too extreme. Assumed by the man at the front of the gates that there was no possible way of using guile to avoid the fee he scrounged up 3 silver flats to pay the fee to enter the frigid city; one of thieves, warriors, and sorcerers. Each of them a mangy group. Yet the man entering was the only rifleman for at least forty leagues, unbeknownst to him were a few surprises in store.
After he entered through the raised portcullis he inquired to sentry “Where might I find a place with peaceful drink?”
“Well there’s the Frosty Mug, and the Frigid Cell, and the Ice Pit, but you don’t wanna’ go there; to the Ice Pit I mean, it’s full of scoundrels and ne’er-do-well’s.”
“I see,” I said and paused, “I’ll be on my way then good sir.”
As Sarin walked down the dirt street, a gust of wind blew his hood from his head to reveal a crop of hair that was a pure flaxen blonde that blew with the wind, the front was not bound but most of his hair was in a pony tail to keep it out of his ears, and mask. By profession Sarin was a mercenary who himself was from Geneval, a hidden place, near the equator which is the only place where the snows do not ever fall. But the peaceful town was marauded and he escaped only with his father’s rifle and his own life. But now he travels down a road, to a bar, which holds the key to his future. Continuing on, he passed the trash collectors, snow clearers, and midnight workers on their way home. Exhaling softly and look left and right slightly. He had learned long ago not to trust anyone. Not one shifty soul sighted, he briskly walked on, unable to read the signs from the buildup of frost. Pausing at the sound of jubilation and playful jest he looked across the street to view a homely looking mud brick building of two and a half stories. The door was a simple beech wood board with a handle and deadbolt.
Sarin entered to a room, it was roughly forty feet by forty feet with beech wood floors and a pit in the center with a blue flame burning brightly. The sconces on the wall burned a sinister looking purple, the tongues playfully licking their ironwood holders. The windows were tinted a dark pine green with dark yellow diamonds in a square pattern. All of this plus the assortment of the vile men inside the pub made the mood and lighting in the place very dark. Pausing not, he strode over to a table on the far side of the pub on the left side and made a prompt seat of the rear wall. Sarin drew his pipe out of a satchel and stuffed some fine devil grass into the end of it. He lit his pipe of dark red clay with a cantrip spark from a snap of his fingers. He mulled his thoughts over as he thoughtfully drew on his pipe. Before he had set out on this job he was in a place far south from this pit of a city. “Yes…” he thought as he replayed the situation over in his head.

“Mr. Ganizaki.” The attendant at the front desk said flatly, “You are wanted in; Don Murrain will see you now.”
“Thank you, Miss” Sarin said before he stood up slowly and walked to the door to the Don’s room. The door was made of a heavy oak, bound in hardened gold and painted a deep blood red. Upon entering he quickly took in the room. The floor was carpeted, drapes over the windows, he approached the desk of the Don. A menacing man he was, clad in black attire, muscular build, and stone cold eyes. Sarin knew the look, the look in the Don’s eyes, the look of a killer. He shifted before speaking. “You wanted to see me Murrain?”
“Yes, Mister Ganizaki, a situation has arisen that I need you to clear up. But none of the other candidates were of my liking. I wanted someone with your caliber to do my work.”
“What, exactly does that mean sah?” replied Sarin.
“It means you are going to accept our offer, and you will follow the final objective to the letter. Am I clear Mister Ganizaki?”
“Yes and no, Don. You see, to hire someone like me means you are waiving away a small amount of security for a sure fulfillment of the job.” The mercenary said with a sickly grin.
“I’m sorry but I cannot accept that as an answer.” The Don said while flipping a hidden switch on the backside of his desk.
Sarin turned to leave the Don’s office and was just about to open the heavy oak door, when suddenly everything went black before him.




A white man yells to a black man. "Hey colored boy! You're blockin my view."
The black man turned around and stood up. He then said:
"When I was born I was black,"
"When I grew up I was black,"
"When I'm sick I'm black,"
"When I go in the sun I'm black,"
"When I'm cold I'm black,"
"When I die I'll be black"
"But you sir..."
"When you're born you're pink,"
"When you grow up you're white,"
"When you're sick, you're green,"
"When you go in the sun you turn red,"
"When you're cold you turn blue,"
"And when you die you turn purple."
"And you have the nerve to call me colored?"
The black man then sat back down and the white man walked away...
Post this in your house if you are against racism.



==Phrack Inc.==

Volume One, Issue 7, Phile 3 of 10

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The following was written shortly after my arrest...

\/\The Conscience of a Hacker/\/

by

+++The Mentor+++

Written on January 8, 1986
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

  Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"... Damn kids. They're all alike.

  But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him? I am a hacker, enter my world... Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me... Damn underachiever. They're all alike.

  I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..." Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

  I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me... Or feels threatened by me... Or thinks I'm a smart ass... Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here... Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

  And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..." I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all... Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

  You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us will- ing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

  This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

  Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

  I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

+++The Mentor+++


This is Sebastian. Hes not a nice person. He also smells kinda like soot.