Satam Fahd AL-Huseiny should stuff her in search of the pension   

Reply by email, filling out this form and emailing it to me.
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.

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I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
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(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
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I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
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I will post results Saturday.

 xxxxxxxx  beginning of survey  xxxxxxxx

 yes( )   ( )no Should RoadRunner be subjected to some kind of UDP?
 yes( )   ( )no ... active UDP (cancels) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... passive UDP (drop messages) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... all-groups UDP? (as opposed to specific groups)
 yes( )   ( )no Are you a Usenet sysadmin? How big:_   How long:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should another server be subjected to UDP? Who:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used more often?
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used less often?
 yes( )   ( )no Would you have answered this survey without anonymity?

 xxxxxxxx  end of survey  xxxxxxxx 


--
man.  Now take this card to that address
and see him," he said, pointing with his pencil to a name he
had written on the card.
    Clapham was not one of the most salubrious districts of  
London; the address to which I went, in a mean back  
street in the slums adjacent to the railway sidings, was an  
ill-favored place indeed.  I knocked at the door of a house   
which had the paint peeling off, and one window of which     
had the glass "repaired" with sticky paper.  The door        
opened slightly and a slatternly woman peered out, tousled     
hair falling over her face.  
    "Yeh?  'Oo d'ye want?"  I told her and she turned with-
out speaking and yelled, " 'Arry!  Man to see ye!"  Turning     
she pushed the door shut, leaving me outside.  Sometime       
later the door opened, and a rough looking man stood there,  
unshaven, no collar, cigarette hanging from his lower lip.     
His toes showed through great holes in his felt slippers.     
    "What d'ye want, Cock?" he said.  I handed him the card     
from the Employment Bureau.  He took it, looked at it from     
all angles, looked from the card to me and back again, then   
said, "Furriner, eh?  Plenty of 'em in Clapham.  Not so
choosey as us Britishers."
    "Will you tell me about the job?" I asked.                
    "Not now!" he said, "I've got to see you fust.  Come in,
I'm in the bismint."
    With that he turned and disappeared!  I entered the house   
in a considerably fuddled state of mind.  How could he be

date: Fri, 8 Nov 2007 17:59:15 GMT   author:   Professor M. Longstreet