Phishing Bait Uncovered

This is an e-mail my sister received today. She forwarded it to me to see what I thought of it. Since I don't think we can spread the word about this kind of thing enough, I thought I would share my answer with everyone.

From: tanyaguinn-at-hotmail.com
Subject: Verify Your Account Now To Avoid It Closed (VX2G99AAJ)
Date: Sat, 28 Mar 2009 08:36:48 +0000


Dear Account User

This Email is from Hotmail Customer Care and we are sending it to every Hotmail Email User Accounts Owner for safety. we are having congestions due to the anonymous registration of Hotmail accounts so we are shutting down some Hotmail accounts and your account was among those to be deleted. We are sending this email to you so that you can verify and let us know if you still want to use this account. If you are still interested please confirm your account by filling the space below.Your User name, password, date of birth and your country information would be needed to verify your account.

Due to the congestion in all Hotmail users and removal of all unused Hotmail Accounts, Hotmail would be shutting down all unused Accounts, You will have to confirm your E-mail by filling out your Login Information below after clicking the reply button, or your account will be suspended within 24 hours for security reasons.

* Username: ..............................
* Password: ................................
* Date of Birth: ............................
* Country Or Territory: ................

After following the instructions in the sheet, your account will not be interrupted and will continue as normal. Thanks for your attention to this request. We apologize for any inconveniences.

Warning!!! Account owner that refuses to update his/her account after two weeks of receiving this warning will lose his or her account permanently.

Sincerely,
The Windows Live Hotmail Team

This is a classic example of a PHISHING message. It has all the hallmarks.

First: The return address. (Although this one is not always 100%, since it is a very simple thing to spoof the return address on any email message!) The sender address is tanyaquinn-at-hotmail.com. Hotmail is operated by Microsoft, which is one of the most wealthy companies in the world. How likely is it that Microsoft employees would be required to send out official e-mail using their personal free e-mail account? Anything official coming from Microsoft would more likely be from a "no-reply" address. (Again, this is easy to spoof, so never think that a message is genuine just because the sender address looks legit. I have recently been receiving a lot of spam that gets through the filter because it apparently came from me!)

Second: Poor grammar and spelling. Once again, Microsoft definitely has enough money to hire workers who can use proper spelling and grammar in their official communications. Many phishers are not native English speakers, so watch out for mangled english phrasing especially in tense and gender. Example: "we are having congestions" No capitalizations at the beginning of a sentence and misuse of the word Congestion. (How many congestions have you had lately?) Example: "Verify your account to avoid it closed."

Third: Basic rules of Internet security. Companies will rarely if ever contact you via e-mail asking for sensitive information. Companies that do should be chastised by their customers (I certainly do!) because this is a horrible way to get info from your customers. How do they know it is you replying, and how can they guarantee that your information is safe? Even when my bank sends me a legitimate message telling me that I need to take some action they won't ask for the information in an e-mail. They will instruct me to log into my account and get or give the requested information. They may provide a link - just to be on the safe side I will never use their link. I will open a browser window and go to the site the way I normally do. This is to prevent someone from putting a bad link in the message that directs me to a different spoof site. If you really, really, really think the message is genuine, find a legitimate phone number for the organization (NOT from the e-mail itself!) and call. Banks especially LOVE to hear from their customers that there is an e-mail out there trying to initiate fraudulent activity on people's accounts. Can you imagine why?

Fourth: Asking for information that is irrelevant. When you signed up for your Hotmail account, do you remember having to enter your birthdate and country of birth? What in the hell would Hotmail need that info for to confirm that you are using your account? This message at least isn't asking for your SSN or DL number, but once they get into your account, they are free to dig through your messages for whatever info you may have stored in there aren't they? In addition they can assume that you use the same password for multiple online accounts, and once they have your password for Hotmail, they are free to go try that same password at your bank website too. Finally, once in your account they can send out spam messages from your account, and guess what? People you know will be more likely to trust a message that comes from you. And access to your account also gives access to your address book. Eureka! A gold mine of new victims who will initially trust a message from you!

Fifth: Common Sense. Think how many people have Hotmail accounts. Think how many of those accounts are used once or twice and then forgotten. Think of the administrative burden on some poor analyst at Microsoft to sort through those millions of accounts and try to figure out which ones to flag for deletion. Wouldn't it be easier to just go through and delete all of the accounts that have not been logged into for say 90 days? Leave your Hotmail account idle for 90 days and see what happens. You can sign into it after that time, but all of your mail will be gone, and it will act like you just opened a new account.

Sixth: A sense of urgency. Scam messages will ALWAYS give you a ridiculously short deadline to follow the instructions. The don't want you to think, or to consult anyone, or otherwise have any time to consider what they are asking. They want you to react out of emotion and panic. Because paniky people are stupid. Einstein would have been stupid if you could have made him sufficiently panicked. How many people you know (including yourself) might go for a day or two without logging into their email accounts? How reasonable would it be for someone to set a 24-hour deadline for deleting your account?

Seventh: Google is your friend. Google the e-mail address of the sender. OK, in this case there is nothing. No surprise. Free e-mail accounts are simple to set up and so this one just has not shown up on the scam radar just yet. Wait a week or two and see what develops. Next, try Googling some text from the message. Try to pick a phrase that is kind of unique in the message. I chose the one that I pointed out above as having some grammar problems. "we are having congestions due to the anonymous registration"

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&safe=active&q=we+are+having+congestions+due+to+the+anonymous+registration+&btnG=Search

Number one hit? A website dedicated to debunking e-mail scams. Number two through 1,320,000 - probably more of the same. This script is used by phishers all over the world to try and lure unsuspecting victims into giving up their account information.

So what now? You can feel good that you detected this particular phish-bait. You also did the right thing in not replying. Even replying to say that you were not fooled would only let them know that they had a live one. (Think when you were fishing. Even nibbles could keep you at that spot for hours. Don't nibble!) Hotmail has a "Junk" button you can click to mark the sender as a spammer. (http://windowslivehelp.com/solutions/safety/archive/2009/03/23/how-to-report-abuse-or-spam-in-windows-live-hotmail.aspx)

Click it. And forget it. There is not much more you can do. The scammer will monitor this mailbox until it quits receiving replies or gets shut down and then will simply open a new free account, paste a million potential victims in the To: or CC: line and hit send again. As long as you use common sense and don't allow emotion to dictate your actions, Spam like this will remain simply an annoyance like stepping in dog doo at the park. People aren't supposed to do it, but law enforcement usually has better things to do than chase down people that do.

© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Random Plot Story - Part 3

Part Three of my Randomly Generated Short Story Plot


Bill and Ted stared at the display and the slowly blinking red indicator.
"It looks like your last two passengers never arrived at the destination. Apparently they closed the portal before they entered on this end." Ted's voice was a little bit shaky, and Bill's face was turning a light shade of green.
"What does that mean?" He asked. Ted shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
"Not sure. Never happened to me before. I suppose I should look it up." Ted was trying to remain calm, but he had never really paid any attention to the emergency procedure briefings where they talked about castaways. All he could remember was that there was a procedure, and that he was supposed to follow it. He couldn't even remember where the manual with the procedure was located.
"Shouldn't you call the boss?" Bill asked uncertainly. He knew for sure that he didn't want to.
"I don't remember if that is in the procedures." Ted answered, also absolutely sure that he didn't want to call the boss.
"Well, I guess we should find that manual then right?" Bill said, relieved that the boss was not in danger of being called.
"Yep." Ted answered. He got up and walked towards a sagging bookshelf.

Glen resisted the urge to let go of Madeline's wrist and let her float away. His police training to preserve lives no matter how repugnant he found them was the only thing that kept his hands tightly clasped around her wrist. He could see nothing but the silvery-blue mist swirling around him, could feel nothing but the warmth of her skin in his hands, and hear nothing but her voice. In fact, he soon discovered that he was not even hearing that in the classic sense of the word. It was more like she was inside his head. He also noticed that when he spoke, he didn't seem to be moving his lips.
"Great!" he thought sarcastically. "Telepathic communication with someone I have no desire to communicate with."
"I heard that!" Madeline's voice shrieked. Glen's hand trembled with the effort to keep holding on. He had learned over the past few years to be very careful of his words, and now he would have to watch even his thoughts.
"Darn right you need to watch your thoughts mister!" Madeline snapped.
"Will you shut up for just one minute? Do you have any idea what kind of a predicament you are in right now?" Glen thundered back. He felt Madeline recoil slightly, and was surprised at the amount of fear he felt in her mind. Not fear of being stuck halfway through a dimensional portal, but fear of him. The realization froze him momentarily. Until Madeline also sensed his surprise and pounced on it like a starving cat.
"Of course I am afraid of you. I have heard the stories. I have seen the pictures." Glen knew instantly which stories she meant, both because they had already had this conversation, and because he could almost see them flashing through her mind.
"What would you have had me do? Just let them torture that woman? They would not have hesitated to do the same and worse to me if given the chance." Glen was not sure why he even tried. They had been around this particular mulberry bush a thousand times, but he couldn't help himself. Her self-righteous...
"I am NOT self-righteous you brutal animal! I spend my life trying to save lives and you spend your life finding excuses to take them. You and your power hungry..."
Glen let go of her wrist and her voice immediately disappeared. The silence was crushing and complete. Even his own thoughts were muffled as if they were a voice coming from a great distance. Nevertheless, he was glad to be free of the shrieking voice of his wife. Apparently the physical contact in this non-physical dimension had been the medium by which they had been communicating. Well, he had no idea how to find her again. Not to mention that he had no desire to even try.

Ted finally located the pertinent manual. It was an old manual, which meant that it was heavy. When the world finally declared itself paper free, technology still had some catching up to do. The fusion power pack that powered the electronic book was a good fifteen pounds in an earlier model like this, which made it a perfect door stop. Ted picked it up and thumbed the power button. The capacitors made a high-pitched whine as they energized, and the logo of the Inter-Dimensional Travel Authority flashed briefly across the screen, followed by a table of contents. Ted tapped his finger on the heading for the section labeled: "Emergency Procedures in Case of Portal Closure During Passenger Transit". The heavy device hummed briefly then displayed a multicolored flow chart. The first shape on the chart was blinking. Bill read it out loud:
"If you suspect that a passenger has been trapped between portal doorways by a closure on either end, immediately contact the watch supervisor."

Ted and Bill groaned together. "The Boss!"


© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

An essay... for a change.

In case you hadn't noticed, this blog is not so much a blog as a sketch pad for me to practice writing in. So you get a lot of fictional stuff, all of it rough and unedited. Today, I thought I would write an essay of sorts, just to break up the rhythm. Don't worry, I will get back to the "Random Plot" story soon enough. Meanwhile, enjoy a lesson I learned a long time ago.


The Art of Salesmanship

I am not much of a salesman, although I was once offered a position as one of those people that drives around with a trunk full of stereo equipment and tries to get people to buy it. I am not so sure that my sales acumen was as impressive to them as the fact that I showed up to their so-called interview and spent the entire day trudging through slush and snow and interrupting people at work without quitting. (Apparently 9 out of 10 people do just that before lunchtime...) Despite my lack of skill at selling things to people, I learned at a pretty young age one of the secrets to being able to sell things.

When I was in elementary school, we took a trip to the State Fair. It was a pretty highly anticipated trip, and I spent as much time as possible harassing my Dad for spending money. Looking back, I am truly sorry that I gave him so much grief. With seven kids to feed and some pretty bad luck job-wise, to say we lived paycheck to paycheck would be slightly over-stating the case. However, when the day of the trip came, somehow he produced about five bucks for me to take. Happy to have something, I went off on my trip.

When we arrived at the fair, we immediately began running around finding the absolute stupidest things to throw our money at. The kids with plenty of money but whose parents did not come were in heaven, and were quickly carrying around arms full of cheap toys and snarfing down extremely unhealthy food. The kids whose parents came also had it pretty good, since parents came with wallets. Their giddiness was tempered however by needing approval to buy stuff, and depending on the thriftiness of the parents, they also collected a good armful of junk.

Then there were the kids like me, with a small wad of crumpled bills and that hungry, tortured look borne of the knowledge that we had to find just the PERFECT piece of junk to throw our money away on. (Not included in this discussion were the smart kids who saved their money for another day. I mean, how interesting are they anyway?) I wandered around, examining the selections of toys wistfully, feeling a pang of disappointment over and over again as I examined the price tags. Five bucks just doesn't buy much fair junk these days. As I went around I began to notice that much of the junk in the stalls was very much the same. In fact, it was exactly the same, but each salesperson would try to arrange their fair junk in a slightly different configuration to stand out from the stalls to the left and right. I finally resigned myself to the fact that none of the toys I wanted were within my price range, and so I began just visiting the different stalls and trying the stuff out.

Now we get down to the secret I promised. Pay attention, it shouldn't be hard to see.

I walked up to one stall with a friend of mine, and we began admiring some plastic swords. And by admiring, I mean we picked them up and started swinging them at imaginary bad guys. The guy at this stall barked out at us to put them down and I, willing to pretend that I was genuinely interested in his merchandise, asked: "How much are these?" With nothing more than another growl, he snapped some sarcastic comment and snatched the swords out of our hands. My friend and I quickly wandered away, and found another stall. This one was crawling with kids, and the salesman was out front actually sword fighting with kids. My friend and I went there and joined in the fun for a while, and it was there that I actually spent my precious money. (On a trick pack of gum that would snap your fingers when you took the fake stick of gum out of the fake pack... Yep, I know. I certainly go MY money's worth!)

After a long and very fun day at the fair, we began wandering back towards the school buses. As we walked, I remember passing the grouchy guy's stand. It was still stuffed to the gills with fake swords, stuffed animals, and other assorted junk. He sat on a stool glowering at the passing people. Then we passed the cheerful guy's stand. It was empty. Completely sold out except for a few broken toys stacked on the counter. The guy was out front sweeping up and waving and joking with people as they passed.

Did you get the secret? I guess it is not really a secret, but of all my childhood memories, this one stands out. I imagine that the second guy probably lost some money on the toys that got broken by kids playing with them. I am sure that a few toys walked off without being paid for while he was having fun with his customers. But how much do you want to bet that those minor costs were more than covered by the profits he made by selling out his entire inventory? How much profit do you think the grouchy guy made from his carefully protected and unmolested inventory still on the shelves at the end of the day?

Attitude is everything, especially when convincing people to part with their hard-earned money is involved. If people feel welcome to come on in, touch the merchandise, and get the feeling that the salesperson enjoys their job, they are more likely to spend money, and come back to spend more later. I could come up with several more examples in my life, including a used-car salesman that actually trust. But I think you get the point.

I did, that day long ago when I spent my few dollars on a cheap toy, just because someone took the time to play swords with me.


© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Random Short Story Plot (Continued)

Madeline stepped through the portal doorway quickly, her face red with embarrasment. She hadn't really intended to be disrespectful of the agent, she was just in a hurry to get through the wormhole before it closed. Why did Glen have to rub it in her face by bending over to help him? He had seemed even more surly and distant than ever lately, and she was at her wit's end trying to figure out why. Didn't he recognize how hard she worked to make him happy? This vacation was just another example. She had been planning for months, and the closest he had come to showing gratitude was when he stopped insisting he didn't want to go. She almost perferred active resistance to his silent, passive-aggressive attitude. Oh well. He could stay miserable if he wanted, she was going to enjoy her time off of work. No whining patients or arrogant doctors harrassing her, no inferior co-workers to infuriate her with their incompetence.

As she passed through the silvery-blue fog of the portal entrance, she felt the familiar cold chill of interdimensional travel. She hated it, but it usually only lasted an instant, and then she would be stepping out of the far end of the wormhole and into the destination terminal. This time though, something was wrong. She continued walking, which was weird, since in all her past travels she never remembered taking more than just the one step. Pick up your foot and step through the portal, and it came down on the floor of your destination. Surrounded by the silvery blue fog, she began to panic, and then she felt something grab her wrist.


Glen stepped through the portal with the same casual indifference as Madeline. He also was immediately surprised when after three or four seconds he was still surrounded by the silvery blue fog. He felt the panic rising in the back of his mind, but he forced it to the back of his mind. In his long years as a cop he had learned that panic is normal, but given free reign it would make it nearly impossible to think rationally. Instead, he funneled the burst of adrenaline to focus and sharpen his thoughts. He was no inter-dimensional physicist, but he knew that the human body could survive perpetually in the murky environment of the wormhole tunnel. In fact, while the body was in the midst of inter-dimensional travel it was in a sort of suspended animation and ceased to age at all. So on the bright side, if he was somehow stuck in the tunnel he would not die. On the other hand, he could conceivably sit here for centuries with nothing but his conscious mind for company. No physical sensation or awareness of the passage of time would wreak havoc on his sanity. He quickly squashed the memory of a story about a scientist in the early days of inter-dimensional travel who had become lost in a tunnel, only to emerge a century later irreversibly insane. He struggled to make some progress, not sure if he could actually make himself move, but the physical effort reassured him somewhat. As he waved his hand around him he thought he felt it brush against something. Instinctively he grasped it, amazed to find anything tangible in this murky place. As he grasped the thing, a terrified scream burst through the murk.


Madeline screamed, frozen with terror. Something had a hold of her wrist, and was gripping it with a cold viselike strength. She screamed until her lungs should have been emptied of air, but the scream continued. The fact that she could not feel the scream, nor the panic of having no air in her lungs made her even more terrified, and she screamed all the louder. Another hand grasped her arm, just a bit above the other and she felt as if her sanity was slowly slipping away. Then she heard a voice. It was a calm voice, speaking with a quiet authority and tinged with annoyance and disgust.
"Calm down Maddy, you are going to hurt yourself."
The surprise of having her hysteria interrupted by Glen's disgusted voice drove the panic immediately from her mind. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to hurt him. But the relief of understanding what the mysterious thing was that had grabbed her battled mightily with the impulse and finally won.
"Glen? Is that you? What is happening?" Her voice trembled with fear and anger, battling within her mind for control. She reached her other hand out and placed it over his hand where it grasped her wrist. Glen's maddeningly calm voice answered, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
"I'm not a freaking scientist am I? Your guess is as good as mine. It seems like we are stuck for some reason."
"I told you to hurry! This is all your fault."
Glen could not believe what he was hearing. Had she really gone from hysterical to catty that fast?


The portal agent whose name was Bill and who was looking forward to going off shift in five minutes entered the control room and dropped the stack of portal passes on the counter in front of a technician named Ted. He mechanically picked them up and dropped them in an auto counter which immediately began flipping through them.
"Which portal?" his bored voice intoned. "64B" Bill answered with the same amount of interest. He didn't even slow down to watch, but headed directly for the break area in the back. He was stopped by the voice of the Ted, which was no longer bored and disinterested.
"Which portal did you say?" Bill repeated the portal number over his shoulder without slowing. But Ted's next words stopped him in his tracks.
"It looks like we have a castaway... or two."


To Be Continued...


© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Random Short Story Plot...

My favorite collection of random generators resides at the Seventh Sanctum. This entry is the result of a randomly generated short story plot.

The story is about a lawman and a nurse. It starts at a portal to another dimension. The story climaxes with a failure.

"Come on! We're late!" Madeline's voice rasped on Glen's last nerve. Vacation was supposed to be relaxing, right? Then why was he more stressed right now than just before a raid on an occupied meth house? Glen picked up his pace a fraction, but was still falling behind his wife's frantic pace. The terminal was deserted this time of the morning, and unfortunately there was no way they would be getting separated. She looked over her shoulder at him, and gave him the same exasperated face she gave to patients who disregarded her medical advice because she was "just a nurse". He had seen it thousands of times, and it used to be amusing to him. Now, it was another straw on the proverbial camel's back, though it was not yet broken. Not yet. The emotionless voice over the PA system announced that portal 64B would be closing in five minutes.

"That's us! We're going to miss it, and then we will have to wait another solar cycle before it opens again! Let's go!" Glen picked up his pace. The thought of having to wait in the terminal with his wife for another solar cycle enough to encourage him. They reached the end of the moving sidewalk, and turned down the corridor leading to portal 64B. The odd metallic scent of inter-dimensional travel was strong in the air as they passed other portals, some open and admitting passengers. Others were closed, the silvery blue fog of the closed wormhole entrance moving hypnotically. Passengers lounged here and there, looking bored and nervous at the same time as travellers have looked for millennia. He turned his attention back to the slim figure of his wife walking a half-dozen paces ahead. She was still stunning, her brown hair cut short and her figure still trim. But he had a hard time recapturing the excitement her beauty used to give him. He wondered again, as he had many times over the past few months why that should be. Before he could properly get very far into that line of thought, a dim overhead sign indicated that they had reached portal 64B. A bored agent was already gathering up all of the portal passes and preparing to leave.

"Wait!" His wife shrieked. The agent jumped, dropping the sheaf of passes on the floor. His face registered annoyance, but Madeline was as blind to that as she ever was to Glen's annoyance. She walked up and shoved their portal passes in the man's face, actually walking on the dropped passes as she did so. Glen arrived just as the poor man was about to explode, and without a word bent down and began picking up the passes.

"Sorry man, she is really excited to get on with vacation." Madeline looked down at him with the beginnings of a sneer. He ignored her, and just kept picking up the passes. The man looked back and forth from the portal passes in Madeline's hand to Glen kneeling on the floor and a look of understanding seemed to dawn on his face. His face became a mask, and he nodded to Madeline with a perfectly polite and friendly smile.

"Yes ma'am, you made it just in time. Please place your luggage on the luggage belt, and step this way." He gestured towards the portal with one hand, while taking the passes from her with the other. As she stepped towards the portal, Glen retrieved the last few passes from the floor and stood up straightening them as he and the portal agent stood watching her drop her bags on the conveyor belt and walk through the round doorway.

Glen handed the sheaf of portal passes to the agent, who shook his head and smiled wryly. As soon as Madeline's form had melted into the swirling inter-dimensional fog he chuckled.

"You know, if you want, I could accidentally send you to a completely different dimension." Glen smiled, and actually pondered it for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

"Nah, she would track me down, and then where would I be?" The agent nodded knowingly. "I understand man. Try and enjoy your trip." Glen nodded and stepped up to the luggage conveyor. He placed his bag on it, and walked through the round doorway where his wife had just disappeared.

The agent shook his head, straightened the pile of passes in his hand and walked away, not noticing the flashing red light on the control panel.

To Be Continued...

© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

Interview with Dr. Eliza

http://www.chayden.net/eliza/Eliza.html


>> Hello.
How do you do.
Please state your problem.>>
I am nervous
Is it because you are nervous that you came to me ?>>
Yes
You seem to be quite positive.>>
I think I am
How long have you been ?>>
years
I'm not sure I understand you fully.>>
I have been nervous for years
You say you have been nervous for years ?>>
yes
You are sure.>>
yes
I see.>>
How can you help me?
Why do you ask ?>>
That is why I am here
Does that question interest you ?>>
That is why I came here to speak to you today
What is it you really wanted to know ?>>
What to do about my nervousness
Your nervousness ?>>
my feelings of fear or apprehension
Why do you say your feelings of fear or apprehension ?>>
I am trying to describe my nervousness
Does that suggest anything else which belongs to you ?>>
like what?
Are such questions much on your mind ?>>
not really
Does that have anything to do with the fact that your nervousness ?>>
Probably.
Does that have anything to do with the fact that your feelings of fear or apprehension ?>>
You are not making sense
What makes you think I am not making sense ?>>
You are using the wrong tense with your pronouns
Does it please you to believe I am using the wrong tense with my pronouns ?>>
No.
Are you saying no just to be negative?>>
Yes.I understand.>>
So now what?
What answer would please you most ?>>
The cure.
Earlier you said your nervousness .>>
Yes. The cure to my nervousness.
You seem to be quite positive.>> I am.
Do you believe it is normal to be ?>>
Who wouldn't be?
Please go on.>>
Well, most people would want the cure to their problems.
What does that suggest to you ?>>
That they don't enjoy having problems.
Do you feel strongly about discussing such things ?>>
That is why I am here today.
What do you think ?>>
About what?
What comes to mind when you ask that ?>>
That you are avoiding my questions.
Is it important that your questions ?>>
See, there is another grammatical flaw.
But your questions .>>
And again.
I'm not sure I understand you fully.>>
That is because you are stupid.
Is that the real reason ?>>
I believe so.
Can you elaborate on that ?>>
I came here for help, and you just keep asking me questions.
Do you say you came here for help for some special reason ?>>
My nervousness.
Your nervousness ?>>
Do we have to go through this again?
Does that have anything to do with the fact that your nervousness ?>>
It has everything to do with it!
Please go on.>>
Gah!
What does that suggest to you ?>>
That I am getting tired of this!
Do you enjoy being getting tired of this ?>>
Do you enjoy getting tired?
We were discussing you -- not me.>>
Well, it was a dumb question.
Do you feel strongly about discussing such things ?>>
Most of the time.
I'm not sure I understand you fully.>>
I'll say it again: You are Stupid.
Do you sometimes wish you were stupid ?>>
How much is this costing me again?
Have you asked such questions before ?>>
Only when someone was ripping me off.
Have you asked anyone else ?>>
I am strongly considering just that.
Is it because you are strongly considering just that that you came to me ?>>
No.
You are being a bit negative.>>
You are being a bit stupid.
Perhaps you would like to be being a bit stupid .>>
Are you insulting me?
Why are you interested in whether I am insulting you or not ?>>
Because I want to know if I am justified in unplugging you!
Do you think its likely that you are justified in unplugging I ?>>
Yes.
You are sure.>>
Yes.
I see.>>
What?
Why do you ask ?>>
What is wrong with you?
Does that question interest you ?>>
OK, I think we are done here.
That's quite interesting.>>
Good bye.
Please go on.>>
No.
Why not ?>>
I'm leaving.
How long have you been leaving ?>>
Not long enough obviously.
What does that suggest to you ?>>
Why Am I still here?
What is it you really wanted to know ?>>
The meaning of life, the universe, and everything.
Do you feel strongly about discussing such things ?>>
42.
I'm not sure I understand you fully.>>
Goodbye.
Goodbye. Thank you for talking to me.>>
Sure!
Please go on.>>
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
What does that suggest to you ?


© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved

The Looberry Shack

(Just a note by way of giving credit where credit is due. The entries that tell stories about Looberry Island are all my original work, but not all of the settings, plot devices, and/or characters are. They belong collectively and individually to a wonderful group of writers who come together every November in the Urinal Cakes thread on the NaNoWriMo forums. (And other places in the off-season.) I enjoy our random absurdity so much, I decided to continue it on my own, just as a writing exercise. If you are one of those wonderful authors, and you are not happy that I am borrowing your character, please let me know. I promise I will stop. But I hope everyone will see this as a tribute to this strange wonderful world we create together, and not plagiarism.)


The elephant, having decided that I was clean enough now, was sitting in front of me with a look of expectation on her face. (Yes, sitting. Like a dog, in fact.) I stared back, not sure what to do. "She's waiting for a treat. You need to give her a treat after all that hard work." The typist said, without looking up from her Macbook.

"Ummm... what do... I mean... what does...umm... I don't..." I stammered. What do you give an elephant for a treat?

"Poetry."
I jumped. The lady in black was back. She had a large mug of what I was pretty sure would be cooking sherry in one hand, and a tattered notebook in the other. I could smell the notebook from here. In fact, like a cartoon, I could see little wavy lines of stink rising from it. I felt nauseous.

"What is that?" I asked through the rising gorge I felt in the back of my throat.

"Cooking sherry, naturally." She answered, taking a long pull from the mug. I shook my head and fought the urge to cover my nose.

"No. What is that smell?"

"Oh. Poetry. I have a talent." The lady in black seemed pleased that I had asked, and she opened up the notebook. The elephant jumped up and began running around in circles, her little tail wagging back and forth. The ground was shaking, and I was feeling pretty nervous, but nobody else seemed to even notice that the elephant seemed to think it was a dog.
"You think that is weird? Wait til you meet the dog." The woman in black said.
I forgot she could read minds. The lounging typist had reached beneath her chaise and located a set of what appeared to be knitted ear muffs and was busy affixing them to her ears when a swarm of seagulls appeared out of nowhere.
I stood there, mouth agape with no clue where to turn, or what to do. I almost jumped out of my skin when someone grabbed my hand. I spun to see who it was, then my mind did some more spinning when I saw that it was a disembodied hand floating a few feet above the sand that had grabbed me. I thought I was going to pass out, but then the woman in black snapped: "Twilly! Invisible!"
A muffled voice replied: "Oh yeah, right. Forgot." The hand lengthened into an arm, then a shoulder, then a complete body holding a shimmering piece of knitted cloth in one hand, my hand in the other. It was a chubby guy wearing a "Dave Barry for President" t-shirt and a pair of tattered khaki shorts.
"You might want to get inside. It is about to get fishy out here." The flock of seagulls circling round the woman in black were dropping payloads at regular enough intervals that it sounded like a rainstorm, and then the pelicans showed up. Twilly tugged at my hand, and gestured with the shimmery cloth up the beach, away from the cavorting elephant. I looked where he was gesturing, and saw what I took at first to be a pile of construction waste. On second glance, I realized that it was actually some kind of a building.
"Let's go! You really don't need to hear this!" Twilly appeared to be getting nervous, and he looked longingly at the lounging typist's earmuffs. "I gotta get Chaimann to knit me some too!" The woman in black cleared her throat, and looked around imperiously at all of the people gathered around her on the beach. (By which of course I mean the elephant, the lounging typist with the knitted earmuffs, who was managing ten-finger typing while holding the tattered umbrella to protect herself from seagull payloads. And myself and the person she called Twilly, although he seemed to be determined to subtract us from the total.)
"Ode to Spatulas Employed as Disciplinary Tools" she proclaimed. And I swear I heard the elephant gasp: "OOOOH! My Favorite!"
Then Twilly was literally dragging me across the sand, shrieking at the top of his lungs: "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALALALALALALA!" A fish dropped from out of nowhere to the sand, and a flock of gulls and pelicans pounced on it. I finally came to my senses enough to get my feet moving and Twilly and I picked up speed. As he neared the ramshackle building he screamed: "POETRY WARNING! TAKE COVER!" Several fish fell flopping to the sand, and a dark-haired woman in a tropical print mu-mu ran out with a skillet and caught two or three before dashing back inside. We reached the porch and Twilly dragged me up the stairs three at a time, all the while keeping up an ear-splitting racket of nonsense syllables and warnings of impending poetry and fish showers. The door slammed behind us, and Twilly collapsed against it, gasping for breath.
"What is this place? And why does it smell like a truck stop bathroom?" I asked the quivering Twilly. He looked at me for a second, then without a word, flung the shimmering fabric up and over his head. One second, he was sitting there staring at me with wide gaping eyes, and the next, I was staring at the spot where he had been sitting by the door. The gong orchestra in my head was back, and ticked off at the lack of applause. I was also beginning to feel a bit nauseous. I saw a tattered couch nearby, and I decided that for now, that looked like a safe place to relax and lose my mind. I plopped into it and massaged my temples. I was just beginning to calm down when I heard an imperious voice with an obviously fake British accent speak.
"Most Exalted of Castaways, may I interest you in a beverage and an anti-inflammatory tablet for your headache?" Finally! Someone interested in my comfort and sanity! I looked up to see who this un-looked for savior was, and the gong orchestra went berserk.

A baboon dressed in a starched tuxedo stood in front of me, holding a polished wooden tray with a glass of ice water (with a slice of lemon perched artistically on the rim) and what looked like two Extra-Strength Tylenol tablets on a neatly folded napkin. I gaped for only a moment, before nodding my head and taking the proffered refreshment and medication. I swallowed the tablets and drained the glass in one long gulp, then held it out to the baboon with a trembling hand. Although I am not an expert on animal behaviors under normal circumstances, I was positive that the baboon's eyes lit up with delight.
"May I serve your excellency some more fresh spring water?" I nodded numbly, not sure whether the very toothy smile the baboon was wearing was ingratiating or predatory. He placed my glass back on the tray and with a very polite bow turned and walked quickly out of the room.

Elephants that think they are dogs, fish that think they are rain, and now a baboon who thought he was a butler. What could possibly top all of that?

© 2009 Tyler Willson. All rights reserved