I'm busy with my new shell replacement login script, and it's almost foolproof.
Let's just say it pops up with:
"Yes means No and No means Yes. Delete all files [Y]? "
upon login. I'm really starting to worry about the number of account breakins
we've been having recently.... The manager isn't though. His main concern
appears to be the number of computer-related fatalities on campus. Funny
world, isn't it?
I flip the excuse card. "DOPPLER EFFECT" Sounds implausible enough that it's
plausable - with a little work of course.
The phone, the bane of my existance, rings.
"Hello, Computer Room" I say, being helpful
"Is this the Technicians?" The caller asks.
Amazing the number of deaf people that use these things. What the hell, I'm
bored..
"Yes it is" I lie (Nixon could've done with me)
"I've got a problem with my floppy drive, it doesn't seem to be reading all
the time"
"Hmmm. How old is the drive?"
"About a year.."
"And it sometimes fails and sometimes works, but it's starting to fail more
and more?"
"YES!"
"Yeah, it's the Doppler effect of magnetism.."
"I thought that only happened with light and sound?"
>Bullshit mode ON<
"Yes, well it's been found that on a spinning surface, like a disk, the
particle's magnetic alignment changes, especially when the head is stationary
and slightly magnetised in respect to it."
"Duh. Oh"
"So, what you need to do is to demagnetise the head. Have you got a disk head
demagnetising loop?"
"Uh.... No?"
"OK, we'll have to do it the hard way. Have you got your original diskettes
for your software?"
"Yeah."
"Right, chuck them in the drive, one by one, and format them."
"WHAT?!"
"Don't worry, it won't work - remember the drive is failing. All that happens
is that the virgin magnetic field of the disks realigns the magnetic field of
the head, because they weren't written by a doppler effected drive."
"Oh, yeah!"
"So, when it gives you a write error and asks if you want to continue, you
say yes. Do it with all your original diskettes, then, to complete the
demagnetising process, run a head cleaning diskette through the drive as
well, which will pick up the stray magenetic particles clinging to the head."
"Oh. Ok. Thanks"
"Don't thank me - IT'S MY JOB"
I put the phone down, it rings again. It's the big boss.
"Simon, could you come to my office please?"
>ALERT!<
Quick as I can, I press the panic button on our LAN-Analyser, or to be more
precise, the "Generate 90% random traffic" button
"Sure, would you like me to come now, or..
The other phone rings. I chuck it on hands free
"Hello, Computer Room, Simon Here, How can I help?"
"THE NETWORK IS DOWN, ALL OUR PCS HAVE SHIT THEMSELVES!" the voice on hands
-free screams into the mouthpeice of the other phone
"I see" I say calmly "Yes, our Monitor shows it up, it looks to be a bad
segment of thinwire - please hold the line while I unplug it"
I press the "I just got a raise" button (AKA "Stop Traffic Generation") on the
Lan Analyser, and almost immediately the user shouts back "Excellent, it's
working now, thanks"
"That's ok, don't mention it. Have a nice day"
The big-boss has been listening to all this, so I reckon that the trip to his
office won't be so bad after all. I tell him I'll be right down as soon as
I secure the net and hang up. On the way down, I invent a new buzzword which
always keep management happy. Complete Transient Lockout. Sounds much better
than pulling the plug. Like Master-Reset sounds better than off-switch.
I get to his office and the staffing officer is there too. Uh-oh.
"Simon - How would you like to be our System Manager?"
?!!!
"Well... I don't know, I like that hands on.."
"Extra 10 grand a year, Varisty Car.."
"Monaro?"
"Ok"
"Sold!"
....And so ends the saga, as it should have at #10.
It's nice to know that the BOFH lived through his experience. But, hey,
what about that rotten ex-System manager that almost took away the life of our
beloved bofh? I think it's time for our BOFH to take a little revenge on that
puny know-nothing hairless ape!! So, if all of you will allow me (esp. Simon),
I will like to give you guys the following story ... right after the BOFH
recovers from his stay at the hospital after being shot by you-know-who ...
__________________________________________________________________________
Revenge Of The Bastard Operator From Hell
I finish gathering my things from my hospital room. I check the duffle bag to
make sure I grab everything ... let's see ... toothbrush, comb, toothpaste,
mouthwash, water pitcher, inflatable matress, tourniquets, syringes, blood
pressure gauge, a dozen tongue depressors, several bottles of vitamins,
tranquilizers, and several bottles of ibuprofen ... yep! I grabbed
*everything*!!
As I made my way out, I decided to try one last pass at the cute blonde nurse
who, after the first day tending to me, avoided me the like the plague. I try
to be extra pleasant this time.
"Well, looks like this is it. Is it all right if I call you sometime?"
She turns her nose up into the ceiling.
"Go drain a cow, you COMPUTER GEEK!"
OOOOH! Bit of an uptight, frigid you-know-what! I try to come up with a witty
comeback, but the alarm goes off as the staff scramble to handle a patient
suffering cardiac arrest. As the blonde she-devil turns from the counter, I
yank the power cord from her Patient Info CRT. It looks like she's too busy
to use it, anyway ... I commit her name to memory. First chance I'll get, I'll
delete her name from the hospital payroll database ...
... I kick the door open and enter my old digs at Operations. A terrible odor
hits me in the face ... the warm stench of a men's room stall lingers in the
air. As I shut the door, I notice a stack of empty pizza packs that's piled
about 6 feet height. Quick observation reveals a slice of pizza covered with
cheese, bacon, and beans. As I stroll towards the operator's table, I see
Sam (the janitor) with his size 5 feet (which gives him a weird uneven gait),
his head buried into a copy of "Swank" ... covergirl Melissa Mounds proudly
smiling on the front ... her shoulders thrust forward to emphasize her "assets"
... I pick up a 3.5 inch disk drive and drop it on Sam's head ...
>CLUNK<
"Hey!! What?! Who?! Where?! Why?! ... "
"When and how! How now, fat cow!"
"Oh, my god! It's ... it's ..."
"THE BASTARD OPERATOR FROM HELL! I'm back and I'm *pissed* off!"
Sam blubbers, "B-b-b-but, y-y-y-y-you can't .... I-I-I mean ..."
"Oh, yes I can!"
With a hard yank on his chair, Sam goes flying into a pile of 80 Mb disks
stacked against the wall.
>CRASH<
Well, that takes care of Sam. NOW ...
>clickty< >click< >click< >click< >click< >click< >click<
login: root
Password:
Bingo. I log into the root account. Stupid amateurs.
>clickity< >clickity< >click< >clickity< >clickity< >clickity<
I grep all the e-mail files to search for the name/initials of a particular
ex-System Manager.
As the system flies through the files, I pick up the discarded Swank magazine
and start "reading the articles" to kill time ...
>BEEP<
Ah! According to an e-mail dates about a week ago, the bastard ex-System
Manager is now teaching a computer science class at a local JC.
The net draws closer around my prey ...
After a fierce struggle, the JC computer operator is finally overcomed from the
blows to his head. I tie him up and stick him into the closet. I sit myself
down at the operator's table and look for my prey. With some time, I hack
into his school's root account. A 'who' reveals that the punk isn't currently
logged in. I set up a background program that watches for his login every 5
minutes ... I whip out the Swank mag and start "reading" again ...
>BEEP<
Bingo! He's just logged in. I hook my tty to his /dev/tty so his screen is
echoed onto mine. The dork fires up 'talk' and starts a conversation with
another user. A little research into the passwd file and student records
reveals the user to be a female Humanities major. The conversation between the
two is filled with perverted references to whips, stuffed animals, and
mayonnaise. I quickly switch on 'script' to save a copy of this lurid
conversation. When the subject turns to biodegradable sexual aids, I figure
it's time to step in ...
I intercept his talk signal as the Humanities wench is still typing ...
"... so, what you wearing, you sex-fiend you ... "
"My love, I think it's time that you can I get SERIOUS."
" ... What? What do you mean?"
"I think we should get married. You know, start a family and all that ..."
"What?! But, what about my husband? I can't divorce him! Without his ATM
card, I'm nothing!"
"Well, maybe you should stop spending so much money, bitch!"
"Hey!"
"Besides, you spend waaay too much bread on make-up! When's the last time you
saw what your REAL face looked like?"
"Hey! Why, you little ... "
"Shut up! Look! If you can't handle this relationship, I could always go back
to the animals ... "
"ANIMALS! My, god! I knew you were sick! After the honey and ball bearings,
I thought that was the worst!"
"Oh, yeah! You're lucky we never got around to the peanut butter!"
"No! You little shit, I'll ..."
"Oh, by the way! I'm scripting this talk session. I'll just send a copy of
this file to your husband ..."
She CTL-D's the talk session.
Poor thing. I feel a little sorry for her ... NOT! Ah, well, to save her from
anymore pain, I remove her /usr/mail file ...
Ah, what the hell ...
>rm -r *<
She's a HUMANITIES major ... what the heck she needed a computer account for,
anyway?
Now ...
The bastarad is trying to start up the talk session again, so I kill the
process. Before he can start it up again I remove 'talk' from /usr/bin.
On his screen:
----------------------------------
% talk mst
%
% talk: killed
% talk mst
% talk: Command not found
----------------------------------
Heh, heh, heh ...
On his screen:
----------------------------------
% cd /usr/bin
% pwd
/usr/bin
%
---------------------------------
> rm ls <
-------------------------------
% ls
% ls: Command not found
------------------------------
Man! I can be *such* a shit!!
I move in for the kill ...
> rm logout <
------------------------------
% logout
% logout: Command not found
------------------------------
I figure he's gonna call Operations, and within 15 seconds ...
>RING<
"Operations! How may I help you?" I say in a *sweet voice* ...
"Yes ... something's gone screwy with the system ... is there anything wrong?"
"Well .... let's see ..."
I change his .login to execute the following ...
#
if ($LOGNAME != "dingo kidneys") rm -r *
"Ah, yes! I see the problem. Looks like some sort of problem with the 'talk'
tool. Were you using talk?"
"Er ... yes, I was ..."
"No sweat. Just type 'source .login' and the parameters will be reset."
"Will they take care of everything?"
"*OH* YES, IT WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING."
"Thanks."
One minute later, the phone line buzzes again.
"Hey, all my files are gone!"
"Really? What did you do?"
"*I* didn't do anything! All my files are gone!"
"Wait ... maybe we have backups. How long have you had your account?"
"About a month."
"No worries."
I take a quick stroll around operations into the tape area and pick out the
tape labeled 'System Bkup' dated last month. I take a lighter and set the
tape on fire. I toss the rest into the waste basket.
"Sorry, but that particular backup tape seems to be damaged."
"What?! (Moan) Can't you do anything?"
"Sure. What's your userid?"
Heh, heh, heh ...
I do a kill -9 ...
"Hey, I'm logged out!"
"Yeah, try logging in again and tell me what happens?"
"Okay. >type< >click< >click< Hey! I can't log in!"
"You must be making typos. Type it *slowly*."
"Okay. >click< >click< >click< ..."
"WELL?" sounding just a *little* impatient ...
"I still can't log in!"
"Yeah, and I'll make sure you can't ever log in ... you flippin' punk!"
"What .... wait ... it can't be! Y-y-y-you're dead!!"
"Wrong!! This is the BOFH, and I got you asshole!"
....
I issued him an ultimatum ... confess to everything he did (and everything that
I did!) so I can get my name cleared, and I won't send a copy of the lurid talk
session to certain school of officials. He agrees.
...
Two days later, I'm back at my old job. I see in the newspaper that the
ex-System Manger got run over by a Domino's delivery truck (delivering a large
cheese, bacon and bean pizza to the operations center.) Ah, well ... I'm back
at my job, and I immediate get into a groove ...
"Hello? I can't seem to find a particular file? Can you help?"
"Sure. What's your account name? "
... And, the beat goes on ...