122.123.147.11:6895 open socks4 proxy was used on 24 November for a
Hipcrime attack on nanae. And I got the port number by Googling so it
must have been open and was probably abused before that date.

It was used late North American Monday for a Hipcrime attack on
24hoursupport.helpdesk and the same open proxy was still there Tuesday
at 15:16 GMT.

At one time, RCN (formerly Erols) had the famous Afterburner on its
abuse desk. Now, it seems to have Dave Null.

Remember - go to RCN for your net-abuse needs. You put up a phishing
page? It will still be up on Valentine Day. You can get Giganews with
only IP authentication through RCN.

--
nothing of any
value.  One  could not  learn history  from architecture  any more than one
could  learn it  from books.  Statues, inscriptions,  memorial stones,  the
names  of streets -- anything that might throw light upon the past had been
systematically altered.
     'I never knew it had been a church,' he said.
     'There's  a lot  of  them left,  really,' said  the  old man,  'though
they've  been put  to other uses. Now,  how did that rhyme go? Ah! I've got
it!

        'Oranges and lemons,' say the bells of St. Clement's,
        'You owe me three farthings,' say the bells of St. Martin's--

there, now, that's as far as I can get. A farthing, that was a small copper
coin, looked something like a cent.'
     'Where was St. Martin's?' said Winston.
     'St.   Martin's?  That's  still  standing.  It's  in  Victory  Square,
alongside the picture gallery. A building with a kind of a triangular porch
and pillars in front, and a big flight of steps.'
     Winston  knew the  place well.  It was  a museum  used for  propaganda
displays  of  various kinds  -- scale  models of  rocket bombs and Floating
Fortresses, waxwork tableaux illustrating enemy atrocities, and the like.
     'St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields  it used  to be called,' supplemented the
old man, 'though I don't recollect any fields anywhere in those parts.'
     Winston  did not  buy the  picture. It  would have  been an  even more
incongruous  possession than the glass paperweight, and impossible to carry
home,  unless  it were  taken out  of its  frame. But  he lingered for some
minutes  more,  talking to the old  man, whose name, he discovered, was not
Weeks  --  as one might  have gathered from  the inscription over the shop-
front  --  but Charrington. Mr. Charrington,  it seemed, w