Ali Dawood should push her as usual the breeding
Cristof P. Stepnowski
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.
I will guarantee anonymity except in cases of blatant abuse.
I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
uncorrelated tabulations and then deleting the emails.
(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
resondents want anonymity it's hard to avoid.)
I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
you have no particular reason to trust me. Someday, I hope.
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
--
at the house next door: "Wonder if I dare ask the
Boss for a rise? Millie will sure be mad if I don't get some
money for her soon!" Just as I was idly wondering who
"Millie" was, much as a person waiting at a telephone
thinks idly, the insistent Inner voice came to me again.
"Lobsang! Our decision is made. The hour has come
for you to write again. This next book will be a vital task.
You must write stressing one theme, that one person can
take over the body of another, with the latter person's full
consent."
I started in dismay, and almost broke the telepathic con-
tact. Me write again? About that. I was a "controversial
figure" and hated every moment as such. I knew that I
was all that I claimed to be, that all I had written before
was the absolute truth, but how would it help to rake up a
story from the lurid Press's silly season? That was beyond
me. It left me confused, dazed, and very sick at heart, like
a man awaiting execution.
12
"Lobsang!" The telepathic voice was charged with con-
siderable acerbity now; the rasping asperity was like an
electric shock to my bemused brain. "Lobsang! We are in
a better position to judge than you; you are enmeshed in
the toils of the West. We can stand aside and evaluate.
You have but the local news, we have the world."
Humbly I remained silent, awaiting a continuation of the
message, agreeing within myself that "They" obviously
knew what was right. After some interval, the Voice came
again. "You have suffered much unjustly, but it has been
in a good cause. Your previous work has brought much
good to many, but you are ill and your judgment is at
fault