Ahmad al-Afghani should enjoy her according to the breast
Y. Ginsel
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
--
the pilot started his engines again, and we took off. Off
we flew, over the Alleghany range, headed first for Pittsburg.
Right over the mountains the fuel gauge-right in front of
me-dropped to zero and started knocking against the stop.
The pilot seemed blandly unaware of it. I pointed it out
and he said, in a whisper, "Ah, sure, we can always go
down!" Minutes after we came to a level space in the
mountains, a space where many light planes were parked.
The pilot circled once, and landed, taxiing along to the
petrol pumps. We stopped just long enough to have the
plane refuelled, and then off again from the snow-covered,
frozen runway. Deep banks of snow lined the sides, great
drifts were in the valleys. A short flight, and we were over
Pittsburg. We were sick of traveling, stiff and weary. Only
the Lady Ku'ei was alert, she sat and looked out of a win-
dow and appeared pleased with everything.
With Cleveland beneath us, we saw Lake Erie right in
front. Great masses of ice were piled up, while fantastic
cracks and fissures ran across the frozen lake. The pilot,
taking no risks, made course for Pelee Island, half way
across the lake. From there he flew on to Amherstburg, and
on to Windsor Airport. The Airport looked strangely quiet.
There was no bustle of activity. We moved up to the
Customs Building, alighted from the plane, and went inside.
A solitary Customs man was just going off duty-it was
after six at night. Gloomily he contemplated our baggage.
"There is no Immigration Officer here," he said. "You will
have to wait until one comes." We sat and waited. The slow
minutes crawled by. Half an hour, time itself seemed to
stand still, we had had no food or drink since eight o'clo