Big new websites are springing up to say the same old shit, big old bad guys now look like mute Bill O’Reillys, and there are still serious problems so large in the political system, human injustices so glaring yet so daunting, no anonymous Twitter feed dare mention them.
Brace yourselves, kids, because I’m about to let you have it. Playtime is over and it’s high time you pulled your heads out of your asses now.
You kids are too stupid to acknowledge the host lest it legitimize the parasite. I’m talking about congressional vote selling, telcoms stealing your internet, campaign finance reform. Attack this shit, you pussies! God damn it, help the real world fucking change something! You can’t DDoS cash incentives. Of course, you won’t be DDoSing SHIT when Cox Communications caps your bandwidth but what do you know about that?
You like to pretend like you’re doing something so controversial your pathetic lives are actually in some sort of danger but you can’t stop anything meaningful, nothing truly sinister, from taking place – or else you really would have a gun stuck in your face at 4 a.m. but you won’t. Because the real world doesn’t fuck around, but you wouldn’t know anything about that either. So you prance around like a faggot in his mother’s underwear behind Twitter accounts, IRC networks, Gay Fawkes masks, and talk about how badass you think you are to 1,000 people doing the same thing.
That’s just your behavior, though. And I don’t care about any of your ideals because I can see plainly that you don’t either. You’re just not passionate about anything except #opBART only because you’ve made that “operation” more about your faggy “anonymous” movement than a boy being shot – than freedom of speech itself. Remember when protests were called protests and didn’t need gung-ho internet terminology attached to them to motivate the youth? Yeah, me either, because my generation’s never had a spine.
The only useful effort I’ve seen put forth by people calling themselves anonymous – that doesn’t appear to be some anarchistic impulse of provocation, that doesn’t appear to be juvenile nor embarrass me on your behalf, is the effort of @AnonMedics. Damn, that’s awesome. You better be glad somebody’s following you around, ready to pull you out of whatever trouble your juvenile delinquency gets you into. Because I sure as hell wouldn’t wipe your ass if you shat yourself at my protest.
Whether you’re #antisec or #prosec – nobody gives a fuck because to onlookers you are full of redfaced angry nerdrage that embarrasses anyone who ever thought there might be this mysterious behind the scenes hacker group making big things happen. Grayhats, whitehats, blackhats – all subjective terminology like ‘terrorist’ and ‘freedom fighter’ except the only people who give a fuck is you and your hapless victims.
Also, I thought you were anarchists? So then why is this pussy crying about an attack on the state? You kids are inconsistent, shameful failures.
Your sweeping general statements about politics and law are laughably reproducible. Your arguments sound like Monday’s Tea Party advertisement debate. Your “news sources” are masturbatory rantholes. Your process of d0xing the non-believers is reprehensible. Your work ethic is slovenly. Your web design skills make me frown and uhh, an Anonymous networking site? *snickers* Your writing skills don’t exist. Like Milhouse, your “movement” is a forced meme that gets you banned from 4chan, only faster.
Your movement is fake.
This article is part of Anonifeld – a series about nothing (Anonymous).
In th3j35t3r’s constant struggle against Jihadists, he has grown increasingly similar to his most hated enemies. By committing several terror attacks on 9/11, he has become more like Al-Qaeda than ever before. But is it going too far to call th3j35t3r’s attacks terrorism? As a recent victim of an attack by th3j35t3r, Chronicle.SU is of the opinion that th3j35t3r is indeed a terrorist. He was quick to publish our personal details in the hopes that it would scare us into submission. By this action alone, th3j35t3r definitely fits the most basic definition for terrorist.
Recently identified as a possible astroturf campaign, th3j35t3r has fought hard against allegations that he uses a botnet. While several stories have been planted in the press promoting his denial of botnet ownership, such claims rely completely on th3je5t3r’s word – the word of a law-breaking anonymous vigilante. Curiously, he refuses to release the software which enables such remarkable attacks without the use of botnets. This kind of secretive vigilantism most definitely raises many important questions, even as th3j35t3r’s 9/11 hacks mark his steady descent into a world of pure terrorism. Such secrecy does not exactly scream “activist.”
While th3j35t3r may temporarily disrupt the communications of small Jihadist forums, he acts without the approval of the military. He can only be getting in the way of serious attempts at infiltration and espionage by real experts with real defense contracts. By making provocative military action completely outside the jurisdiction of America’s military, th3j35t3r is most definitely committing acts of terrorism. It is little wonder that so few military men support th3j35t3r. They know there is no place for vigilantism on the battlefield. Yet th3j35t3r, like many terrorists, works alone.
Th3j353t3r often targets web sites on shared hosting, such as Chronicle.SU, meaning his attacks cause collateral damage to innocent civilians. He razes entire virtual cities to silence a few extremists. This all amounts to another striking similarity between th3j35t3r and Jihadists. Th3j35t3r does not take any effort to minimize collateral damage.
Like the Jihadists, it is clear th3j35t3r’s favorite day for vigilante military action is 9/11. The line that separates him from the terrorists he attacks has grown increasingly thin, and to be honest, it’s surprising he has not been condemned by a military that is surely conducting serious business in the cybertheater. The final comparison between th3j35t3r and Jihadists is possibly the most profound. Where any sensible military acts only to achieve specific goals, terrorists like th3j35t3r and bin Laden only act to bring publicity to their cause. Th3j35t3r seeks to escalate military conflict just for fame. Real experts fight thanklessly and have no use for a jester prancing around the battlefield, begging for bitcoins.
People on the outside who just watch CNN and hear the name think anonymous is this group of White Knights when really they’re just trolls. Hateful, hateful trolls with ugly guts who eat happiness and shit hate. And that’s their good side.
Anonymous, with a capital A, is the dogshit anonymous responsible for the scientology embarrassments, icanhazcheezburger, and more. Publishing as #lulzteamsix or #antisex [their true identity] and #lumpthemalltogether because #nobodygivesashitanymore #soletsjustagreetocallthemvirgins, anonymous released another long wordy decree about nothing today, and somewhere, a primetime audience laughed hysterically.
So, like a small child who made all the adults laugh by doing something embarrassingly stupid, they just kept releasing these documents. And releasing them. Like a fish expelling eggs into the water, anonymous flooded the slow side of the internet with their stinky ignorant rotten press releases. And then it wasn’t funny anymore.
These messages to the world answer questions about anonymous that nobody asked, with explanations so frivolous and long-winded, the text-to-speech software is forced to take a deep breath and ask, “Really, dude? Really?” Nobody cares what anonymous is. Not even the FBI. Not even the people you’re trying to help. Nobody gives a flying nunfuck.
One episode of The Decree About Nothing pushed the old limits of allowable youtube videos by filling over eleven minutes with meaningless diatribe. The decree about nothing can be found below [be warned: watching this is a waste of time]:
It’s like one of those religious videos about Jesus.
“Expect us.” to what, exactly? Order a pizza to my house? SQL inject a fucking website? Republish publicly available information, like a pithy list containing the names and addresses of harmlessly impotent cops?
Early on in their “movement,” when Anonymous was charged with being “the Group About Nothing” they actually compiled a list of publicly records from the ALEC and US Chamber of Commerce and released them as “leaks.” Turns out, it was really just a sleight at Barrett Brown, who is considered so full of fail, not even Anonymous wanted him as their leader. They encrypted the torrent using his name and phone number as passwords. In light of these facts, we here at the Chronicle.SU objectively acknowledge that this is hilarious and probably the greatest thing Anonymous has ever done.
We are Anonymous, the group about nothing We are a Legion of jokers, college freshmen, and script kiddies We do not forgive our mommies for not buying us that new videogame, and ignoring our subsequent pleas We do not forget the time daddy wasn’t there Expect us to write more trite empty manifestos
If you bothered to read this one, you probably noticed Anonymous takes a specific stance on censorship. Their “manifesto” contained the word ‘unuseful.’ That’s a pretty harsh thing to say about censorship, but it’s not nearly as bad as calling it ‘useless.’
Have another, written by Barrett Brown. This one reeks of Charlie Sheen. Barrett Brown is the Charlie Sheen of anonymous. Winning!
Yet more. Sweet Jesus, now their writers are using the same fearmongering techniques employed by FOX News except this shit happens to be mind-numbingly stupid. What’s next, hacking phones?
WHY DO THEY KEEP WRITING THIS SHIT – Letter to my fellow man. It is just … you can check anonnews every day and there’s a bottomless supply of swill, JUST LIKE THIS, being churned out by … god only knows what kind of simple-minded trailer-dwelling ass-monkey with a DSL internet connection. I said it before as a joke, but now I am starting to really mean it: I find it difficult to imagine people out there, typing this shit up, who seriously believe in what they are doing. I wouldn’t trust it at all if the words didn’t come off as genuine – so genuinely stupid. I mean, the only logical explanation for why this material SUCKS SO HARD is that it’s gotta be a government operation to discredit Anonymous. Guys, you’re not really this stupid . . . right?
Analyzing Anonymous and anonymous and all its iterations has done NOTHING to repair my opinion of the virus that walks this earth you call humanity and I call a disease. This is tripe. Garbage. Useless. If this is you trolling me, through sheer will of stupidity, then you’ve won, Anonymous. Consider me trolled. Hard.
In a trend that appears to be sweeping the Chronicle.SU, resident columnist and editor Old Brutus has reportedly snubbed fame and left the Internet, saying true anonymity can not be achieved online. “Fuck that NSA Octopus,” he said.
Fuck that NSA Octopus!
But anonymity is not the mysterious writer’s only motivation for leaving the Web in exchange for newspapers.
Old Brutus, who recently discovered the Deepnet, or Dark Net, shut down his laptop Tuesday, saying, “That’s it. I’ve seen the entire Internet. I’m done.”
When asked what he plans to do in the absence of 4chan and its bottomless supply of jailbait, Old Brutus told the Chronicle this:
There ain’t shit out there for me that I ain’t already seen. Child porn? Hell, I was havin’ sex before I knew what sex was. My best friend had to tell me what me and his sister had just done together. Bomb-manufacturing? Shit, the Anarchist Handbook is just copied and pasted from the annals of Chronicle.SU! DRUGS AND BITCOINS? NIGGA, I HELPED APPERSON ‘N PICKARD MAKE THE WORLD’S SUPPLY OF LYSERGIC ACID DIETHYLAMIDE OUT OF AN ABANDONED MISSILE SOLO TILL TWINNY OT FO’!”
Indeed, Old Brutus is a man of many worlds whose “dick don’t never go down.” Sources indicate he has regressed to the use of a 1972 IBM Selectric typewriter and pleasures himself via phone sex while looking through a window into his neighbor’s yard.
Old Brutus can be found busking on the streets of Asheville, North Carolina, like a bum, for marijuana and dollar bills – or whatever you will give him. Toenail clippings and old receipts have uses, he said, but refused to go into detail about what those uses may be.
The Chronicle remains staffed largely by psy-operatives and cyber-intelligence officials who hate your freedom. Our CIA-enhanced pseudo-intellectual framework of satirical propagandist innuendo promises to continue subverting your ideology and feeding upon the very fears which we nurture inside each and every one of you. Now read. It’s okay. Read.
Loving endorsements from the omnipotent Lebal Drocer, Inc. ensure that the Chronicle will never die, but in fact absorb all weaker publications, such as pravda.ru, anonnews.org and Roanoke Revolution.
In related news, Lebal Drocer, Inc. is proud to announce its acquisition of roanoke revolution dot com. We hope you will enjoy the bland mediocrity of a culture where depth is only a measurement of the polluted river upon which it was founded.
Trolling such hardened trolls as the Tea Party is one of the most difficult of trolls and has even been called “impossible” by some. However, Chronicle.SU has found the exploit and is gracious enough to share it with you. Some of these tactics have been adopted from Grady Warren, master troll and scam artist. Chronicle.SU has honed his method into a more subversive and powerful edge, which can certainly be polished further by the internet community at large.
Begin with glittering pro American rhetoric that does nothing but praise the homeland. Use Sarah Palin’s speeches as a reference for super-effective catchphrases. Do not leave the slightest hint of sarcasm here! You must love America! Make the best possible use of American imagery.
Avoid mentioning the Tea Party by name. Any attacks on the holy name of the Tea Party will be instantly deflected by deep love for the “savior” of America. Instead, attack individuals. Attack any places that Tea Party members congregate. Avoid saying questionable things about anything that falls under the sacred banner of the Tea Party.
Tea Party members are largely illiterate, so video or audio is the preferable medium. Make the most creative use of any audio or video site where you think Tea Party members are likely to congregate. Radio shows like Sean Hannity are especially troll-proof, but I have heard at least one good troll get through and PWN the fuck out of Hannity. It isn’t impossible with the right plan. Open lines Friday gives the most leeway for trolling. This type of radio show absolutely loves to hear from young conservatives.
Troll on the right platform! A video on LiveLeak will go a lot farther to troll Tea Party members than a video on YouTube. Anything that is used by young people is completely useless for trolling the Tea Party.
The Tea Party wishes that more young people and minorities were involved in their movement. It helps their poor image as a bunch of old racists. Use your status as a young person or minority for leverage when developing your Troll. This will go a long way towards success.
Keep your target audience in mind. They are old people who are afraid of everything except never ending war.
Keep the heart of your troll mild and undetectable. If that is not your style, save the outlandish statements for the end. Always have the response you want in mind, and be an effective troll. Practice trolling on 4chan if you’ve never trolled before. Take notes from successful trolls. There is nothing sadder than a complete n00b desperately trying to troll the Tea Party. Don’t give up if you don’t get it right the first time. The Tea Party is the hardest troll out there.
Here is an example of the super-rare Tea Party troll as successfully carried out by the glorious Chronicle.SU.
I was 18 years old when I agreed to meet up with a fat girl I met on the Internet. I think I met her on myspace. Up until that point, I’d never even hung out with fat girls, because I didn’t have many fat friends.
She was from my hometown, just three hours away, and apparently she’d seen my band play live while I was still in high school. Also, she read my website and followed the controversy behind how it went down. So she claimed to know me and, after a few phone calls, was very interested in seeing me.
‘What could it hurt?’ I thought. I said okay. She seemed nice, and her voice was cute. Besides, why be down on someone just because she’s heavy, right?
She arrived in town shortly after I gave her the okay to come out and John – my roommate and best friend at the time – offered to help us out by meeting her at her car and driving us back to the dorm together.
We parked and walked casually down the sidewalk toward the street where she was parked. Then, he spotted her about a second before I did and asked, “That’s her, isn’t it?”
I fought the urge to grimace and forced myself to continue smiling. “Yep, that’s her,” I replied through gnashing teeth.
And on that fateful February evening, as the girl lumbered toward me, wearing flip-flops and a light hoodie, I braced myself for what would turn out to be twelve laborious hours of tolerance. It was then I knew nothing about this night could be romantic.
On the car ride home, she told us how difficult it was to navigate through Richmond, because of all the one-way streets. John and I stared silently forward, but I knew it was important to keep the mood light so I pulled out a pipe, and some marijuana.
“Oh muh Gawd!” the fat girl exclaimed. “I only done this like once before, so don’t y’all laugh at me.”
‘She didn’t sound this southern on the phone,’ I remember thinking. ‘Why is it coming out now?’ And that is how I learned that some people – when put in unfamiliar situations – will revert to a simpler version of themselves, as a sort of defense mechanism.
And it works, because I realized even though she can talk like a regular person when she wants to, she is a bumpkin at heart and no matter what happens, I’d better just go easy on her – as in, no intense debates, no really deep conversations. She’s already in the “big city” and I wouldn’t want to rattle her cages.
We all got stoned and talked about our favorite bands. LSD came up during the conversation, too.
For security reasons, my dormitory required visitors to be signed in, and in order to do that you have to fill out a few lines in their binder and leave your identification at the desk. This gave the security guards plenty of time to look us up and down and make assumptions.
As I handed ID cards over to the security guard, I detected an air of superiority from him. I could feel him judging me. But I was also very stoned – and as John and I had only very recently discovered LSD, I had become overtly aware of every little vibration – or so it would seem. Or maybe I was.
The three of us got up to the dorm and listened to Kyuss, smoked some more weed and discussed our ambitions. Mine include fame; John wants money; the RA wants to know what that smell is; and the girl was so stoned she didn’t know her name.
On that note, I wish I could remember her name so I don’t keep referring to her as ‘the girl.’ It was something like Lynn, and Laura Lynn makes bread, which is food, which fat people love to eat, so from now on I’ll call her ‘Lynn.’
John left to meet our friends – and not wanting to be seen in public with my adoring bumbling behemoth, I offered to stay back at the dorm and just hang out for a while. Quickly shutting down was my naive open-mindedness I had going into the night.
Finally alone, I was afraid her eyes might fall hungrily upon me and I would have to fight off the bear. But I’d clearly suffocated Lynn’s ego with weed, an effect I had not foreseen but was eternally grateful for. Recognizing the benefits of intoxication, I offered her a beer; however, it was not beer that she wanted. Nay. What does the beast require? She squealed out in ecstasy when I offered her a Little Debbie cake from behind the mini-fridge.
“Ooooh eeeee! AHHH! OH my GOD!” Lynn shrieked, tearing into the packaging. I felt almost as sorry for the little snack treat as I did for her.
She gorged herself on junk food and flopped onto my bed, grinding her filthy black feet into the pillow, where I lay my face at night. I watched in disgust as she wallowed around on my bed like a dry manatee. The situation was worrisome but I still found it hard to hate someone willing to go in on a ten-strip of acid with me even though she’d never tried it. For that I figured there must be something to her, some insightful spirit that needs nurturing, as we all do, and at the very least I could be friends with someone like that.
I had a paper due the following morning so I told her I needed to get to work, and she passed out quickly. Over the course of the next three or four hours, I finished her beer, wrote my paper and smoked more dank marijuana.
Then she woke up again, hungrier than a hell-hound and quite vocal about it.
I had no real food, and I was hungry too, so we decided to walk down to the 7-eleven. I knew Lynn’s visit to Richmond was the most walking she’d done up until this point in her teenage life. Her flip-flops made an aggravating “suck-pop!” noise as she followed behind me and we strutted boldly down a frigid, windy Main Street. I felt bad for her. I would’ve offered her my jacket but it was too small to fit her.
And then all at once, within 18 minutes and 45 seconds, my sympathy for this person disappeared rapidly.
We walked in the front door of the convenience store and I headed straight for the back of the line, which is very long the closer you wait until midnight. Suddenly my hairs stood on end as I heard her squealing like an injured beast behind me. “Sweet Jesus,” I said aloud, and turned to look at her.
“Oh my gawd!” she screamed. “These Cheetohs turn your mouth blue!”
I got hot in the face, turning bright red and I tried to pretend like I didn’t know her.
After ravaging the Cheetohs display, Lynn cut ahead of a guy standing in line with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, to stand beside me. He politely said nothing but I could sense his annoyance. We awaited our turn to order Taquitos from the bar and, seeing as how I am a gentlemen and the bitch had already cut in line, I let the lady order first.
She demanded cream cheese Taquitos. He said they weren’t ready, but all the others were. She rose her voice and used my name, saying, “James! Can you believe they don’t have my favorite Taquitos? What kind of fucking 7-eleven is this? Arright, gimme the taco kind.” My asshole tightened, forming diamonds.
“Would you like three Taquitos for $3.33?” the man asked her.
She shook her head irritably. “Oh yeah, I want that. James, tell ‘im what you want sugar. Maybe they got what you like.” She bent over, placing one hand on the counter and the other on her equator, “‘Cause they sure as shit ain’t got what I like.” As if crippled by grief, she stared over her little bags of chemically-enhanced Cheetohs strewn across the counter.
I looked to my right, where at least ten people stood watching and waiting. The man holding PBR was now amused. I looked back at the clerk as I gripped the counter with both hands, afraid that I might lose control at any moment. Suddenly the idea of even ordering Taquitos was embarrassing. ‘What’s in this shit?’ I thought. ‘It’s probably giving me cancer. Diabetes. I am a disgusting human being. What the fuck.’ I mumbled my order to the clerk, swiped my credit card and almost left before he gave me my food.
On the way back, Lynn ignored a homeless person. He asked her for change and she pretended not to hear him.
“Hey wassup man? Your girl can’t talk?” He demanded an answer while approaching me with haste.
“I guess she didn’t hear you,” I said, and gave him a dollar.
“You could’ve said something to that guy,” I prodded.
“Yeah I know, but I never had bums ask me for money,” she explained. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“You just say ‘I don’t have it.'” I was nearly in disbelief at this point.
“But I do have money, silly!”
I said nothing.
I suffered through the excruciating pain of signing her in once again, making fat jokes in my head.
‘Will I need to sign her in as more than one guest? Maybe there’s a weight limit since I’m on the top floor.’
While writing her name in the book, I heard her wolf down at least one whole Taquito. By this point, I didn’t even care anymore. I just wanted the night to end.
As I typed away on my paper, Lynn sprawled out on the bed, dirty feet on my pillow once again, eating Cheetohs and yawning her mouth at me. From her open maw slid an indigo-blue tongue, flecked with orange pieces of Cheetoh.
“Blaeegh! Is my tongue blue?” she asked gleefully.
“Yeah, it’s like you ate dye.”
“Nuh-uh!” She ran into the bathroom to see for herself. “It is! Oh m’god, it’s so blue!”
Historical evidence that fat girls like gimmicky Cheetohs
We smoked some more marijuana, had a few beers and I blew her away with some very basic political discussion. I took this opportunity to transition into the social revolution of the 1960s, and then got her talking about acid.
I told her $20 would get her two hits of acid, and I’d just mail it to her after I bought the ten-strip. She said alright and eventually fell asleep.
I kept her money and took all the acid myself.
Apart from the occasional, “Where are my drugs or money?” emails, which came in for a few weeks and then stopped, I never saw or heard from Lynn, ever again.
PREACHER OF THE DAMNED HERE, CHRONICLE.SU IS CURRENTLY UNDER EXTREMELY HEAVY LOAD OF CONSECUTIVE NEVER-ENDING DDOS ATTACKS DIRECTLY FROM RYAN, HIJACKER OF ANONOPS IRC. CHRONICLE.SU DOWNGRADED TO READ-ONLY MODE. COLLAPSE IMMINENT.
People, people. Gather ’round for the time has come to succumb to the wicked ways of the Right. The Great Digital Civil War coalesces before your very eyes.
THIS JUST IN: RYAN HAS TAKEN OVER THE CHRONICLE.SU IRC, AND HIJACKED THE LOIC MECHANISM, TURNING IT IN ON US.
WE ARE NOW RECEIVING WORD THAT KILGORE TROUT HAS LOCKED HIMSELF IN THE CONTROL ROOM AND REFUSES TO COME OUT UNTIL DEMANDS ARE MET.
EMAIL FROM “RYAN” (BILLY NAMEFAG WALSHE):
Get down on your knees and pray to Satan, your lord and eternal heavenly hellmaster. We named him Barrett “Ryan” Brown as a CIA plant for your circlejerking pleasure in the annals of IRC.
CHRISTIAN CONSERVATISM JUST WENT GLOBAL
That’s right, we’re currently engaging the Grady Warren Anti-Muslim Teahad across the desert land of the doomed and all you people can do is sit there on your asses and gawk, in shock and awe as the Lebal Drocer bombs fall on the darkies. FUCKING BROWN PEOPLE GET OUT OF OUR COUNTRY, YOU ARE POISONING AND ABUSING THE GENEROUS LOVING NATURE OF WHITES and RYAN IS PISSED!!!!!1
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: BARRETT BROWN IS IN DIRECT COMMUNICATION WITH BILLY NAMEFAG WALSHE, REPORTING LIVE TO CHRONICLE.SU HEADQUARTERS VIA AOL INSTANT MESSENGER.
“Get ready for some real journalism here, James, the truth’s about to hit you in the balls, I mean face, no balls was right originally. Kilgore Trout has assumed the handle “Ryan” under false pretenses. He is NOT the real Ryan. I repeat: Kilgore Trout is NOT Ryan.”
CHRONICLE UPDATE [EDITOR’S EDITION]
This just in: Ryan, who recently hijacked the anonops.ru IRC and is using it to DDoS anonnews.org, is in fact Billy Walshe. Dox are available at chronicle.gov/IRC-log-archive.html
TO ALL ANONYMOUS EVERYWHERE: CHARGE LAZERS. AWAIT ORDERS. THIS IS THE PUSH WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.
This message brought to you by:
“KIDS. LITTLE KIDS: Welcome the Chronicle.sU home of the whopper value meal, get yours today!”
anonops, as reported by the chronicle.su via anonnews.org, is teeming with internet cops the likes of which Blade Runner never saw.
anonops is a god damn trap.
Do not go near anonops, because the son-of-a-bitching federalis are there, waiting to trap hapless script kiddies, or even a curious visitor.
They want your IPs, which IRC compromises, as well as port vulnerabilities, whatever they can get their hands on, through any orifice they must. Oops! GOT THE TROJAN.FBI IN MY SHIT NOW I’LL NEVER FEEL CLEAN.
ANONOPS is where good intentions go to die. “Come get us,” you sniveling, wormy parasites say, “We’re just here to do right, bro. chill out. just let it happen.”
All because of ANONOPS!! Do NOT go there. It is a fucking FBI trap like you don’t understand. Those people are turning you in by the thousands.
The fear machine follows you as closely as you carry it, and you’re bringin’ it on home, anonybabies. This is me trying to save you.
Barrett Brown has led you directly into an anti-activism honeypot from which the only escape is critical thought itself. Sweet, precious critical thought.
Should you choose to continue deeper into anonops.ru:
The nightmare police who wait for you there want to come into your home, anonymous wants to rape your wife and they will, together, pillage your essence. They want anything and everything they can get their hands on. They want you, so serve yourself up on a silver platter at irc.anonops.ru. join the most populated channel. Congratulations! You’re now suspect and subject to the PATRIOT ACT.