From: "SuN Tsu" Subject: [kook >> Darren Glen Brothers << stalker] Dippy does Darren, Hills Capital Management, posting as hillscap [at] pacbell.net Approved: "SuN Tsu" Newsgroups: de.answers,news.admin.net-abuse.email References: <1104770463.955393.282260@c13g2000cwb.googlegroups.com> Date: Wed, 4 Jan 2005 18:00:01 GMT Organization: http://groups.google.com Message-ID: <6775174140.084804.745721@f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com> Followup-To: news.admin.net-abuse.email NNTP-Posting-Host: 216-31-40-2.zianet.com X-Trace: nntp.zianet.com 1104876614 216.31.40.2 (4 Jan 2005 15:10:14 -0600) Lines: 35 Path: senator-bedfellow.mit.edu!bloom-beacon.mit.edu!news2.wam.umd.edu!nntp.abs.net!news.maxwell.syr.edu!router1.news.adelphia.net!news-pen-1.sprintlink.net!nntp.zianet.com!news.maxwell.syr.edu!newsfeed.stanford.edu!postnews.google.com!f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail Xref: senator-bedfellow.mit.edu de.answers:11587 news.admin.net-abuse.email:2707819 her family. "But this is a free country, isn't it?" she asks the camera. "That means you can do whatever you want, doesn't it?" The camera was indulgently mute on the subject. The girl moved on. She felt scared that she was going to be a mother. She felt unhappy that she had been disowned by her father, but she also, you know, felt happy when her mother called to tell her that she would answer any questions that she had about pregnancy. She felt most enthusiastically about her school guidance counsellor because he had, you know, just listened to her "spill her guts" and hadn't tried to, you know, make her feel bad. At no time, needless to say, did the word "think" cross her lips. There is, of course, no need for her to think. The taxpayers of Canada will pay for all of her baby's needs. She didn't need to be made to feel bad. All that she needed was someone to direct her to the appropriate agency. The rest of it was just paperwork. It's a free country, isn't it? That means you can do whatever you want. Doesn't it? Unbidden, the image of the Cerebus Theatre swam to the surface of Viktor Davis' awareness. He turned away from his typewriter and allowed the picture to coalesce in his mind's eye. The Cerebus readership was there, composed in some (small? large?) measure of females with their male housepets. He squinted, endeavouring to see if any male was chafing at the invisible conduits and metaphorical tubing which drained his life, his essence, his energy as surely and as effectively as any fictional vampire. Cats' eyes gleamed in the darkness, filled with malice. A couple of rows back an obese brunette w