Spreading the Love

LETTER I

Dear Writer(s) of Conficker

Thank you so much. There's nothing I like more than working full days plus overnight two days in a row, then all weekend and multiple site visits on a Monday morning. Working 30 hours in a single 36-hour period truly makes one feel alive. My little boy surely appreciated not having his Daddy for the weekend because he was fighting the insiduous and rapid spread of your baby.

Thank you also for ensuring that I endure at least three conference calls a day, every day including weekends. Interaction with management is something I sure do love, especially when the lion's share of the call time is spent working out how to buck-pass to a suitable scapegoat (see Part II).

I don't know why you wrote the worm. I don't know what twisted, vindictive, scabby and despicable itch this inventively-evil piece of rancid code scratched in what passes for your mind as you sat, hated and alone, scratching your stinking balls in your mum's basement. Quite frankly, I don't even care why you wrote it. I merely hate and despise you and your ilk with a venom and passion that your warped so-called intellect cannot even begin to comprehend.

It is merely my deepest desire that you contract a virus of your own that causes you a lifetime of debilitating and disfiguring illness combined with agonising and untreatable pain - at least until such time as I track you down, flay the filthy skin from your worthless body inch by inch with a blunt vegetable peeler and roll you in freshly-ground sea salt before setting you on fire.

Yours, in sure and certain hope of my vengeance upon you

Dungeekin

***

LETTER II

Dear $CLIENT

We knew this was going to happen. We warned you that this was going to happen. Everybody, EVERYBODY knew that this was going to happen. We told you so.

WE TOLD YOU SO.

Thus shall be the title of the Major Incident Report which will, you can absolutely guarantee, be attached to an invoice of a size roughly similar to that of a small manned mission to Mars. And that's just MY overtime bill.

Next time your IT company are pleading with you to install antivirus on your servers and desktops, FUCKING GET IT INSTALLED. The cost of the project is far less than the final cost of dealing with a widespread infection across a network which could have been designed with the propagation characteristics of a worm like Conficker in mind.

And stop, stop, just fucking STOP wasting my fucking time and the time of my technical colleagues in fucking pointless conference calls demanding to know which poor, benighted luser is to blame for opening an attachment or whatever, and bringing the worm onto the network. They're guilty only of normal stupidity.

You want to get the person truly responsible? Find the worthless sack-of-shit beancounter who shitcanned last year's AV install project on the basis of cost, set them on fire and sack their still-smouldering corpse. Then prosecute their estate for corporate negligence.

Learn the lesson, pay the price and $DEITY help you if you fuckwits ever do something this rampantly cretinous again.

Love and kisses

Dungeekin

***

LETTER III

Dear Microsoft

Fuckit. I can't be bothered. It's all been said, done and proved before.

Secure. Microsoft. Pick one.

Someone do me a favour and nuke Redmond from orbit. It's the only way to be sure.

Yours in overtime

Dungeekin