May 2007 – Kitta.net

Leet WoW Hacker

I was doing some grocery shopping today, and as I stood in the pasta aisle perusing mediterranean vegetable sauces I overheard this conversation between two middle aged ladies…

“I found this strange payment on my credit card statement today… My son was the last to use it to pay his phone bill, I questioned him about it and he said it was for some WoW thing. He said it was a game, but I’m not completely sure, I think he might be one of them hacker kids.”

“Noooo!”

“He always uses these strange sayings, like ‘owned’ around his sister, he said ‘FTW’ yesterday when I brought home pizza for dinner. I don’t know what they mean. I think it’s hacker speak.”

“I saw a documentary on them, they could make free phone calls and everything! They called the Pope, Oprah and the White House!”

“Really? Maybe he’s doing that; calling all his friends for free and, shit, I hope Telstra doesn’t find out and sue us!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at this point, the sheer stupidly of the conversation brought out a chuckle in me, as I laughed the two ladies turned and looked at me. I had to think of something to say to avoid being rude…

“You know, if he starts saying he’s doing raids, watch out…”

I paused, looked around, and then leaned in closer…

“It’s a secret WoW code word for hacking into government computers.”

I nodded knowingly and walked away. I meant to be sarcastic, but it seemed to come off as honestly and insight. Oops. I would like to take this opportunity to say sorry to the poor young lad whose WoW fun I have ultimately killed. So sorry. So very very sorry.

I totally owned you.

Army Of The Expectant

I was reading an article in a newspaper today about the increase of births taking place in hospitals instead of home, it quoted an associate professor on the subject, who said, “Women are using things they don’t need, things like epidurals.”

Did I ever share with you, dear Internet, that I am blessed with psychic abilities? No?

Well, I totally am… No, I can’t read your future or your mind, but I do predict that the person who was quoted in the article will meet a mob of crazy-ass pregnant chicks (two of whom are pregnant friends of mine, that pray to the anaesthesia god daily) late one night in an alley way, they will be armed with breast pumps and wearing nappies as ninja face masks to hide their identity. The mob will proceed to break the professors legs and then ask if they would like to kindly retract that statement.

I also predict rain on Wednesday.

Pot Plant

My mother stood outside inspecting what little of our garden that actually grows – with no silver bells or cockle shells, and absolutely no pretty maids all in a row – when she found an intruder. I was busy loading the washing machine and wasn’t too bothered with it all.

“What is that?”

“A plant” I replied.

“What type of plant?”

“A green one that grows in soil.”

“No, is it a weed or a tomato bush? Maybe it’s… A drug plant.”

I stopped what I was doing, took a quick glance at the ‘drug plant’ in question and laughed.

“It’s not pot, Mum.”

“How do you know?”

“You sent me to a public high school.”