MURDER, POLITICS, AND THE END OF THE JAZZ AGE
by Michael Wolraich
Order today at Barnes & Noble / Amazon / Books-A-Million / Bookshop
MURDER, POLITICS, AND THE END OF THE JAZZ AGE by Michael Wolraich Order today at Barnes & Noble / Amazon / Books-A-Million / Bookshop |
'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the site
Not a blogger was stirring, no postings in sight.
The comments were lined by the masthead with care
With hopes for some non-Trump discussion as fare
While readers rolled restlessly slumped in their beds
Damning hangover headaches that chastened their heads.
My alias and I had just poured a nightcap,
thinking we'd hack out some politically motivated crap.
When out in the blogosphere there arose such a natter,
A tweetstorm with fake news that filled it with chatter.
Off to my Facebook I flew in a rage
To offer my musings on each open page.
The moon hazed over by toxic effluents
Lit the snow that denied our warming influence
When deep in my email spam folder appeared
A phishing exploit that struck me as curious, queer -
A trojan payload passed to eight URLs' addr,
An intrusion fingerprint that popped up as St. Vlad.
Too fast for my antivirus SW to assess,
And exploits pulled from the best of NCIS -
Code Red and Flashback, Melissa, and Sasser
Stuxnet and Mydoom and Zeus and Conficker
Through each home device to my own firewall,
Crash away, crash away, crash away all.
As spoofed bytes that before the wild packetstorm fly,
When they meet some protection a new route will try.
So to my ISP the intruders then flew
With a full exploit rootkit (still on St. Vlad's to-do).
And then in a twinkling they spread with élan,
The probing of portals with an ack-syn portscan.
As I powered off my router and disabled my shares
Down through a backdoor Vlad appeared unawares.
Wearing a black hat with Gucci 2 decor
His callsign encrypted with 3 factors or more.
A bundle of leaks tacked to his payload's back
Compromising my server for the next stealth attack.
His eyes - how they schemed, so sly, so assured
His cheeks self-gloating, his face all demure
He gleefully carried out trial after trial,
Setting in place his next plausible denial.
A wink of his eye as the viruses spread
Let me know there was something much worse still to dread.
He spoke not a word as my passwords he took,
Filling my filesystem with his new code book.
Fingering me as the culprit should he be detected
He covered his tracks from the PCs he'd infected
He sprang to his sandbox and from there gave a sign
To p3wn all my servers and show the trojans as mine
But I noticed an easter egg left as he went
"Elections shmelections, this is Russian SIGINT"
Comments
Great poetry. I hope it's not true.
by CVille Dem on Tue, 12/27/2016 - 8:41am
As Chief Broom said, "it's the truth, even if it didn't happen".
by PeraclesPlease on Tue, 12/27/2016 - 10:41am
Whew!!!!!! I'm hoping Vlad doesn't know about Dag. Once he finds out we'll all be in big trouble!
Edit to add: All of us except Lurker and Peter, that is.
by CVille Dem on Tue, 12/27/2016 - 11:17am
You have nothing to fear so long as you cooperate, comrade.
by Lurker on Tue, 12/27/2016 - 6:52pm
Get that Nobel Prize ready....
by Lurker on Tue, 12/27/2016 - 12:06pm