The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age

    A Visit from St. Vlad

    '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"


    Great poetry. I hope it's not true.  

    As Chief Broom said, "it's the truth, even if it didn't happen".

    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.  

    You have nothing to fear so long as you cooperate, comrade.

    Get that Nobel Prize ready....

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