Re: The will too Fight?
(FADEIN to the inside of the Smithsonian. Walking around is Harold A. Lumbourgh, staring up at the various space shuttles and technologies that were created in the late 20th century. He seems almost entranced by it, but then he speaks and it’s clear he knows the camera’s there.)
HAL: “Perhaps you should avert your eyes, Psycho. I wouldn’t want you to accidentally acquire too much knowledge all at once and end up with blood pouring out of your face – a position I’m sure you’re used to.
“There you are, accusing me of not being smart… a cunning play of words, mind you, sir… while explaining, once again, the gross incompetence of the referee who could not count your victory. After which you explain in a perfectly reasonable tone that it only counts as an excuse if you demand a rematch.
“Tell me, good sir, do you know what an excuse is? Let me define it. It’s a way to remove blame from an action or create an exception. For instance, you didn’t really lose because the ref didn’t know how to count. Under no circumstances is the demand for a rematch involved at all.
“Of course, you DO call yourself Psycho, so I suppose none of us should be surprised that you either do not actually know what is an excuse is, or have completely redefined the word in the English language to make yourself appear much less insane than you truly are.
“Then you explain to me how there’s always one error in the code and you’ll exploit it and destroy us all. While I do appreciate the fact that you’ve attempted to meet me in my own world, I fear you are entirely too navie to make programming analogies.
“For one, there’s n o such thing as bugs. Only undocumented features. “
(He looks back at the camera and smirks before moving on.)
HAL: “Second of all, I would love to see the code which has only one error. Every routine can be optimized. Pushed down the stack. Compiled into assembly. Memory reaped. FURTHER OPTIMIZATION CAN BE DONE, PSYCHO.
“See, your understanding, like your wrestling skill, is rudimentary at best. I’m sure in the local gym halls or wherever it is you hang out, you’re the real Cat’s Meow. Leetsauce, if you will.
“Well not anymore, Psycho. The truth is, as much as I’ve listened to you tell everyone how I’m… NOT SMART… and I have cried and I have cried into my binary-covered pillow at home, to know that you think so little of my intelligence as to be NOT SMART… well…
“I’m just going to have to live with the fact that at least I’m capable of forming complete sentences and occasionally even make a little bit of sense, and you, just, well… I can’t even tell.
“Are you a madman who will destroy his own body to win? Are you a patriot? Are you a nerd cause you know what a Commodore VIC20 is?
“Or are you none of these things.
“Perhaps the answer is something else: you are mediocrity. You are the past. Just good enough. Able to get by. Exciting no one. Calling other people not smart. My god, the humanity of it all.
“I’m not going to come out here and promise victory, Psycho, because unlike you, I pride myself on some base level of intelligence, and only some troglodyte would guarantee anything that could never be estimated with anything more than a 90% success rate, given the sheer number of variables involved.
“That’s the difference between you and I, Psycho. You think if you drop a few references to code and bugs and Commodores, that this makes us equal. Cause you can find Google on a computer.
“You and I will never be equal. While you’re hittin the ‘I’m Feeling Lucky’ button, I’m the one breaking the network into subnets so prevent broadcast packets from spamming the ports. I’m the one using new heuristics to lower your horse porn spam. I’m the one virtualizing the servers to make sure we use every ounce of sweet, sweet ECC memory in our PowerEdge servers.
“You.. you are pitiful. And at Cherry Blossom Chaos, I can only hope that you experience one tiny shred of regret for all the stupidity you have inflicted upon this world.
“You not smart bastard.”