Magnetic media





  •  The only difficult part is magnetizing the damn things.



  • @bstorer said:

     The only difficult part is magnetizing the damn things.


    Maybe, with a REALLY big Tesla coil … ?



  •  In their defense, it seems possible that "magnetic reporting media" is specific legacy jargon that really means, "any method of submitting a given report" - kind of like calling things 'footage' or saying you went to a 'film' even when celluloid had nothing to do with the creation process.

    Of course, it's also entirely possible that they're just jackasses.



  • @PeriSoft said:

    Of course, it's also entirely possible that they're just jackasses.
    It is South Carolina we're talking about.



  •  TRWTF is that it took until 2010 for them to stop accepting magnetic tapes and cartridges.  At this break-neck pace, Earth will be enslaved under the moist, brutal tentacles of Glo'R'X VIII of the Squid Nebula before they stop accepting CD-ROM.



  • @morbiuswilters said:

     TRWTF is that it took until 2010 for them to stop accepting magnetic tapes and cartridges.  At this break-neck pace, Earth will be enslaved under the moist, brutal tentacles of Glo'R'X VIII of the Squid Nebula before they stop accepting CD-ROM.

    The state may well have had thousands of companies submitting magtapes and cartridges. This was probably a legal mandate for companies with more than, say, 100 employees. It takes a while for them to convert to something more modern.

    And I, for one, welcome our new squidly overlords.



  •  @morbiuswilters said:

     TRWTF is that it took until 2010 for them to stop accepting magnetic tapes and cartridges.  At this break-neck pace, Earth will be enslaved under the moist, brutal tentacles of Glo'R'X VIII of the Squid Nebula before they stop accepting CD-ROM.

    Hey, give them some credit.  By government standards, this part is fucking cutting-edge:

    The Department of Revenue will accept data secured with a password or zip files but they must be pre-approved....

    Once approved, mail the secured data and the password for the zip file and the key in two separate packages. Include Form WH-1612 in both packages. Label the packages similar to the sample label below. The secured data or the zip file should be Vol 1 of 2 and the password or the key to the zip file should be Vol 2 of 2. Both packages should be mailed separately to the address listed below.

     



  • Maybe they really mean one of these: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magneto-optical_drive

    A pretty bizarre format to accept, tho.



  • @bstorer said:

     @morbiuswilters said:

     TRWTF is that it took until 2010 for them to stop accepting magnetic tapes and cartridges.  At this break-neck pace, Earth will be enslaved under the moist, brutal tentacles of Glo'R'X VIII of the Squid Nebula before they stop accepting CD-ROM.

    Hey, give them some credit.  By government standards, this part is fucking cutting-edge:

    The Department of Revenue will accept data secured with a password or zip files but they must be pre-approved....

    Once approved, mail the secured data and the password for the zip file and the key in two separate packages. Include Form WH-1612 in both packages. Label the packages similar to the sample label below. The secured data or the zip file should be Vol 1 of 2 and the password or the key to the zip file should be Vol 2 of 2. Both packages should be mailed separately to the address listed below.

    Can't zip file passwords be cracked in like 10 seconds?  Maybe that's good by state government standards.  "Nobody will ever have 10 seconds to waste stealing South Carolina tax returns!"  Of course, they could also just seal it in a transparent package like the ones you get electronics in from Best Buy.  After a minute the thief would just be like: "Goddamn, does somebody have some bolt cutters or something?" [wrestles with package some more, slicing his palm wide open on the razor-sharp edge of plastic, bleeding profusely] "Shit!  Fuck this, I'm robbing a liquor store!"

     

    Of course, robbing a liquor store is exactly what the South Carolina Department of Revenue wanted him to do.  That liquor store has been behind on its taxes for years.  And if the owner takes a bullet to the gut, all the better.  You don't fuck around with the SCDR.

     

    Meanwhlie, revenue agents swooped in on the discarded package of tax documents.  The whole thing was a sting, to get a sample of the thief's DNA.  Captain Broadstache of the SCDR had recruited the thief to give his agents an inside look of the seedy underworld of tax dodgers, but had long suspected that this thief was actually a double agent working undercover for the North Caronlina Department of Fish and Wildlife.  This DNA sample would tie him to the scenes of a series of brutal, Satanic murders; one of the worst strings of ritualistic Satanic murders Broadstache had investigated in his 20 years as chief of the South Carolina Department of Revenue's Homicide Squad (HomSqua to those in-the-know).  At every one of the scenes, the walls were covered in complex, Satanic symbols and nonsensical strings of digits like "616" and "66666666", writ in human blood.  However, DNA testing revealed the blood was not from any of the victims and actually all belonged to the same person.  What's more, the DNA was a perfect match of Broadstache's son, although he was clearly not the murderer seeing as he had died as a child in the 80s.  He did, however, have a twin brother who vanished mysteriously.  Was Broadstache's mysteriously-vanished twin son the murderer?

     

    He'd know in a little bit; Broadstache's trap was set.

     

    Except, the thief knew about the trap and had cleverly replaced his DNA with the DNA of Broadstache's dead twin son (not the mysteriously-vanished son, who is still vanished under mysterious circumstances) just to foil the plot.  It was going to be a hot night...



  • @morbiuswilters said:

    It was going to be a hot night...
     

    I want to see this in Borders by July.




  • @PeriSoft said:

    @morbiuswilters said:

    It was going to be a hot night...
     

    I want to see this in Borders by July.


    You are my new favorite.  pstorer will step down to #2 to make way for you.  BTK shifts down to #3 to make way for pstorer.  To make way for BTK, dhromed will be returned to the general harem, although his service and prior rank will be recognized with the "Neglige of Shame".



  • @morbiuswilters said:

    Can't zip file passwords be cracked in like 10 seconds?  Maybe that's good by state government standards.  "Nobody will ever have 10 seconds to waste stealing South Carolina tax returns!"  Of course, they could also just seal it in a transparent package like the ones you get electronics in from Best Buy.  After a minute the thief would just be like: "Goddamn, does somebody have some bolt cutters or something?" [wrestles with package some more, slicing his palm wide open on the razor-sharp edge of plastic, bleeding profusely] "Shit!  Fuck this, I'm robbing a liquor store!"

     

    Of course, robbing a liquor store is exactly what the South Carolina Department of Revenue wanted him to do.  That liquor store has been behind on its taxes for years.  And if the owner takes a bullet to the gut, all the better.  You don't fuck around with the SCDR.

     

    Meanwhlie, revenue agents swooped in on the discarded package of tax documents.  The whole thing was a sting, to get a sample of the thief's DNA.  Captain Broadstache of the SCDR had recruited the thief to give his agents an inside look of the seedy underworld of tax dodgers, but had long suspected that this thief was actually a double agent working undercover for the North Caronlina Department of Fish and Wildlife.  This DNA sample would tie him to the scenes of a series of brutal, Satanic murders; one of the worst strings of ritualistic Satanic murders Broadstache had investigated in his 20 years as chief of the South Carolina Department of Revenue's Homicide Squad (HomSqua to those in-the-know).  At every one of the scenes, the walls were covered in complex, Satanic symbols and nonsensical strings of digits like "616" and "66666666", writ in human blood.  However, DNA testing revealed the blood was not from any of the victims and actually all belonged to the same person.  What's more, the DNA was a perfect match of Broadstache's son, although he was clearly not the murderer seeing as he had died as a child in the 80s.  He did, however, have a twin brother who vanished mysteriously.  Was Broadstache's mysteriously-vanished twin son the murderer?

     

    He'd know in a little bit; Broadstache's trap was set.

     

    Except, the thief knew about the trap and had cleverly replaced his DNA with the DNA of Broadstache's dead twin son (not the mysteriously-vanished son, who is still vanished under mysterious circumstances) just to foil the plot.  It was going to be a hot night...

     

    His carefully-constructed charade would collapse for the lack of a Package Shark Pro (and the bonus pair of Power Scissors).  This bungling thief and his inability to open that damned package of tax data had put into motion a series of events that could end him.  He knew of the thief's mistake, and what's more he knew about the thief's "clever" scheme to foil Broadstache.  But that scheme could never be allowed to come to fruition, lest it lead Broadstache to his dead brother, which is to say himself.

    It had started as most things do, with a disagreement between brothers over who was the more fitting leader of the Decepticons.  His brother, ever the servant of the status quo, naturally favored Megatron.  He knew better, though, and saw that Starscream was the more cunning and capable of the two.  The argument had boiled over into a feud one day on the train to Bern, Switzerland.  Their mother had brought them to Europe for the summer, ostensibly for a vacation, but in truth they had been sent away by Jim Broadstache to remove them all from harm's way until the W-2 Strangler was brought to justice.  Ten minutes after crossing the Swiss border and less than an hour after snacktime (a delightful snickerdoodle that he could likely still have tasted, had he been partaking of his favorite passtime: belching the works of Shakespeare (he was particularly fond of the witches' prophecies from MacBeth)), his brother, apropos of nothing, declared Starscream a coward.  He had retorted with disdain, accusing his brother of not understanding the subtle distinction between cowardice and strategic retreat.

    The argument continued as any other on the subject, except that it did not stop.  Neither boy realized it, but they eventually found themselves in virgin territory, having gone beyond the typical end stage where they slapped at each other and called names (some favorites being "poop-eater", "butt brains", and "dog-fucking donkey cunt").  At this point they would typically have been quelled by their mother, but at the moment she was snoring drunkenly, with half a fifth of tequilla still dangling precipitously from her hand.  She had taken up drinking some years ago, but had never really put all her focus into it until now, having been distracted by such things as fucking the mailman, and feigning illness when her husband displayed amorous intentions.  As she dozed in her seat mumbling sexual innuendo about mail slots, the rest of the train car were focused on the two identical boys staring each other down in the aisle.

    In truth, neither boy had any clue where to go next with this argument; typically one expects the other party to have some experience in the next step, so that one may follow along, learning along the way.  His brother had looked into his own family's past for his strategy, adopting the unsteady posture and slurred speech of his mother when she hurled drunken invectives at their father.  He, however, opted for the calm cruelty of their Sunday school teacher, condemning him to Hell and threatening him with sodomy.  Before either could do any more, the conductor broke them up, but not before something changed.  His brother's eyes had been filled with a new and terrifying rage, a thing far beyond anything he had seen before.  And to think, he had been the target of that rage!  It was unfathomable that anyone could hate him so!  He gave himself a quick appraisal, confirming his own perfection to himself once again.  How could his own twin hate his flawless form?

    He knew what he had to do: murder his brother and switch places with him.  When they believed him dead, the whole world would make a matyr of him, and years later he would reveal his true self to the world, perhaps on one of the many holidays they would create to venerate him.  But, being the son of one the foremost homicide detective of all the world's revenue investigators, he was no fool.  He knew his fingerprints would give him away as clearly as the smell of the mailman's hot sex upon her always gave away his mother.  The DNA was a perfect match, but he must swap fingerprints with his brother.  But how?  Fortunately for him, his family had just arrived in Bern, where lived just the man to help him.

    In the 1940s, Doctor Henrik von Below had been one of the foremost young surgeons in all of Germany.  He was an old man now; a man burdened with 40 years of cold remorse.  He had never really been a hardline Nazi, but their Final Solution had afforded him the opportunity to sate his enormous curiosity.  His bizarre experiments on Jews had given him more insight into the human condition than any man before or since.  He knew how to remove the flesh from a man's hand, the bones held together only with cartilege, and send him away the next day in otherwise perfect health.  He could cut the fear directly from a man's brain, leaving him otherwise unharmed.  On more than one occasion he had replaced a woman's independence with a second vagina.  He had even performed a few successful soul transplants, turning ordinary German citizens into lowly Jews.

    But his surgeries were not all successes, and for this he felt a terrible guilt.  Even more so because of some his successes.  He had been a pioneer in turning them into mindless soldiers which were taken from his lab straight to the eastern front where they were sent, wave after wave, at the Russian lines to be gunned down while real German soldiers hid in their foxholes and played a curious variation of pinochle they had devised. Von Below was unable to close his eyes at night without seeing those shuffling monsters, gold stars still affixed to their clothes, lumbering toward him for retribution.  He often awoke screaming in apology to Moses, who haunted his dreams, pointing his fleshless finger at von Below in accusation.

    So it was that when the young boy entered his home, thinking it a sweets shop (he and his brother thought every house in Switzerland to be either a sweets shop or a Jew bank full of Nazi gold, this information having come from The Great American Guide to Europe), Henrik von Below saw an opportunity to make amends.  Having amputated so many, he immediately recognized the boy's Jew nose.  Unbeknownst to anyone but their mother (and now Herr Doktor), the twins were half Jewish, from their mailman's side of the family.  The doctor welcomed the boy in, luring him into the den with the offer of some unleavened bread and an excellent interest rate.  He offered his services to the boy, who really had no particular desire to have hands of bone (you might think this a desirable offer to a young boy, it is important to recall that in the 80s skeletons were considered lame because Skeletor was such a douche), or to replace his mother's independence with yet another vagina (though, due to the variety of STDs she had contracted in her first (and at the time, only) vagina, his mother might have found use of another one, free of cuntrot).  What he really needed, he explained, was a foolproof method of killing his brother and taking his place, because Starscream is totally rad.  The doctor liked this proposal even more, because it combined his greatest need -- to assuage his guilt by helping Jews -- with his greatest skill -- the mutilation and murder of Jews.

    A year later, back in South Carolina,  the boy's brother died in his place, thanks to an expertly performed fingerprint transplant and some poisoned Nutter Butter bars.  The boy himself disappeared a year later, and had lurked in the darkest corners of society ever since, slowly putting into action his master plan.  But all this was in danger now, because the blasted thief had unwittingly used his brother's DNA.  And worst of all, the thief had failed in his primary goal of switching out those tax documents, thereby endangering his entire operation.  This will not do, he thought.  He reached into his desk and pulled out his service revolver.  He checked himself in the mirror and strode out of his office, pausing only to smack his secretary's ass on the way out.  John Stroadbache, Director of the North Carolina Department of Fish and Wildlife would have to take matters into his own hands now (although, to be fair, part of the matters would be taken into the fingerprints, which weren't actually his at all).  He stepped out of the government building into the muggy evening.  It was going to be a hot night indeed...



  •  You guys need jobs.



  • @blakeyrat said:

     You guys need jobs.

    Your sentence is missing a word.  Probably "blow," but "hand" would suffice.  It's not really my thing, but "foot" would probably be okay, too.



  • @blakeyrat said:

    You guys need jobs.
    Got one, thanks.



  •  Lunch hour, bitch.



  • @blakeyrat said:

    You guys I need a jobs where my value is so intangible that nobody notices if I spend all day writing fanfic on an Internet forum.
     



  • @morbiuswilters said:

    @bstorer said:

     @morbiuswilters said:

     TRWTF is that it took until 2010 for them to stop accepting magnetic tapes and cartridges.  At this break-neck pace, Earth will be enslaved under the moist, brutal tentacles of Glo'R'X VIII of the Squid Nebula before they stop accepting CD-ROM.

    Hey, give them some credit.  By government standards, this part is fucking cutting-edge:

    The Department of Revenue will accept data secured with a password or zip files but they must be pre-approved....

    Once approved, mail the secured data and the password for the zip file and the key in two separate packages. Include Form WH-1612 in both packages. Label the packages similar to the sample label below. The secured data or the zip file should be Vol 1 of 2 and the password or the key to the zip file should be Vol 2 of 2. Both packages should be mailed separately to the address listed below.

    Can't zip file passwords be cracked in like 10 seconds?  Maybe that's good by state government standards.  "Nobody will ever have 10 seconds to waste stealing South Carolina tax returns!"  Of course, they could also just seal it in a transparent package like the ones you get electronics in from Best Buy.  After a minute the thief would just be like: "Goddamn, does somebody have some bolt cutters or something?" [wrestles with package some more, slicing his palm wide open on the razor-sharp edge of plastic, bleeding profusely] "Shit!  Fuck this, I'm robbing a liquor store!"

     

    Of course, robbing a liquor store is exactly what the South Carolina Department of Revenue wanted him to do.  That liquor store has been behind on its taxes for years.  And if the owner takes a bullet to the gut, all the better.  You don't fuck around with the SCDR.

     

    Meanwhlie, revenue agents swooped in on the discarded package of tax documents.  The whole thing was a sting, to get a sample of the thief's DNA.  Captain Broadstache of the SCDR had recruited the thief to give his agents an inside look of the seedy underworld of tax dodgers, but had long suspected that this thief was actually a double agent working undercover for the North Caronlina Department of Fish and Wildlife.  This DNA sample would tie him to the scenes of a series of brutal, Satanic murders; one of the worst strings of ritualistic Satanic murders Broadstache had investigated in his 20 years as chief of the South Carolina Department of Revenue's Homicide Squad (HomSqua to those in-the-know).  At every one of the scenes, the walls were covered in complex, Satanic symbols and nonsensical strings of digits like "616" and "66666666", writ in human blood.  However, DNA testing revealed the blood was not from any of the victims and actually all belonged to the same person.  What's more, the DNA was a perfect match of Broadstache's son, although he was clearly not the murderer seeing as he had died as a child in the 80s.  He did, however, have a twin brother who vanished mysteriously.  Was Broadstache's mysteriously-vanished twin son the murderer?

     

    He'd know in a little bit; Broadstache's trap was set.

     

    Except, the thief knew about the trap and had cleverly replaced his DNA with the DNA of Broadstache's dead twin son (not the mysteriously-vanished son, who is still vanished under mysterious circumstances) just to foil the plot.  It was going to be a hot night...

     

     

    Not exactly a rant, but very enjoyable nonetheless. Thanks.



  • @PeriSoft said:

    Of course, it's also entirely possible that they're just jackasses.

     

     No, they're "the government" so it is impossible that they're "just jackasses". They are also rapscallions, extortionists, liars, and self-absorbed lackeys of higher powers.


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