Bureaucratic Applications of the Protective Instinct;

Sam sat down to compute. He and Ursula had temporarily declared hostilities, and her part in binding arbitration was to list all bets, foreign and domestic, chronologically. His part was to "be responsible, fight fair, be nice and..." the other stuff was hazy. Travis' prediction that she would be feminine upon his return was so 'on target,' that he pondered as he logged in. "I _know_ I agreed with him before he said it. What wrong turn in my mind did I TAKE to get to the idea she _wouldn't_ be mad? I may not be THAT smart a guy, but on balance it isn't THAT complicated a mind." This called for Journaling. He didn't feel introspective, so he logged in to Canada 5ts. He did breathing exercises and concentrated as he read the three most recent issues. This reminded him of Jeff Foxworthy's humor, and he followed a policy of engagement with Ursula, by applying for a glass of OJ. By the time negotiations paid off, the sweet refreshment would make his tired brain feel better.

The game in 5ts was to use the 5t archives to post the next article as substantively as possible. The password was NEVER transmitted in the clear, and the democratic process allowed anyone to say pretty much anything. Sam loved the Slashdot concept. The recursive nature of it and it's powerful destination appealed to his inner nerd. The server had been chosen for it's international impunity to American subpoena. Travis persisted in telling other 5ts that Canada was American, and their subpoena's were American too, but this had little bearing South of the Red River.

He reviewed his effort and clicked 'preview.' He checked that the links worked correctly, and mashed 'save.' The computer obediently cleared the screen, and returned him to the subject list. His entry was not at the top. Sam did a double take. Then he did an IP release to anonymize his internet connection and tried again. The stubborn refusal of the communal journal to take his direction challenged a temper that was not honed to this environment. His 9 lb sledge was in the garage, and he was truly chastened by restoring Travis to wholeness. The computer had been the smallest part of that operation, and this was himself, not some flunky. He arbitrarily made sure his entry wasn't anywhere _else_ in the list either. He searched Google - access was good, so he retrieved the Canadian Constitution. He reasoned that since it was a Canadian server, Canadian law ought to apply. He checked enforcement practices, and learned that evidence exclusions are subject to exception. He had to find the RIGHT jurisdiction, and FAIR (good for him) and APPROPRIATE (he hoped good for him) is what he could expect.

Sam speculated that such binary graffiti as _this_, would require 'root' access, and he laid in bureaucratic plans. The adherent of Loki would have certain legal rights of his own, so Sam re-assessed the diplomatic competitor's rule book accordingly. As he ran this WAG to ground, he found that Canadians could count on mostly 'bill of rights stuff,' with good attention to language in the rights section. He noted that a jury trial now applied to matters where 'more than five years,' was at stake; up from 20 dollars. (He briefly speculated what 20 dollars might have meant back then anyway.) For humor he checked the mobility rights of the fugitive ("Mobility Rights" was a section in the Charter.) He discovered he couldn't stop house buying or job seeking during any upcoming Police State contest. He dotted the reflexive case 'i,' establishing that the Canadian constitutional basis for his complaint was "Part 1, 2-b. '...freedom of expression...'"

Sam reviewed the Slashdot journal "playground rules," and downloaded relevant web site pages. He started a new dated folder in the root directory of his thumb drive. Then he used liquid paper whiteout to mark it, so he'd know which one it was. Tommy Lee might not have his Bar Association License, but he WAS a Texan, and at the moment there were NO LIMITS to Sam's planning and strategery. These Canadian Colonials were going to HEAR about it.

Ursula arrived with the OJ and the peace offering of a "between meals" portion of Green Bean casserole. "Why don't you just figure out which local paper is the right one to write, and send a letter to the editor?" she asked. Sam employed constructive criticism appropriately. "You bring me the address, and I'll make his EARS burn," he promised. "Just be aware... this is to be 'in addition to,' not 'instead of.'"

Familiarity bread contempt, and she was VERY familiar with his name. "Samuel Clementine the THIRD! If OLIVE trees grew in YOUR garden, THEY'D have thorns on them!" Sam contemplated the available snappy comeback. If Olive Trees grew anywhere HE was responsible for them, he was gonna have to automate weeding. This did not serve his diplomatic purposes, and he directed the current of his intellect around the obstacle by saying, "Rose oil, Olive Perfume and Champagne from England too! I declare Ursula, you MIGHT be an AGGIE!" While not an endearment, this was Texan enough, and she was sensitive about her immigrant roots. She melted. "I love you Sam."

His judicial senses were invoked anyway, and he held her gently as he replied, "Third time pays for ALL Ursula. The Fiddler on the _Roof_ would have told ya he loved ya by now. How am I EVER gonna take you by surprise if you keep on jumping in ahead of me?" She responded like an articulate marshmallow. "I'll be good. I don't know what I hate more, being mad at you or fighting."

Sam responded from the heart. "Care Bear: If anything ever happens to you, they'll have to breed a rabid German Shepherd with a Blue Tick Hound, just to take a picture of how mad I'm gonna get." She was oblivious to redundancy. "I love you Sam."