And the password is…

February 24, 2006

Everything these days needs a password. I have to use three different passwords when I turn on my computer at work. I have to use a password to read my e-mail. I have an electronic calendar and I have to have a password to get into it. Everything’s controlled by passwords, and they can’t even be easy passwords anymore because if it’s something easy someone might figure it out and go and schedule meetings without my knowledge. In the old days it was easy. I could sidle down to my favorite speakeasy, knock on the door, a little slot in the door would open and a voice would say, "Password?" Even if I couldn’t remember the password I could at least say, "Mugsy, it’s me, Artie the Aardvark, let me in," and if the syphilis hadn’t gotten to his brain yet Mugsy would open the door. Those were the days when a moll was a dame and you could tell a galoot from a palooka. Not that I was around during Prohibition, but if I had been you can bet I’d be guzzling bathtub gin and doing the Lindy Hop and not worrying about whether my password had at least two numeric characters and at least one shift-key character.

But I digress. I understand some information has to be locked up, but, for crying out loud, have we become such a bunch of galoots that we have to have a password for everything? There’s an electronic office bulletin board where I work and I need a password for it. What would happen if someone stole my password for it? They could go and sign me up for the department cribbage club. Actually that would be a pretty awful thing. Cribbage was invented by a bunch of Eighteenth Century nobles who were bored out of their skulls and drunk. Being bored and drunk is risky enough when you’re gambling, but when you’re actually inventing a card game it’s downright dangerous. Cribbage is the only game I know where you can get two extra points for drawing the Jack of spades if it’s Tuesday and dark outside. Nobody will argue with that because even a cribbage expert would be too much of a palooka to admit that he or she doesn’t know whether that’s a real rule or not.

But I digress. I understand that some information is sensitive enough to be protected by a password, but with some things it just makes more sense to give a free pass.

Enjoy this week’s offerings.


Seen around town…

Impotence…Nature’s way of saying "No hard feelings,"

The proctologist called
….they found your head.

Everyone has a photographic memory
….some just don’t have any film.

Save your breath…You’ll need it to blow up your date.

Your ridiculous little opinion has been noted.

I used to have a handle on life…but it broke off.

WANTED: Meaningful overnight relationship.

Some people just don’t know how to drive…
I call these people "Everybody But Me."

Don’t like my driving? Then quit watching me.

If you can read this…I can slam on my brakes and sue you.

Try not to let your mind wander…It is too small and fragile to be
out by itself.

Guys…just because you have one, doesn’t mean you have to be one.

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