Schneier on Security

AAAaronsen • April 3, 2010 8:21 PM

Sorry, in advance:

Boob bombs or just boo bombs? Is that the question?
Whether ’tis oglers who will find out terror
To sling their baggage with outrageous fortune,
Or take in our arms to then feel for bubbles
And, by exposing, end them? To try, to feel,
No, more! And by feeling say we end
The bomb blasts and the thousand cultural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a resolution
Devoutly to be wished : To die, to feel;
To feel: to chance the dream: Say, there’s the rub;
For in that feel comes death to dreams so dumb
When we have triggered off this mortal coil,
That just blows up: where’s the respect
That stops calamities to keep long life?
For who would bear the bombs’ fuses’ time,
The hard pressure’s bang, the proud man’s being sly,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and shoes taken,
When passengers see the unworthy takes
What he himself might his jollies make
With a bare bodkin? Who would farces bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary wife,
But that the dread of something causing death,
Undiscover’d by TSA, from whose bum
No traveller returns, fizzles the will
And makes us rather bear these ills we have
Than fly with others that we know not of?
Security makes cowards of us all;
Plus our native hue of revolution
Is stickled over by pale cast of rays,
As enterprise of great spirit in the moment
Regard these current acts turned awry,
And lose the call to action. – Soft, you now!
The fair will feel all, in thy derisions
Be all thy sins dismember’d.

AAAaronsen • April 4, 2010 10:10 PM

A second-thought version 2.0 of FemLet

Boob Bombs or just Boo Bombs? Is that the question?

Whether ’tis oglers who will find out terror
Or sling our baggage to outrageous fortune,
Or take in our arms to then feel for bubbles
And, by exposing, end them? To try, to feel,
No, more! And by feeling say we end
The bomb blasts and the thousand cultural shocks
That flash is heir to? ‘Tis a resolution
D.H.S. wants be wished : To die, to feel!

To feel: to chance the dream: Say, there’s the rub!

For in that feel comes death to dreams so dumb
When we have triggered off this mortal coil,
That just blows up: where’s the respect
That stops calamities to keep long life?

For who would bear the bombs’ fuses’ time,
The hard pressure’s bang, the proud man’s being sly,
The pangs that despise love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of the search and shoes taken,
When passengers see those Unworthy take
When he himself left to his jollies make
With her bare bodkin? Who would farces bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something causing death,
Undiscover’d by T.S.A., from whose burn
No traveller returns, fizzles the will,
And makes us rather bear these ills to save
Than fly with others that we know not of?

Security makes cowards of us all;

Plus our native cue to revolution
Is stickled over by pale cast X-rays,
Thus enterprise of great expense in the moment
Plays at these current acts turned awry,
Pay loose the call to action. – Soft, you now!

The fair will feel all, in thy derisions
Be all thy sins – dismember’d.