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From Neil Bibbins, The Abuse Guy (a.k.a. Membership Assistant):

Ok, here's the deal: For a guy whose biggest event in the last year was switching to tartar control toothpaste, receiving the dreaded "Letters From Tripod" request e-mail from editor Anna Groskin was a major occurrence. Here I was, thrust into the spotlight like so many other past and present Tripod luminaries. I was thus presented with the challenge of appearing witty, unique, and intelligent without being overbearing, arrogant, or boring. I was to be entered into the annals of Tripod history, my words forever preserved like computerized hieroglyphs for future generations to pour over in an effort to understand their cultural history.

It's a tall order. I decided to bail, and tell a story. It goes like this...

First, the title:

The Story of The Abuse Guy and the Pictures of the Nudites
(The story's better than the title.)

Once upon a time in the land of 'Pod, there lived an Abuse Guy whose job it was to take care of the various icky-nasties who tried to — and did — set up shop within the cyber-Kingdom of Tripod. Daily did the diligent (notice the alliteration) Abuse Guy go boldly forth, armed with his quiver of cyber-weapons, to do battle with the dreaded dark elements (i.e. porno folks, spammers, scammers, Republicans, etc.) in order to preserve truth, justice, and the Tripodian way.

Little did the Abuse Guy know that one of his cyber-weapons — his vital e-mail program — was amiss. He had suspected as much when someone in the Land of Colorado — who was evidently a very precise and ordered person — received unexplained e-mails from the Abuse Guy when the messages were supposed to have gone elsewhere. (He said he was being "attacked" by Tripod, even though he'd only received about three messages.) It was a mystery. But since the Abuse Guy was a wise and imaginative Abuse Guy, he rooted out the demons and exorcised them from his e-mail arsenal. Thus, he was again able to boldly set forth on his appointed mission.

Happening concurrently was a situation with some nudist folks (we'll call them Nudites), who decided that they would post pictures of each other — sans clothing — inside the Kingdom. Although being open-minded and warm-hearted, the Abuse Guy needed to gently inform the Nudites that they couldn't, since the littlest Tripodians could cast their eyes upon the naked Nudites (alliteration, again) and thus be scarred forever, since it is a secret that all people are indeed naked beneath their clothes. (Don't tell.)

Well, the Nudites were indeed upset, and they indignantly denied any wrongdoing. In fact, they loudly protested to the Abuse Guy's manager-type person that there had been no nude Nudites at all within the Tripod Kingdom. Thus accused, the wise, imaginative, open-minded, and warm-hearted Abuse Guy said staunchly: "I need more coffee, and where's my Maalox?" After thus expressing his wisdom, the Abuse Guy decided that he would send his manager some images showing just a few of the naked Nudites, as an indication that the Abuse Guy could indeed successfully perform the highly scientific process of determination by which naked and clothed humans can be differentiated. Choosing just two of the larger and hairier of the naked Nudites as examples, the Abuse Guy wrote a brief message, attached the images, and hit "send."

But his manager-type person never got the e-mail or the images, even though he sat just ten feet from the Abuse Guy. Throughout the day, the manager-type person kept saying cheerfully, "I haven't received them yet." Hmmmmmm...

A cloud passed, and the Abuse Guy began to realize that the exorcism of his possessed e-mail program may have been incomplete, and the pictures of the larger and hairier of the naked Nudites may never reach the manager-type person, but instead have been misdirected to (you guessed it) the precise and ordered person in the Land of Colorado, who already felt that he was being spammed by Tripod. And explaining the naked Nudites' pictures sent to the precise and ordered person was definitely going to be tough.

The Abuse Guy went for a walk. He found himself down by the river on a bridge feeling not unlike Jimmy Stewart in "It's a Wonderful Life" just before he throws himself off because Uncle Billy had left the money at Mr. Potter's bank, and Mr. Potter finds the money and is going to close down the Savings and Loan even though Jimmy Stewart has dedicated himself to the business and has never been able to travel or live out his dreams due to his obligations and all of the people in the town really depend on the Savings and Loan, and... (The Abuse Guy had seen this movie far too many times.)

Instead, realizing that Frank Capra was long dead and the probability of being pulled out of the water by an angel was slim, the Abuse Guy returned to the land of Tripod and acted like an adult.

Yup, the Abuse Guy groveled. He wrote directly to the ordered and precise person in the Land of Colorado and said that some "potentially sensitive files" had possibly been misdirected to his address in the Land of Colorado, and it would be very much appreciated if the "potentially sensitive" files could be returned without being opened in order to help in the diagnosis of the problem. (OK, the Abuse Guy may have stretched the truth a wee bit on the diagnostic part, but what the heck.)

Then the Abuse Guy went home and drank too much, because that's one of the ways that adults deal with issues that could likely wind up causing them to lose their jobs and be forever branded by society as "that moron who sent the naked pictures to that precise and ordered person in the Land of Colorado."

The still slightly fuzzy Abuse Guy returned to the land of Tripod the next day and checked his e-mail. There sat the returned e-mails along with a separate note from the precise and ordered person from the Land of Colorado saying that he hoped the Abuse Guy was closing in on the problem. He also thanked the Abuse Guy for his efforts.

The Abuse Guy breathed a long sigh of relief — an occurrence that met the dismay of his co-workers given the events of the night before — and returned to work, happy in the knowledge that his abuse-ridden carcass was safe to ride another day. And he has — at least so far — lived happily ever after, except for the fact that the manager-type person cheerfully says about three times a week: "I still haven't received those images!"

The Moral of the Story: I have no idea. I just wanted to fulfill my obligation to Anna and "Letters From Tripod." Thanks for making it this far.

— Neil Bibbins, 1/7/99

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Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

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