🚀 go-pugleaf

Reply by email, filling out this form and emailing it to me.
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.

I will guarantee anonymity except in cases of blatant abuse.
I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
uncorrelated tabulations and then deleting the emails.
(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
resondents want anonymity it's hard to avoid.)
I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
you have no particular reason to trust me. Someday, I hope.
I will post results Saturday.

 xxxxxxxx  beginning of survey  xxxxxxxx

 yes( )   ( )no Should RoadRunner be subjected to some kind of UDP?
 yes( )   ( )no ... active UDP (cancels) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... passive UDP (drop messages) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... all-groups UDP? (as opposed to specific groups)
 yes( )   ( )no Are you a Usenet sysadmin? How big:_   How long:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should another server be subjected to UDP? Who:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used more often?
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used less often?
 yes( )   ( )no Would you have answered this survey without anonymity?

 xxxxxxxx  end of survey  xxxxxxxx 


--
of papers, shaking
his head negatively as he tossed them back and removing
another bundle.  "Ah!" he said at last, then fell silent.
Minutes later, he said, "Yes, I have a job for you!"
    He rifled through his papers, changed his spectacles and
reached out blindly towards a pile of cards, Picking up the
top one he placed it in front of him and slowly began to
write.  "Now where is it?  Ah!  Clapham, do  you know
Clapham?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "It
is a photographic processing works.  You will work by night.
Street photographers in the West End bring in their stuff
at night and collect the  proofs in the morning.  H'mm yes,
let me see."  He went on fumbling through the papers, "You

                                             187

will sometimes have to work in the West End yourself with
a camera as a relief man.  Now take this card to that address
and see him," he said, pointing with his pencil to a name he
had written on the card.
    Clapham was not one of the most salubrious districts of  
London; the address to which I went, in a mean back  
street in the slums adjacent to the railway sidings, was an  
ill-favored place indeed.  I knocked at the door of a house   
which had the paint peeling off, and one window of which     
had the glass "repaired" with sticky paper.  The door        
opened slightly and a slatternly woman peered out, tousled     
hair falling over her face.  
    "Yeh?  'Oo d'ye want?"  I told her and she turned with-
out speaking and yelled, " 'Arry!  Man to see ye!"  Turning     
she pushed the door shut, leaving me outside.  Sometime       
later the door opened, and a rough looking man stood there,  
unshaven, no collar, cigarette hanging from his lower lip.     
His toes showed through