Only the fittest survive. The vanquished acknowledge their unworthiness by
placing a classified ad with the ritual phrase “must sell — best offer,”
and thereafter dwell in infamy, relegated to discussing gas mileage and lawn
food. But if successful, you join the elite sodality that spends hours
unpurifying the dialect of the tribe with arcane talk of bits and bytes, RAMS
and ROMS, hard disks and baud rates. Are you obnoxious, obsessed? It’s a
modest price to pay. For you have tapped into the same awesome primal power
that produces credit-card billing errors and lost plane reservations. Hail,
postindustrial warrior, subduer of Bounceoids, pride of the cosmos, keeper of
the silicone creed: Computo, ergo sum. The force is with you — at 110 volts.
May your RAMS be fruitful and multiply.
— Curt Suplee, “Smithsonian”, 4/83