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 -- continual torture gave me pneumonia. They did not want me to die and so in their way they looked after me, and gave me treatment. When I was recovering-I did not let the Japanese know how well I was recovering-the earth shook; I thought it was an earthquake, and then I looked out of the window and found that the Japanese were running in terror, and all the sky turned red, it looked as if the sun was obscured. Although I did not know it, this was the atom bombing of Hiroshima, the day of the first bomb on October 6th, 1945. The Japanese had no time for me, they needed all their time to look after themselves, I thought, and so I managed to pick up a uniform, a cap, and a pair of heavy sandals. Then I tottered out into the open air through the narrow unguarded doorway, and managed to make my way down to the shore where I found a fishing boat. Apparently the owner had fled in terror as the bomb dropped, for he was nowhere in sight. The boat idly rocked at its moorings. In the bottom there were a few pieces of stale fish already 45 starting to give off the odor of decay. There was a dis- carded can nearby which had stale water in it, drinkable, but only just. I managed to hack away the flimsy rope holding the boat to the shore, and cast off. The wind filled out the ragged sail when I managed to hoist it hours later, and the boat headed out into the unknown. The effort was too much for me. I just toppled to the bottom in a dead faint. A long time after, how long I cannot say, I can only judge the passage of time by the state of decomposition of the fish, I awakened to the dimness of a dawn. The boat was racing on, the little waves breaking over the bows. I was too ill with pneumonia to bale, and so I just had to lie with my shoulders and the bottom of my body in the salt water, in all the refuse which swilled