Russian Slackers

Bill and I were in our home office, immersed in a new project, when I heard Mom calling to me. I hadn’t heard a crash or a thud or anything breaking, so I finished up the paragraph I was working on then wandered out to the living room.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Did you hear about the slackers?” she asked, pointing toward the TV.

“What slackers?” I asked, glancing at the noon news anchor on the screen.

“The ones that just stole a bunch of stuff from the internet,” she said.

“Do you mean the hackers? The Russian hackers that just stole all that personal information?”

“Yes, those are the ones. Did you hear about it?”

“Well I guess so, Mom, since I knew they were Russians,” I replied.

“Well I think you need to change your name,” she said.

“Change my name? Like to Gladys or Edna?” I asked.

“If that’ll work,” she said with a solemn nod.

“I think you mean password. And we’ve already done it,” I said, turning to leave. “But thanks for looking out for us.”

“No problem,” she called to my retreating back. “At least now nobody can steal your internet stuff.”



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