November 11th, 2005


Copyright Question of the Day

Thanks to those who answered last week's question. I agree that a playwright should have some control over his play, even though I don't believe hiding behind copyright law is the right way to enforce moral rights.

Today's question: When you buy a SonyBMG CD and put it in your computer, is it okay for them to install spyware that can't easily be removed and might make your computer more vulnerable to virus or worm attack?

Keep in mind that you have agreed to have some sort of software installed (maybe not spyware), by accepting the EULA, which says:
...this CD will automatically install a small proprietary software program (the “SOFTWARE”) onto YOUR COMPUTER. The SOFTWARE is intended to protect the audio files embodied on the CD, and it may also facilitate your use of the DIGITAL CONTENT. Once installed, the SOFTWARE will reside on YOUR COMPUTER until removed or deleted.

Let down your drawbridge, I'll enter your keep...

Theresa and Deborah are out and the kids are asleep; even when I have music on, the house feels strangely quiet; Or at least, it was until I put on the 'R' Certificate Songbook - a wonderuful album of bawdy songs I borrowed from Dad. It's so infectiously delightful and beautifully obscene.

You've probably already heard some of these bawdy songs, or else you're leading a sheltered life. It has some classics like Poor Little Angeline, The Woodpecker Song and Chastity Belt. And of course a medley in the tradition of Sweet Violets.

A few great lyrics to share with you all:
Our head prefect;
Her name is Jane.
She only likes it now and again.
And again, and again, and again, and again.

He said the world was round-o, his balls hung to the ground-o;
That masturbating, fornicating, son-of-a-bitch Columbo.

The mayor of Bayswater, has a charming little daughter,
and the hairs on her dicky-dido hang down to her knees.
One black one, one white one, and one with a bit of shite on...
But wait, it gets worse:
You'd need a gold miner, to find her vagina,
and the hairs on her dicky-dido hang down to her knees.
And she's not the only one:
He was lousy and dirty and covered in fleas;
The hair on his balls hung down to his knees.
God bless the bastard king of England.
And of course, the patriotic ending to that song:
Rule Britannia marmalade and jam.
Five Chinese crackers up your asshole;
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
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