The Men From Mongo present A Night in New Jack City on First Friday (a/k/a 'Our Misadventures with Emmanuel Goldstein during and after the New York 2600 Meeting') Citicorp Center, 5:00 PM: We arrived at the site of the imfamous 2600 meetings early to conduct an early recon. The atrium is filled with young boys who smell strongly of KY Jelly, and a few casually dressed men with short haircuts, who are wearing jackets in 80 degree weather that bulge under the shoulder. We sit alone until The Omega Man recognizes one of the MIBs as someone he killed people with in Cambodia. (Don't ask.) 7:00 PM: The pied piper of the phreak world, Emmanuel Goldstein (Eric Corley in real life), shows up fashonably late. All the young boys run screaming to him, and spend all their money on t-shirs, hats, and back issues of 2600 which they'll probally never read, yet alone understand. One of the MIBs asks "What's his fucking appeal?" Little did we know we would later find out. After about 15 minutes, the high pitched squealing of prepubescent male voices drives us all fucking nuts so we go out and have a smoke. 8:00 PM: We're down in the Village chilling out in back of a non-descript looking panel van filled with neat shit. Goldstein took his entourage to some restaurant where beers were six bucks a bottle. The MIBs tell us we can hang out with them, they have a couple cases of chilled Molson Ice in a cooler. The Omega Man and his buddy from Cambodia are talking about Class III weaponry while being shown the MP-5s in a rack behind the driver's seat. The Omega Man pulls out his MP-5K PDW and passes it around. All the MIBs are suitably impressed, as all they carry are Glocks. Joshua Tower is fucking with a parabolic mike and spotting scope. He sees EG sitting next to one of the young boys from the 2600 meeting; whispering in his ear. Josh hooks a speaker to the patch panel in time for us to hear EG telling him "Come to NotWorks later and I'll teach you about penetration." The kid looks excited and nods his head up and down vigorously. 9:00 PM: We manage to blend back in with the entourage as they head to NotWorks. NotWorks is this office space filled with computers and electronics that nobody uses. Goldstein is conspiciously absent. Just as we are about to ask of our host's whereabouts, we hear this high-pitched voice scream "TEACH ME MORE DADDY!". Our question is answered. 9:15 PM: After listening to a whole bunch of people talk about nothing, we decide to go out and have a smoke. Before we reach the elevator, black jumpsuits carrying some really neat Class III weaponry come crashing through the Window and out the Elevator. We all start reaching for our holsters when one of the black jumpsuits says "What the fuck are you doing here?" 9:30 PM: The feds didn't find any evidence of computer crime or ECPA violations, and kept muttering about "What a clueless asshole that pothead is.", and how they should have just court martialed his ass in . When they finally break down a Medeco-locked steel door into a back room and turn on the light however, they find something else getting "owned". 10:30 PM: We're in Mid-Town-South Precenct having coffee and donuts with a detective leutenant who's a regular user of our Warez FTP sites. He keeps asking us "What division are you in?". The Omega Man is with some generic SWAT-garbed uniform showing him his MP-5K. The uniform has this obvious raging hard-on as he examines the Machine Pistol, and asks "Why didn't you start working the job when you came back from overseas?" Little does he know The Omega Man was asked to leave the LAPD due to excessive police brutality complaints against him, making his supervisor puke while watching him "question" a suspect, and suspicion of being involved in the claymore mine homicide of some drug dealer. Some sergant bursts in yelling "Ya gotta see this!". We all rush into the control center, where microphones in the holding cell are blaring a cachophony of human noise. Occassionaly one hears the word "boyfucker". A cop is walking towards the cell area with an armful of toilet plungers as we watch the monitor. I guess EG is going to learn what the lowest form of jailhouse life is. 11:00 PM Just as our gracious host is about to bleed to death on the floor of the holding cell, some public defender wielding a writ of Habeus Corpus comes burtsting in. He's followed by an EMS ALS unit that hauls him to Mt. Sinai. Apparently the parents of his newest boyfriend called their lawyer, some guy named Bernstein, who convinced them EG was worth more to them alive...