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What if some day one of the waves—with a mild «plumpee!»—will unexpectedly bring and serve a bottle onto the desolate sand in the lonely beach, where from it had started its matchless voyage some heck of a long time ago?

And fighting back the tremor in your eager fingers, you’ll open it, O, islander—this vagabond envelope encrusted with uneven sea-salt fancy patterns—because who but you knows so too well the meaning of OBPS!

And—lo!—you have already spread out the sepia tinged sheets and got delighted with the inimitable perfection of your style of yore, and the depth of your own thought forgotten by you so long ago (what a pity a couple of pages are fucked up by a stray ship worm!)

Damn! You’re but a sworn philosopher and global thinker, Mr. Kilroy! I swear on my word of honor!.

Well, and this seems quite enough for the first missive, because I still need to find some rubber tree, and bang out a kinda cork to seal the bottle, so as not to miss sending it with the evening tide.

What makes me a definately ardent devotee of OBPS, it’s its being free—no postage fee whatsoever—look! look! see?! it’s taken! carried off! no stamp is needed, no nothing!

* * *

Bottle #2: ~ Hubba Hubba Ding-Ding, Dear Comrades! Congrats To All On This Jubilee, And – Hooray! ~

And, by the bye, you don’t get the uninhabited island as is for just a ‘thank you!’ neither for an honest-to-God look of your blue eyes. Ha! Seen there in heaps already.. Nope. The charm fails to raise the response counted on. The island mulishly awaits till you conquer it. Moreover since it’s equipped with a complete system of canalization behind each convenient bush in the state of the art readiness and so full of natural davenports. Aye, aye!.

Yet, all these heavenly niceties are available only after severe struggle and surviving at the two preliminary levels: The Ivory Tower and Unconquerable Autism. Yep, exactly in this order.

Well, on the whole, The Tower is not an over-complicated thing for egg-heads only, no. All you have to do is just to stay totally immersed in your post stamps collection or whatever is dear to the crux of your soul’s temperament and do not give a fuck about anything else. Simply equalize it to the level of external hum, boring and foreign consort to your inner life completely set aside for to the thing you tickle your soft spot with.

Sure enough, they’re all too eager to derail you by every kind of “go buy bread please!” or else “Run! It’s an air raid!” Don’t let them distract you and hang on till “You Win!” crowning the level’s accomplishment.

Level Two, at first sight, looks a kinda simpler job. No need to give a fuck about any-fucking-thing whatsoever.

Here, the stratagem is locking yourself off thoroughly with all five senses sealed up as firm as needed for the successful passing the whole thing.

However, be warned of physical harassment – they will make you keep sitting on the toilet or else may clutch a cup with your fingers and pour its contents into you, “See? This how it’s done! Will you never learn nothing? You, dumb stupid ass?” Don’t talk back and be patient for the sake of “You Win!” after which you sure get to Uninhabited Island after all.

O that’s what you call the paradisiacal cream! Rhythmic swell of lolling surf of the Digital Ocean, light warm breeze from the electric blower under your feet, sexy moans of gulls through your headset and other fit attributes checked on as favorite widgets.

The functions under your command are simply innumerable here, on a par with Almighty’s level. And why so? Ha! Since we’ve lived up to a tangible jubilee already.

Remembered now? Right! The Internet is 25 today! Ho-ho!

A quarter of century ago the scientifically minded public started to call each other to exchange text files over the wires. Not every cat did get it then, all of a sudden, whereto steered so quirky a telephonization. Still fewer could, at that pivotal moment, catch the jazz as being charged with much cooler stuff than even entry to the cosmic era when all the nation bust their ass to give a couple of citizens the chance of getting high and hanging up there, in the weightlessness, on their orbit before the invariable return to normal gravitation.

Quite different kettle of fish, in toto, with this here Internet where everyone may have an opportunity to individually (yet still en masse) get out of the state where you belong as a taxpayer (what? you haven’t even suspected? yes, sir, they’ll tax you and get you and fuck you without you ever noticing when and how, the state will, which you own quite a few sacred debts—if you Old Ones don’t settle the issue with a doctor on the draft medical commission, and where you’ll be used for other needs too, thanks to your citizenship).

And all of a sudden – yay! The independence breeze stirred up! The sweet word “freedom!” echoed from afar.

Yeah, o, yeah… NetScape, AltaVista – the legendary, glorious, long since forgotten names of genus-starters in the line of search engines… It’s them who paved my way to virtually visit the USA Congress Library full of the matter of fact information instead of filtered staple oatmeal broadcast by the TV news program Vremya or Mayak, the All-Union Radio Station, the bigger half of my life.

Thus flopped the mission of the “screaming” silencers in the range of short radio waves. Those crafty contraptions meant to kept the USSR citizens corralled off and hedged against the subversive influence of the outside world by the deafening crackle of the static, while the inner mass media brain-washed the Soviet people 24/7 carrying out the prophylactic mentality sterilization, and turning the population into dumb cattle. The prudent precautions did not prevent the disintegration of the Soviet Union though (whose death preceded the birth of the Internet), and now we can freely choose our own way to being formatted into shithead consumers.

That’s why all the salesmen disseminating nostalgia for the golden days of Soviet era are viewed by me as low-grade promoters of the fucking Restoration. It’s only that I don’t stroll around with a Mauser pistol because of the built-in pacifism in the firmware of both the motherboard and other vital parts of my personality…

Presently, text hunting is looked upon as an oddball twist to your mindset, some funny atavism, sort of. Who’d ever need the stuff? Wake up, bro! The Net’s swamped with freebie dolls nicely applicable for jerking , as well as warfare for edging any bent of taste be it War of Tanks or Aviation, or bare Strategy, ready for customers of any quirk and preference in their way of masturbation.