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Date:   Wed, 02 Jan 2019 01:41:58 +0000
From:   vsnsdualce@memeware.net
To:     linux-kernel@vger.kernel.org, gentoo-user@lists.gentoo.org,
        ubuntu-users@lists.ubuntu.com, debian-user@lists.debian.org
Cc:     freebsd-women@freebsd.org, freebsd-chat@freebsd.org,
        misc@openbsd.org
Subject: knifeshack (Linux Property rights)
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Let's say you had an old knife shack. Called Knife Shack InC. (you
ain't incorporated, you just call it that, looks nice on the sign). On
an old dusty road, telephone pole bout ready to fall down next typhoon
hit. Behind yo knoif shack there is quite a body of water, now it's
murky, but it is infact quite deep. An old sink hole, now filled
beyond filling with the dandruff of the ages. No outlets, so the water
just pools and infiltrates the surrounding properties.

You own this little piece of the world, owned it for a few
generations, bought it off of the old landlords when they were selling
mineral rights and then decided to get rid of the rest too.

They went up north. A reverse carpet-bagging situation.

You don't have much. You have a house on another piece of property,
quite aways up the road, and this shack, and this sinkhole. You
actually are quite the property owner, but it ain't worth shit. That's
what erryone tell you anyhow.

The old big house been turned into an old folks home a decaded ago,
shame, it's a piece of shit like your property now - least that's what
everyone say.

Pope's on TV, old fan from the 50s still working, You could get a flat
screen but the power supplies can't handle the brown outs here, old TV
still works fine, you use it like a radio anyway.

Guy comes into your fish shack. You ain't never seen him in your life,
you tell yourself. You know him however, he lives somewhat close,
comes in from time to time, looks around, he in a suit, he never buys
from you anything, he has a reputation, suits getting dusty, the
pinstripes are wider than that which the people on TV wear.

He comes up to you. You're playing with a knife of yours, spinning it
on it's tip. It's a fish skinning knife with a gutting hook on the
back. It is quite a large one. The blade is a full 15 inches, thick,
you could work on the sand sharks with this, if you ever took the hour
and ahalf drive down to the beach.

You have a sign on your counter: "We's generous".

Sometimes people ask you what that means.

The man in the suit approaches you: first time for everthing.

S: "Ay, I'd like that knife"

You tell him it isn't for sale.

S: "I ain neva said I thoughts it was, whass 'Wes generous' mean anyhow"

You tell him that you will lend him the knife if he wishes.

S: "Aight"

He takes possession of the knife.

He's a fisher he says.

The man in the striped suit leaves.

Months go by. You see the man sometimes, he tells you how the knife
you licensed to him is getting great use, he fishes alot you see.

He then inquires about that murky seemingly bottomless sinkhole out
back. He wishes to be-able to dump some fishing refuse in it.

S: "We's generous, right?"

You grant him license to travel over your land to the sinkhole and
dump the fishing refuse into the sinkhole.

Time passes.

You notice your knife has become more resplendent.

Each time the stripped suited man, this fisher, catches a fish, it
seems, he is in the habit of tacking a red five pointed star from
Russia onto the handle. Each time the man comes into your shack you
notice that there are more and more red stars, additionally, between
the stars is now a dark red lacquer. It looks quite stunning, a battle
worn cleaver; shouting it's victory against countless ensnared aquatic
beings.

Time, again, passes.

Two police officers show up. Not the state troopers who sometimes come
by the shop, no these are from one of the towns.

P1: "You sell guttin knives here"

You respond in the affirmative.

P1: "You ever sold a rather large red gutting knife, tack handled"

He seems to be getting agitated.
You say no, but you have licensed a fisher to use a knife you own, and
while it was not originally tack-handled, nor red, now it would indeed
match such a description.

P1: "You fking piece of shit, you get us back that knife or you are
going down as an accomplice, you understand that you coal bla.."

The second police man interrupts him.

They start to head out.

The second police man informs you that they will be by the store three
days from now, as well as one week from now. To please reassert
possession of the knife in that time.

A month goes by and they do not come.

Three months later you are arrested and interrogated in the harshest
possible terms. You wonder if you can father children anymore.

You are informed that the prosecutor has agreed to prosecute you as an
accomplice, however if you come into possession of the knife, they may
reconsider.

Soon thereafter the suited man appears in your store.

You tell him that you are ending the license you had extended to him,
regarding both the knife and the permission to dump in the sinkhole.

He contends that the knife is irrevocable:
He relys upon the knife to execute his job of fishing.
Furthermore he has put tacks in the knife, and if he were to return
the knife to you his tack work would go to waste from his point of view.
Additionally he tells you that he also relys on your extended license
to dump the fishing refuse into the sinkhole for his fishing business
and thus that license is irrevocable aswell.

You desperately plead with him and yell "Give me back my fking knife!".

He laughs and leaves.

You are arrested and tried as an accomplice, your assets are seized
under civil forfeiture as property used in the commission of crime.

The suited man who was the fisher is tried in asbtentia for
Conversion, amongst other rather more serious charges.

As of right: the knife is yours, and you had every right to rescind
the gratuitous license you granted regarding it. The fisher never
payed you anything for use of the knife, nor of your land. He cannot
hold you to your "bargain".

The man was a fisher of men.