His name was Stusut77
A friend of a friend of the granny of a man down the pub once told me an urban legend about a long-lost relative of his who had committed a vile offence so heinous that his soul was sucked into a machine (it was either a spinning jenny or a 486, I can’t recall which). Now this poor soul's spirit is doomed to wander the echoing wires of the world uttering profane depravities in a bid to spit out the black filth of his mind. It is reminiscent of the Sandman legend in that, if you chant his name 69 times quickly into a mirror, bad things will happen. In this case, the bad thing is that you'll splutter spittle on your mirror. Today, according to the friend of a friend of the granny of a man down the pub, the lost one is apparently locked in a febrile, electronic coupling with an entity known as He Who Has No Legs, their strange words blending in a hymn to madness on certain arcane messageboards of the doomed. As for this creature's original offence, my source went strangely quiet. Apparently it has to do with a shameful and grotesque act committed in the mists of time on a beloved pet. A Flemish wolfhound it was and it used to guard the family's collection of antique, corrugated codpieces, It did not survive its ordeal.

The only other clue my drunken chatterbox had been able to glean was that the poor beast was called … Jimmynudge.

Don’t believe a word of it myself.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Tue 10 Jan 2006, 11:26, Reply)