Speaking of which, how appropriate that this phenomenon is called a "worm." Not just as a title for the cyber-criminal's modus operandi, but for the perp. Worm. Yup, that's you, Bo. A slimy, writhing, putrid, stinking little sun-shunning, garbage-eating worm.
Now, before all you gardeners and bream lovers share your moral outrage, please rest assured that I harbor no malice toward real worms, which are welcome in my garden. But, as God's creatures go, worms are among the least huggable. As is true about this bin Laden-ish creature pleasuring himself in his virtual life.
Yeah, you. I'm talking to you. One person, two, 50? Al-Qaida? Saddamite? Boy, girl, American, alien? Don't know who you are, but I've got some country cousins (wait, do I hear banjos?) just dying to meet you. Oh, sure, you think you're "So big," but we're betting you're a squirmy little wormy who has a big problem on Saturday nights.
Just what punishment should we deliver to this fish bait when and if caught? I'll leave such ethical dilemmas to the legal eagles, but forget the rack. My own pleasure seeks the obvious: A large hook and a fishing expedition off the New England island of Amity. Anyone?