Reply by email, filling out this form and emailing it to me.
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.

I will guarantee anonymity except in cases of blatant abuse.
I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
uncorrelated tabulations and then deleting the emails.
(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
resondents want anonymity it's hard to avoid.)
I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
you have no particular reason to trust me. Someday, I hope.
I will post results Saturday.

 xxxxxxxx  beginning of survey  xxxxxxxx

 yes( )   ( )no Should RoadRunner be subjected to some kind of UDP?
 yes( )   ( )no ... active UDP (cancels) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... passive UDP (drop messages) ?
 yes( )   ( )no ... all-groups UDP? (as opposed to specific groups)
 yes( )   ( )no Are you a Usenet sysadmin? How big:_   How long:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should another server be subjected to UDP? Who:_
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used more often?
 yes( )   ( )no Should UDPs be used less often?
 yes( )   ( )no Would you have answered this survey without anonymity?

 xxxxxxxx  end of survey  xxxxxxxx


--
into the sand, wriggling, struggling.
Then oblivion.
    Hours later, or it may have been days, I awakened to
find the sunlight streaming in upon me.  Shakily I turned
my head and looked about.  The surroundings were wholly
unfamiliar.  I was in a small one-roomed cottage, with sea
sparkling and glistening in the distance.  As I turned my
head I saw an old Buddhist priest watching me.  He smiled
and came towards me, sitting on the floor by my side.
    Haltingly, and with some considerable difficulty, we con-
versed.  Our languages were similar but not identical, and
with much effort, substituting and repeating words, we
discussed the position.
    "For some time," the priest said, "I have known that
I would have a visitor of some eminence, one who had a
great task in life.  Although old, I have lingered on until
my task was completed."
    The room was very poor, very clean, and the old priest

                                             47

was obviously on the verge of starvation.  He was emaciated 
and his hands shook with weakness and age.  His faded,      
ancient robe was patterned with neat stitches where he had
repaired the rav