You're confident in the way you covered your tracks. They'll never catch me, you think, as you wait to meet the homicide detective in charge of the investigation.
Who would make you rethink that confidence? In other words, who would make you hold out your wrists and say, "I give up, arrest me," the second they walked into the room to question you?
To celebrate a one year anniversary of my blog post "A netizen’s guide to Mastodon and the fediverse" [1], I'd like to rerun one of the polls [2] from the article:
Have you ever made a donation to a fediverse server admin?
In another era I could have been a revered polymath and wit, beloved of the salons of Europe and with the ear of kings. But since I hate writing things out longhand and I don't like socialites, it's probably best that I would in all likelihood have died in infancy.