Sentence The Onehundredandeightyeighth
The Economic Migrant – that anonymous luminary of the net - never needed to watch his fingers as they flew across the keyboard; whether it was a real one, or an image on a touch screen, he knew where every character, shift key and command was; his eyes were always on the screen, as he scrolled down for what he sought, filtering and burrowing deeper, slipping through Firewalls, eluding password traps and seeking out the fundamental essential, the very alnage at the core – BINGO! and he giggled – these people were so stupid, absolute dotterels, they were begging to be hacked, for all their naughty little secrets and lies to be brought out into the open, to be shared and poured over and laughed at, total divulgate, why else would they store all that stuff so conveniently, so insecurely, so unprotected, so that he could, with just a few taps of his finger, enter into the little dungeons of their minds, discover the darkest and deepest depravity of their souls; if you are really evil, why don't you bury the bodies where no one will ever stumble across them, he wondered, this is so easy, even a baby can do it!