Dr. Dobb's Journal September 2000
Law-enforcement officials are beginning to understand that the global nature of the Internet raises complex jurisdictional issues. A UN conference is convening in Palmero, Italy, to discuss international jurisdiction over cybercrime. At the same time, in a secret location, another meeting is taking place...
So Tubby Tenor walks in with two bodyguards, his mother, and Uncle Squirrelly. This casts a pall over the conversation, which up to then has focused exclusively on the odds on Tubby seeing another birthday if he persists in his attempt to control all cybercrime on the Internet.
"Sorry," Tubby says, flicking lint off his Armani suit, "I shoulda e-mailed youse I was gonna be late."
Richie Rich smart-mouths back, "Hey, that's okay Tubby, we got the message when you didn't show."
Tubby's bodyguards shove Richie's face in his zuppa. Chairs slide back, hands reach for hardware.
Ma punches Tubby in the ribs. "You don't introduce your poor old mother to your friends? No respect."
Tubby has had it up to here with Ma, which does not do him no good to say. "Do these mooks look like anybody's friends, Ma? I thought I said wait in the car. I'm gettin' an anxiety attack."
Big Al stands up and it gets quiet. Big Al is not just his name. Big Al wears size You Don't Wanna Know suits. The PDA in his shirt pocket is a Newton. Big Al says, "Tubby, we gotta talk domain turf." Tubby, cool as Tux the penguin, grins and sits down. "Sure, Big Al. You wanna talk, we talk."
"I knew you'd be reasonable. Didn't I say Tubby Tenor was a reasonable man, Richie? Shut up." He sits back down. "Tubby, things are gettin' outta hand with this cybersquatting business. What you did to Anastasio was extreme."
"Now you're my judge? I answer to bigger people than you, my friend. I answer to Esther Dyson."
Tommy Toupe pipes up, "That's it. Talk time's over. It's Scarface, final scene, bazookas blazing."
Big Al sighs. "Again with the scenarios, Tommy? You watch too much cable."
"What are we talkin' about here, Al?" Tubby asks. "Cause I got a splitting headache."
"He blames me for that," Ma says. "No respect. Twelve hours I'm in labor with him. Twelve hours."
Tubby massages his temples. "You're workin' overtime here, Ma, you wanna cut me some slack?"
"Talk about cutting, I shoulda had a Caesarian."
"That's cute, Ma." Tubby turns to Uncle Squirrelly. "How about you, Einstein? Weigh in any time."
"I wanna do an IPO," the old guy says, waking up from his nap. Total spaz, but he's the patriarch.
"Yeah, you do an IPO, unk. So Big Al, lay it out for me. Gimme the who-what-where."
Big Al finishes a bite of eggplant and puts down his fork, slow. All the time in the world, right? "The thing is, Tubby, the old ways don't work no more. In the old days, your uncle here, with all respect, and my old man, they ran it all: bookmaking, the numbers racket, loan sharking, narcotics, prostitution, hijacking, blackmail, extortion. And they split it up geographic, you know?"
"And Zorba the Greek and Zeppo the Freak, too. They had a piece. They was brothers, of course."
"Got nothin' to do with they was brothers. I'm tryin' to say those days are gone. Today we got cybersquatting, denial-of-service attacks, MP3 piracy. It's a different market. You read The Cluetrain Manifesto? Don't matter. Point is, the old geographic divisions don't work no more."
"So? We gonna go to the mattresses over domain names, Al?"
Tommy Toupe says, "I say we take him out. We take out Mr. GQ here, everybody else falls in line."
Big Al sneers at him. "You dream this stuff up on your own, Braniac, or did your Mommie let you stay up to watch Who Wants to Be a Gangster?"
Uncle Squirrelly, drool running down his chin, wakes up again. "I got the prospectus right here," he says. This cracks everybody up and lightens the tension.
"Cuttin' to the chase, T," Big Al says, "I propose we go alphabetic."
And that's it. Two hours later, it's all decided. The Tenor family gets control of all dot-com domains starting with the letters A through M, plus all the dot-orgs and dot-nets. Big Al's family gets dot-coms south of N, plus certain key country domains. Everybody else gets countries and options on future domains.
It's a done deal. Until Tommy Toupe has to open his big mouth one more time. "I just don't get this denial-of-service racket. How you make any profit offa that? Who pays? Is it a shakedown or what?"
Tubby laughs at him. "Profit? This is Dotcomville. We left making a profit back in Notgetitland. Where you been, Prince Rogain, under a rock?"
And that's how the war began.
Michael Swaine
editor-at-large
mswaine@swaine.com