From an interview with baghunter Artem Moskovsky, who found bugs on Steam



Question: If you had a hacking/baghunter training program right now, what subjects would there be?



The answer is programming. English - all relevant information in English. Literature – reading reports with X1. and anonymity. Physical culture - in the case of pathen if bad with anonymity. Right - if bad with physical culture.

The Canadian businessman was accused of forging documents proving that the assets he must repay his company’s debt do not belong to him. The scam was revealed quite simply: in documents dating back to 1995, he used Calibri and Cambria – fonts that appeared only in the mid-2000s.

It is unfair. You cannot get into the same water. And on the same grail you can strike as much as the soul wishes.

Memories of Bulgaria

I lie on the beach and don’t touch anyone. Nearby the daughter cries, squeezes heavy sand in the cage, further in the boat, the son builds fortifications. My wife puts her hand behind the bucket. Someone’s toy cheers Chinese sound special effects. The chickens in vain try to repeat the motive.
The mood is philosophical, breakfast is dissolved in the stomach and Kubalibra, taken in honor of the afternoon, is amused. The Beauty. At the edge of the eye I catch a picture that fits perfectly to the inner relaxed mood.
Life is a joke, I know. But the fact that jokes are life, I don’t always believe. But had to.
On the left of me the shore becomes steep - the rise into the city begins. The waves with the thunder spread around the cement wall. It is from this wall that a 5-year-old boy runs a smelly machine. Chinese special effects gradually swallow, crossfeed growing child crying. I crashed so. Right into the wave.
The mother of the child at the same time insults and comforts the baby-adoo. Here it arises - Uncle savior, brother-Slavian, smiles a cute mom, plays a muscle and a beautiful fish flying down. Five meters flying. Almost not lifting the splash, touched the surface of the sea, flooded, lifted the water suspension in the air with a lush gripe, grabbed the subterranean miscarriage, which issued pre-death whispers, and triumphantly sailed to the beach. I swear, all the witnesses of this act saw what was happening in a beautiful rapide and under erotic music. What the views were talking about. The eyes shouted.
He returns the car to the child. My mother finds no words. The child is whispering to his mother. Probably discussing the issue of getting a uncle into a dad.
The mother, listening to the baby, approaches the rescue and loudly, in Russian, asks:
Where is the wheel, right?
As it is customary to write at the end of the stories, I fell my mouth into the sand.

The problem is that for every pensioner we have not a few working people, but a lot of thieves.