Lord Fezzik Creates and Destroys the Passworld

In the beginning was the word, but that word took a pass. So there came into being another word, which was slightly longer and more creative sounding. But this second word was not enough. As it was too close to the first word, the second word would allow access to the first word through itself after becoming known a posteriori. So there came into being a third word which would allow access to the second word after itself was known a posteriori. Once access was granted to the second word it was up to the user to come to know the second word a posteriori which would allow access to the word (henceforth referred to as word1) which could only be known a priori. If the user were able to know both word3 and word2, he would gain access to word1 which would lead to the sacred email inbox of Lord Fezzik.

Lord Fezzik, thought by most to be a brawny simpleton but actually just deeply self-conscious, reasoned that the only way to protect his holy inbox was to create more and more words that one must pass through. For Lord Fezzik knew if his inbox were revealed and someone began spamming his friends with ads for viagra and penis enlargement, he would absolutely die of embarrassment and never be able to show his face at a party again. Therefore, Lord Fezzik created word4 and word5 and so on, and called them passwords.

One day, while out for a stroll, Lord Fezzik was struck by an acutely severe panic attack triggered by the thought that his enlightened inbox was still not secure. His eyes began darting anxiously to each person walking past him, broadcasting his paranoia and pleading with the universe to tell him everyone wasn’t laughing at him. At his wit’s end, he began to spin in place and let out a helpless groan, when a child, about 10 yards away yelled, “Retard!” and threw an apple that smacked him in the temple. The child’s callous act shook him from his anxious state, whereupon a radical new idea wormed its way up and out of his brain; security questions.

Utilizing his heightened reasoning abilities, Lord Fezzik thought that if one were forced to answer questions that only Lord Fezzik would know the answers to, and then have to pass through the multitude of words, he could finally rest assured that no one else would witness his unknowable inbox. So Lord Fezzik commanded the questions to come into being. And they were:

What is your mother’s maiden name?

What was your first car (make and model)?

What year did you graduate from high school?

What is your favorite food?

And at last satisfied, Lord Fezzik journeyed home and laid down to rest.

The next morning Lord Fezzik awoke, rubbed his eyes and stumbled to his computer to check his email. Upon attempting to log in, he was prompted by a security question, just as he had commanded. “What is your mother’s maiden name?” flashed on the screen. He sat upright and cracked a slight grin, awash with pride at the genius of his personalization. “Ms. Fezzik,” he typed and he was allowed to pass. Ironically, it seemed that as protective as Lord Fezzik was with his email account, he still had no qualms giving away personal information to a third party computer system, but…moving on…

Next, he was prompted to enter his password which was ********.
“Incorrect password. Please try again,” was the computer’s response. “What? This can’t be,” he thought, and he typed ******** again. “Incorrect password. Please try again,” was the computer’s response. Lord Fezzik tried again and again but always received the same reply until he realized there were just too many damn passwords and not even he could access his sacred inbox, or golden bank account, or hallowed Facebook page, or angelic Amazon account with reduced rate shipping, or read his friend’s news article recommendations from CNN or the BBC.

So Lord Fezzik called customer service at each one of these fine establishments. To each representative, he calmly and politely explained that he’d created too many damn passwords and couldn’t remember them. He explained he couldn’t remember if he was on word205 or word2005 and that even if he got to word1 again, he wasn’t sure if he could remember what it was, much less know it a priori, which was necessary to know it at all. “And if I have forgotten the word from which all others sprung, then there is no absolute the other words of pass point to, so I’ve just been aimlessly remembering letters stitched together as nonsense leading me down a chasm of falsely represented experiential knowledge (pop-ups) dancing outside the core reasoned and objective definition that is my holy, sacred, immaculate, unknowable and ridiculously overprotected email account.”

“I’m sure that’s true, sir,” the customer service representative replied. “How can I help you today?” “I need to know my password!” Lord Fezzik demanded. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t keep accessible records of our customer’s passwords. However, if you like, I can reset your password and email a new, temporary password to you…”