Something that someone typed up in MS Word, printed onto an A4 sheet of paper, then left on a bench in Sauchiehall street one fine Saturday afternoon.... I guess.
Hit the jump to unfold.
I love end-of-the-world psychobabble. As much as it frustrates me when it gets in the way of actually solving actual problems actually, it can be a LOT of fun when it's taken as the fiction as it is, even if it IS something that some lone conspiriacy nut has either typed up himself or copypasted off the internet.
It seems that right at the end, whoever typed this got confused and forgot whether he was typing out a web address or an email address (It's the first one by the way, if you care to fix it and observe the madness for yourself)