Column: The inglorious hackers

If I were a cartoonist, a phrase cartoonists are loath to hear, I'd sketch a chubby imp donned in a diaper, sporting a chia mohawk and munching the last Big Mac on earth, while straddling a nuclear-armed missile that bears a striking resemblance to Dennis Rodman. The imp's pudgy hands would be caressing a palm-sized computer by which he can digitally destroy the object of his wrath du jour.

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