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QuoteSubject: Don't forget to pay the tax within 2 days!

Body: Hi. How are you?

I know, it's unpleasant to start the conversation with bad news, but I have no choice.
Few months ago, I have gained access to your devices that used by you for internet browsing.
Afterwards, I could track down all your internet activities.

Here is the history of how it could become possible:
At first, I purchased from hackers the access to multiple email accounts (nowadays, it is a really simple thing to do online).
As result, I could easily log in to your email account ([scraped email]).

One week later, I installed Trojan virus in Operating Systems of all devices of yours, which you use to open email.
Frankly speaking, it was rather straightforward (since you were opening the links from your inbox emails).
Everything ingenious is quite simple. (o_0)!

My software enables me with access to all controllers inside devices of yours, like microphone, keyboard and video camera.
I could easily download to my servers all your private info, including the history of web browsing and photos.
I can effortlessly gain access to all your messengers, social networks accounts, emails, contact list as well as chat history.
Virus of mine constantly keeps refreshing its signatures (because it is driver-based), and as result remains unnoticed by your antivirus.

Hence, you can already guess why I stayed undetected all this while.

As I was gathering information about you, I couldn't help but notice that you are also a true fan of adult-content websites.
You actually love visiting **** sites and browsing through **** videos, while ****.
I could make a few dirty records with you in the main focus and montaged several videos showing the way you reach **** while **** with joy.

If you are still uncertain regarding the seriousness of my intentions, it only requires several mouse clicks for me to forward your videos to all your relatives, as well as friends and colleagues.
I can also make those vids become accessible by public.
I honestly think that you do not really want that to happen, considering the peculiarity of videos you like to watch, (you obviously know what I mean) all that **** content can become a reason of serious troubles for you.

However, we can still resolve this situation in the following manner:
Everything you are required to do is a single transfer of $1370 USD to my account (or amount equivalent to bitcoin depending on exchange rate at the moment of transfer), and once the transaction is complete, I will straight away remove all the dirty content exposing you.
After that, you can even forget that you have come across me. Moreover, I swear that all the harmful software will be removed from all devices of yours as well.
Make no doubt that I will fulfill my part.

This is really a great deal that comes at a reasonable price, given that I have used quite a lot of energy to check your profile as well as traffic over an extended period of time.
If you have no idea about bitcoin purchase process - it can be straightforwardly done by getting all the necessary information online.

Here is my bitcoin wallet provided below: [bitcoin address]

You should complete the abovementioned transfer within 48 hours (2 days) after opening this email.

The following list contains actions you should avoid attempting:
#Do not try replying my email (email in your inbox was generated by me alongside with return email address).
#Do not try calling police as well as other security forces. In addition, abstain from sharing this story with your friends.
After I find out (be sure, I can easily do that, given that I keep complete control of all your devices) - your **** video will end up being available to public right away.
#Do not try searching for me - there is absolutely no reason to do that. Moreover, all transactions in cryptocurrency are always anonymous.
#Do not try reinstalling the OS on your devices or throwing them away. It is pointless as well, since all your videos have already been uploaded to remote servers.

The following list contains things you should not be worried about:
#That your money won't reach my account.
- Rest assured, the transactions can be tracked, hence once the transaction is complete, I will know about it, because I continuously observe all your activities (my trojan virus allows me to control remotely your devices, same as TeamViewer).
#That I still will share your **** videos to public after you complete money transfer.
- Trust me, it's pointless for me to continue troubling your life. If I really wanted, I would make it happen already!

Let's make this deal in a fair manner!

Owh, one more thing...in future it is best that you don't involve yourself in similar situations any longer!
One last advice from me - recurrently change all your passwords from all accounts.

#44

News / Installing Blender 5.0 - Windo...

Last post by kat - November 21, 2025, 05:04:27 PM

"Installing Blender 5.0 - Windows 11 (ZIP)" https://www.katsbits.com/codex/install-blender-5-windows-11/ quick look at installing the newly released Blender 5.0 on Windows 11 (may be possible for Windows 10 with caveats).

#45

Blog / UPDATE #3: Malverts, Cloudflar...

Last post by kat - November 20, 2025, 10:45:40 AM

Update 3 or 4(?) on the ongoing saga that is Bot Defence Ultra 1000!

As visitors may have noticed, a "You're a robot, right?" Cloudflare challenge page may appear when looking through content on KatsBits. This is an automated check to mitigate the amount of aggressive bot traffic the site was getting hit by - bot traffic was consuming a sizable amount of resources to service their almost 1,000,000 requests (not necessarily page views) for data a week (or was it every 24 hrs?), energy that should have been available to humans actually reading/using the sites content.

Cloudflare blocks a significant amount of this - there are other options available but they're more intrusive and would potentially lock content behind a paywall, i.e. pay to access, which should obviously be avoided.

This does mean that, on the back of removing all network advertising, be it Google AdSense (rigged-game bleh!), Adsterra (holy disingenuous double-bleh batman!) or other services, largely because they can no longer be trusted to serve appropriate content, KatsBits needs your support, this can be done using Ko-Fi or Patreon.

They may still be a few teething issues in the short term as efforts to purge bot abuse need to be tweaked to catch all, if not as many as possible in the net. If you see anything untoward don't hesitate to send and alert on Discord or DMs via The Socials(TM) - "KatsBits" everywhere.

#46

Blog / Re: SCAM WARNING - eBusiness N...

Last post by kat - November 17, 2025, 05:49:44 PM

EU Trade Register
register@linisu.com

#47

Blog / UPDATE Malverts (bad/harmful a...

Last post by kat - November 13, 2025, 07:26:37 PM

Update on the 'advertisement issue' previously on KatsBits (first week of November 2025)...

All network based adverts (Google, Adsterra, et al) have been suspended indefinitely, they can no longer be trusted, KatsBits is 100% ad-free, and with your support, staying that way.

No more popups, click-jacking, malvertising or bad network bots.

This means KatsBits is now powered by you, so...

- Tip at KoFi: https://ko-fi.com/katsbits
- Subscribe at Patreon: https://patreon.com/katsbits

All free content stays free (*and freely available, no paywalls, gates or blockades!*).

Cheers!.

Kat

#48

News / PSA: Malverts (bad/harmful adv...

Last post by kat - November 12, 2025, 08:23:23 AM

Quick heads-up fam,

Earlier today some of you noticed, mobile users especially, and reported some really aggressive popovers, fake virus warnings, hijacking, forced redirecting messages, colloquially called "malverts" appearing across KatsBits.

Turns out the self-proclaimed 'premium' Ad network that was being trialled, Adsterra, was serving a number of not so 'premium' malvertising on the site (despite claims to have strict policies in place to monitor, prevent and punish that kind of activity).

All the offending code has been removed, so KatsBits should be clean again; adverts no longer show from any provider. Frankly, this kind of crap is cannot be tolerated at all, ever - KatsBits runs on trust, which is far more important than 'ads'.

Going forward: if ads are to be displayed, they'll be cleaner, from trusted networks that have active histories of policing for malverts across their networks. Plus potential direct support options (Ko-Fi/Patreon coming soon).

Thanks for your vigilance and flagging this junk so fast (you know who you are nameless fam) - you're the reason this place has been a trusted source for content creators for 15+ years.

Cheers

@Kat

#49

Blog / Re: Whistling Past The Graveya...

Last post by kat - November 10, 2025, 04:11:34 PM

Grok AI (X)

QuoteThe Pumpkin's Warning
---------------
In the quiet town of Hollowmere, where the streets curled like sleepy cats and the fog rolled in thick as wool on All Hallows Eve, there was one rule everyone knew: never whistle past the old graveyard after dark, especially not with a lit jack-o'-lantern in your hands.

Young Tom Fletcher had heard the rule, of course. But Tom was twelve, bold as brass, and convinced the stories were just that, stories. His carved pumpkin, with its jagged grin and candle-glow eyes, bobbed proudly at his side as he took the shortcut home past the iron gates of St. Mary's Cemetery.

The night was dark, the fog so dense he could barely see his own boots. The pumpkin's light cut a small orange circle in the mist, and Tom, feeling brave, began to whistle a jaunty tune.Tweet-tweet-tweeeet.

The sound floated out, cheerful and sharp.

Then it came back, tweet-tweet-tweeeet, but slower, deeper, like someone mocking him from the shadows.

Tom stopped. The fog swallowed the echo. He clutched the pumpkin tighter. "Just the wind," he muttered.

He started walking again. And whistling.

Tweet-tweet-tweeeet.

Again, the reply, closer now. And this time, it wasn't alone.

From atop the cemetery wall sat a calico cat, eyes like twin moons, watching. Waiting. Its tail flicked once, twice. It didn't blink.

High in the gnarled yew tree, a real owl perched, feathers puffed in disapproval. Tut-tut-tut, it clucked, as if to say, Foolish boy. Every year the same nonsense.

A pigeon, wide awake and utterly confused, waddled along the path ahead. It cooed, then tried again, louder: HOO-HOO. It paused, tilted its head, and tried once more: HOO. Satisfied, it strutted on, convinced it was an owl.
Tom laughed nervously. "Silly bird."

But then, from the mist behind him, came the frantic patter of paws. A Jack Russell terrier burst through the fog, tongue lolling, eyes wild. It skidded to a stop, looked at Tom, looked at the pumpkin, and barked once, sharp and urgent.

"I know the way home!" the dog seemed to say. "Follow me, you daft lad!"

Tom hesitated. The whistling echo had stopped. The cat still stared. The owl tutted louder.

He took one step forward, and the pumpkin's candle flickered. The carved face seemed to frown.

Tom swallowed. "Maybe... maybe no more whistling."

He lowered the pumpkin, cupping the flame. The dog yipped approvingly and trotted ahead. The pigeon flapped up to a gravestone, still hooting. The cat leaped down and vanished into the fog.

Tom followed the terrier, silent now, heart thumping.

They reached the edge of the cemetery. The fog thinned. Streetlights glowed ahead, warm and safe.

Tom looked back once. The calico cat sat on the wall again, tail curled neatly around its paws. The owl blinked slowly. The pigeon gave one last proud HOO before settling down to sleep.

And from deep within the graveyard, just once, came the faintest whistle, tweet-tweet-tweeeet, soft as a sigh.
Tom never whistled past a graveyard again. Especially not with a lit pumpkin.

Some sounds, on All Hallows Eve, are invitations.

And some doors, once opened, don't close till morning.

#50

Blog / Re: Whistling Past The Graveya...

Last post by kat - November 08, 2025, 04:41:01 PM

ChatGPT

QuoteWhy You Should Never Whistle Past a Graveyard on All Hallows' Eve
A Tall Tale for a Foggy Night
________________________________________

Now, I'm not one to meddle in other folks' business-especially when it comes to things that go bump in the night-but there's one bit of advice I'll pass along to you, dear listener, if ever you find yourself wandering home late on All Hallows' Eve, when the fog's as thick as porridge and the moon's hiding shy behind the clouds.

Never-and I mean never-whistle past a graveyard while carrying a lit pumpkin.

You might think I'm spinning yarns or trying to scare you, but this isn't your average campfire tale. This is what really happened-well, mostly really happened-to a boy named Toby Crumple, who thought himself far too clever to be spooked by "old wives' tales."

I. Toby Crumple and His Whistling Ways

Toby Crumple was a lad of about twelve, with more curiosity than sense and a grin that could charm the socks off a scarecrow. On the afternoon of October 31st, he'd carved himself the finest jack-o'-lantern in the whole of Bramblewick. Its grin was wicked and toothy, the eyes squinty and sly. He stuck a stub of candle inside, lit it, and plopped the pumpkin on the handle of his bicycle.

"Well, Ma," he'd said, puffing his chest, "I'm off to show this beauty to the lads down at the old churchyard. Bet they've never seen such a fierce face before!"

His mother, who'd heard every tall tale and ghost story this town ever whispered, wagged her spoon. "You mind yourself, Toby Crumple. Don't go near that graveyard after sunset, and for pity's sake, don't you whistle! Not on All Hallows' Eve!"

Toby laughed. "Whistle? What's a bit of whistling got to do with anything?"

But his mother only shook her head. "Some doors are better left closed, that's all."

He didn't believe a word of it, of course.

II. The Graveyard Lane

By the time the fog rolled in, Bramblewick had gone quiet. Candles flickered in windows; shadows danced behind curtains; and the church bell tolled six-then seven-then eight, each chime swallowed by mist.

Toby pedaled down the cobbled lane, pumpkin swinging on his handlebars, flame dancing inside like a living thing. The light made strange shapes in the fog-sometimes a face, sometimes a claw, sometimes nothing but orange smudges.

The lane curved past the old graveyard, where crooked stones leaned like tired soldiers and the iron gate moaned in the wind. The trees there were tall and twisted, their branches like bony fingers pointing accusingly toward the stars.

Most folks crossed the street to avoid it. Toby did not.

III. The Pigeon That Thought It Was an Owl

Now, in that same graveyard lived a pigeon named Percival-a rather peculiar bird, for he fancied himself an owl. Every evening he'd hoot (or try to), puffing his chest and widening his eyes in the most owl-like fashion imaginable. Trouble was, it came out more of a "hoo-croo!" than a proper "hoo-hoo!"

On this particular night, Percival was wide awake, pacing the cemetery wall like a feathered sentry. When he saw Toby approach, pumpkin blazing and whistling a jaunty tune, he nearly fell off his perch.

"Oh, no, no, no!" crooned Percival. "He's whistling! At this hour? Near this place?!"

He flapped his wings in alarm and tried to hoot a warning, but all that came out was an anxious "CROO-HOO!"

Toby glanced up, saw the flustered pigeon, and chuckled. "Evening, Mr. Owl!" he teased, and went right on whistling.

IV. The Calico Cat

Just then, a calico cat with one golden eye and one green stretched on the cemetery wall beside Percival. She'd been sitting there for hours, tail flicking back and forth, waiting for... something. Or someone.

"Will you calm down, bird-brain?" she purred lazily. "You'll wake the sleepers."

"They shouldn't be sleeping tonight!" squawked Percival. "It's All Hallows' Eve! The boundary's thin! And he's whistling!"

The cat yawned, showing a set of tiny, sharp teeth. "Humans whistle. It's what they do when they're trying not to be afraid."

"Well, he ought to be afraid," muttered the pigeon.

V. The Jack Russell Who Wasn't Lost

Down the lane came another sound-the quick patter of paws. A small Jack Russell terrier named Pip emerged from the fog, nose twitching, tail low. Pip had set out hours earlier to visit a friend's house, only to find himself on the wrong side of town.

Not that he was lost. Oh no, Pip would tell you he was simply "taking the scenic route." But the truth was, the fog had turned every corner into a mystery, and every shadow into a maybe-monster.

When he spotted Toby's glowing pumpkin, he wagged his tail in relief. "Ah! A human! I'll just follow him home."

But as he trotted closer, he heard Toby's whistling and froze. Pip, like all dogs, knew the rules of the world better than most. Whistling in the graveyard was an invitation-and not the friendly kind.

He barked sharply, trying to warn the boy.

"Go on home, Pip!" laughed Toby. "It's just a graveyard. Nothing but stones and stories."

Pip whimpered, then fell in beside him anyway. Someone had to keep an eye on the fool.

VI. The Tutting Owl

Up in the tallest yew tree, an actual owl-round and serious-blinked down at the scene. This was Old Hooter, who'd been living in that graveyard longer than most of its residents had been buried.

Every year, without fail, humans made a fuss about All Hallows' Eve, dressing up, running about, pretending to be spooked. Hooter found it all terribly tiresome.

"Tch," he tutted, adjusting his feathers. "Such noise. Such nonsense. It's a perfectly ordinary night."

He would've gone back to his nap, but then he noticed the pumpkin light weaving through the fog-and the boy's whistling cutting through the stillness like a dare.

"Tch-tch-tch," he tutted louder. "He'll get what's coming to him, mark my words."

VII. The Whistle Echoes Back

Now, Toby's tune-something cheerful and bouncy-was meant to keep his nerves steady. But halfway past the graveyard gate, something curious happened.

The whistle echoed back.

At first, Toby thought it was the fog playing tricks. But then-there it was again, the same melody, but slower, deeper, a bit off-key, like it was being whistled by someone else.

Or something else.

He stopped, heart thumping. The air felt colder. The candle inside his pumpkin flickered wildly, then steadied again, casting long, twitching shadows across the iron gate.

"Probably just the wind," Toby muttered.

Pip whined. Percival hid behind the cat. Even Old Hooter stopped tutting.

Then the echoing whistle came again-this time from inside the graveyard.

VIII. The Flicker in the Fog

A light appeared beyond the gate. Faint at first, like another candle. Then brighter, then brighter still, until Toby could see it moving between the gravestones, bobbing up and down.

It was followed by another light, and another, until there were half a dozen-then a dozen-tiny flames drifting through the mist, each one hovering just above the ground.

The air shimmered with soft, whispery voices.

"Who calls? Who whistles? Who wakes us?"

The cat's fur stood on end. "Oh, brilliant," she hissed. "You've done it now, boy."

Toby swallowed hard. "Done what?"

"You've answered the dead's call," said Percival, his feathers trembling. "They think you're one of them!"

IX. The Procession of Pumpkins

Out of the fog they came-figures, faint as smoke, each carrying a carved pumpkin glowing with inner fire. Some were tall, some short, some missing pieces. Their faces flickered and shifted, grins turning to grimaces and back again.
They didn't walk so much as drift, their feet barely touching the ground.

Toby stood frozen, his own pumpkin burning bright in his hands. One of the ghostly figures floated closer-a woman in an old-fashioned gown, her eyes hollow, her pumpkin grinning.

"Yours burns brightest," she whispered. "It will light our way."

And before Toby could move, the other spirits began to hum-a low, hollow tune that sounded eerily like... his whistle.

X. The Bargain of the Boundaries

"Now listen here, boy," said the calico cat, tail twitching. "There's rules for this sort of thing. You've crossed into their world by whistling, and they've crossed into yours by answering."

"Rules?" squeaked Toby.

"Every All Hallows' Eve, when the veil's thin, the dead seek a light to lead them. Usually they find one of their own. But tonight, you went and offered yours."

Toby looked at his pumpkin. "You mean this thing?"

"That thing," said the pigeon, "is the brightest lantern in the mist. And now they think you're their lantern-bearer."
Pip barked nervously. The spirits began to circle, their flames flickering higher.

The woman in the gown spoke again: "Walk with us, keeper of the flame. Lead us home."

XI. Toby's Terrible Idea

Now, most folks in Toby's position would've dropped the pumpkin and bolted. But Toby Crumple, you see, was a boy who liked to fix things-even supernatural ones.

He thought for a moment, then squared his shoulders. "Alright," he said. "I'll lead you home. But only if you promise to go back when I'm done!"

The spirits murmured among themselves, then nodded.

"Agreed," said the woman. "Light our path, and we shall rest."

Percival groaned. "Oh, we are so doomed."

XII. The March of the Lost

So off they went-Toby in front, pumpkin held high, the ghostly procession following behind. Through the fog they drifted, over roots and stones, past leaning angels and broken crosses.

The calico cat padded silently along the wall above them; Pip trotted beside Toby, ears back but loyal as ever; Percival fluttered nervously overhead; and Old Hooter watched from his perch, shaking his head.

"Tch," he muttered. "Humans. Always making extra work for the rest of us."

As Toby walked, he noticed the fog thinning, the air warming. The gravestones grew clearer, the lights brighter, until they reached the far end of the cemetery-a tall, arched gate Toby had never seen before.

It shimmered faintly, like moonlight on water.

"This is where we part," said the woman. "The lantern's keeper may not pass through."

XIII. The Turning of the Flame

The spirits bowed their heads, and one by one, they floated toward the gate, their pumpkins dimming as they went. Toby watched in awe as they slipped through, dissolving into silver mist.

When the last one vanished, the gate flickered and faded, leaving only fog and silence.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then Toby's pumpkin flickered, sputtered, and went out.

Pip whimpered. The air grew cold again.

"Tch!" came Old Hooter's voice. "You'd better run, boy. The veil's closing, and not everything on that side went home!"

XIV. The Chase of the Shadows

Sure enough, behind them came the whisper of something else-something that hadn't gone through the gate. A darker shape, moving fast.

Toby grabbed his dead pumpkin and bolted. Pip barked and sprinted beside him. Percival flapped for dear life. The cat hissed, claws scrabbling on stone.

The thing behind them growled-a low, hungry sound like stones grinding together.

Toby didn't dare look back. He just ran, whistling again out of pure panic.

And to his amazement, the whistle worked.

Each note seemed to push the darkness back, keeping it just far enough away. By the time he reached the main gate, the fog had begun to lift, and dawn was peeking shyly over the hills.
The graveyard fell silent once more.

XV. The Lesson of the Lantern

When Toby finally reached home, his mother was waiting by the door, rolling pin in hand.
"Where have you been, boy?" she cried. "You're white as a sheet!"

Toby looked down at his pumpkin. The candle inside had burned down to nothing, but the carved grin still seemed... satisfied.

He told her the whole story-the ghosts, the lights, the gate, everything.

His mother listened quietly, then nodded. "Well," she said, "now you know why we don't whistle past graveyards."

XVI. Epilogue: The Night After

The next evening, Bramblewick was back to normal. The fog was gone, the stars were bright, and the old graveyard was quiet again.

On the wall, the calico cat sat grooming her paw. "Told you he'd survive," she said smugly.

Percival fluffed his feathers. "Barely."

Old Hooter blinked down from his tree. "Humans never learn," he said, then yawned. "But at least it keeps things interesting."

Pip trotted by on his way home-definitely not lost-and wagged his tail at them.

And as for Toby Crumple? He never whistled near a graveyard again. But every All Hallows' Eve, he left a freshly carved pumpkin on the cemetery gate-its grin warm and welcoming, its light steady through the night.

Some said it was to keep the spirits happy. Others said it was to remind the living.

But Toby knew the truth.

It was a thank-you-for letting him come back.

Moral of the Tale:

On All Hallows' Eve, when the fog hangs low and the night feels too still, keep your whistle quiet and your light close.

You never know who might be listening-or waiting for a lantern to lead them home.

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