Please join me in wishing a happy 4 year anniversary to <NAME>. <NAME>, aka AZ Gainz, keeps our endpoints processing and our <SOFTWARE> installations up to date and secure. He also keeps the team pumping out pushups. By this time next year we will all be huge, monstrous Bro-grammers that crush out code and rip phone books in half.
I found myself in an decrepit library in the ruins of ancient Babylon. Suddenly, I was surrounded by a strange grey mist. I awoke in a cavernous stone room, the walls adorned with intricate bas relief carvings. A booming voice cut through the gloom.
“Supplicant! You stand in the halls of the League of Assassins! An ancient and powerful order! We have need of you…”
“Certainly,” I stammered, not wanting to perturb an assassin, let alone an entire league of them. Honestly, I do not know how many people constitute a league, but I assume it a lot. Probably more than 10? At any rate…
“Silence your incessant internal monologue!” the voice demanded, sending dust raining down from the decaying stonework. “Bring us the one known as <NAME>. We have need of him.”
“You mean AZ Gainz? Of course, oh great and terrible league of assassins,” I said, bowing. “What do you require of him?”
“The time of prophecy is once more upon us,” the voice intoned. “He must undergo the dread ritual and become… THE NETHER BEAST.”
My interested piqued, I inquired, “If I may be so bold, what, pray tell, is the nether beast?” Cyptozoology is an interest of mine. More of a fascination. At times I find myself…
“What did I say about the monologue? BEHOLD!” it boomed, illuminating a portion of the carved stonework. “The nether beast!”
“Uh… That is just a carving of a guy holding a broom. And his shirt says custodian…”
“It is the nether beast! And we have need of him! Certainly you have seen how dust keeps falling every time I speak? This ancient temple must have the nether beast stalk its halls once more! Seriously, it is just gross. I was eating my assassin fuel this morning and there was, like, a ton of dust in it.”
“And assassin fuel would be?” I questioned.
“Honey nut cheerios,” the voiced offered pleasantly.
“Yeah…” I said, uncertainly, “I mean, look, I’ll tell him, but I don’t think he will come. Your league is not particularly fearsome…”
“Silence!” the voice demanded, “He will come and he will become the nether beast and everything will be great again. It is written in prophecy.”
“I get the feeling your prophecy is written on a cocktail napkin,” I offered, growing more defiant by the second.
“It is not!” The voice had taken on a defensive tone. “It is a Starbucks napkin,” it mumbled.
“Be gone from this place, supplicant! And remember your task!” I was once more surrounded by mist. I awoke in the library, and in front of me was a bowl of dusty honey nut cheerios.