Congratulations on 8 years, <NAME>. You’ve done many deep dives into the recesses of Apache and Linux for us, and I must call on your expertise in delving into the unknown once more.
In the lightless depths of the earth is an ancient cavern. Its scarred walls have not seen light since before the time of the dinosaurs. It oozes a thick, ruddy substance that warps and twists the stone with which it comes into contact, etching inscrutable runes that glow with a sickly green light. Staring too long at them induces vertigo, and strange whispers can be heard at the edge of your perception. Time itself seems to slip away as you stare into a growing void that screams at you with foul intent. You could lose yourself there in that terrible abyss, your mind shredded by the things you are forced to bear witness to. The sort of alien intelligence that cannot be understood by the soft, yielding flesh that comprises your human brain. You are unprepared for such truths, incapable of discerning their mad pattern from the random background noise of the universe you inhabit. You would call it evil, but what does evil even mean in the face of such uncompromising darkness? Indeed, does the concept of evil even apply to such a place? It is beyond mere humanity. An unearthly otherness suffuses the very air.
Anyway, we need you to descend into that cavern. That viscous discharge could be just the secret ingredient we need to give <COMPANY> Cola a little extra oomph. Our early experiments with it seem to indicate that it corrupts and mutates any living cells with which it comes into contact, twisting and warping the genetic strands into impossible nightmare beasts, little more than squirming masses of tendrils and barbed hooks and fanged mouths that scream incomprehensibly and throw themselves toward whatever living creatures are closest, seeking to infect them with its gruesome contagion. We think adding a little more corn syrup to the mix will balance that out. If not, we can always use our fall back slogan: “<COMPANY> Cola: So good it will warp your flesh into a grisly mockery of life that seeks only to pollute others and drag them into your macabre existence of unending pain and suffering. Mmm! That’s gooooood stuff!”
It has tested pretty well with focus groups.
Dear guy in the low rider who waited in the turn lane until I entered the crosswalk so you could gun it and cut me off,
1) I was wearing a reflective vest and a head lamp, I couldn’t have been more obvious.
2) Use a turn signal.
3) Hang up your fucking phone.
4) Giving me the finger was a nice touch.
5) 5:30 in the morning is way to early to be blaring mariachi music. I can’t think of a worse soundtrack to die to, except any rapper with a name starting in Lil.
6) I hope you get in an accident. I hope it is your fault. I hope you rear end a parked truck going 45. I hope the truck is transporting medical waste. I hope the doors are open and the cargo is unsecured. I hope the infectious waste and sharps containers fly out and break through your windshield. I hope the infectious waste lands in your mouth and the used needles land in your eyes. I hope your airbag deploys late and drives the needles in further. I hope you get a disease. I hope you get every disease. All of the diseases. I hope the medical bills bankrupt you and cause your family to leave you. I hope you end up in an iron lung. I hope you linger. I hope the last thing that happens before you die is your dick falls off, so that your last earthly thought is, “wait, did my dick just fall off?”
Whew. Ok, I feel better.
Ragnar runs these Facebook contests where they ask you how you would describe Ragnar to a friend. I’m going to have to accept that I’ll never win one of them based on my entries:
Have you ever bothered to peer past the shroud of what you consider to be reality? Have you stopped to consider that everything you know and believe could be carefully constructed artifice, designed to ensnare you in the web of the sensible and sane? There are hidden places, off the well traveled pathways. Places where where the fabric of our world wears thin and the truth bleeds through, resplendent in its terrible glory. The ancient ones sing songs that can scarce be heard unless you take the time to listen for them. Alone on a trail in the deep of the night, the sky begins to dance. Your mind strains to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before you. Things break free from the stars and crash down upon of world. In the distance you hear mad screaming, in time with the tune of the elder gods. It is then you know you are truly lost. You can never rejoin the ranks of your fellow man, for your humanity has been striped away, leaving a raw, ragged creature in its place. You keep running, for that is all that is left to you now.
Plus, you know… s’mores.
Happy Anniversary, <NAME>! In your seven years, you have probably seen a lot of change here at <COMPANY>, but it will pale in comparison to the changes coming during the Great Age of Tribulation, when the empire of the Yaaguli spill forth from the earth and unleash a new age of suffering on mankind. These arachnid creatures will quickly subdue our leaders and consume their eyes, giving them knowledge of all our leaders have ever seen. Every name and location of our military installations. Nuclear launch codes. What really happened to Crystal Pepsi.
Remember Crystal Pepsi? The Pepsi Corporation expected us to believe they just stopped making it, but that is not what really happened. Only the Yaaguli will know the truth once they are done. Perhaps they will share the truth with us, in an effort to break our spirits before sending us to toil in their massive Crystal Pepsi manufacturing facilities, where we will be forced to make the beverage, but never allowed to taste it. Or perhaps, in a more sinister vein, they were responsible for its disappearance, keeping all of the clear cola for themselves this entire time. What sort of monsters would be capable of such a feat? Think on that and shudder, for they are coming.
One thing is certain, their plans will involve Crystal Pepsi in some capacity. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. A pit that is devoid of the crisp, refreshing taste of Crystal Pepsi.