Author: Adam S

Anniversary Email 67

Please join me in wishing a happy 7 year anniversary to <NAME>! In celebration of your anniversary, please find the enclosed Choose Your Own Adventure Story.

You find yourself leaving your village for the first time. The elders of your small, but thriving community have asked you to seek out and stop the goblin menace. From your earliest days you recall hearing grim tales of when the goblins would come. Small, green skinned creatures that feed on human children and torture and maim all who stand in their way. You are armed with your trusty short sword and clad in a suit of chain mail cobbled together by Odan, the town blacksmith. It is not so much chain mail as it is bits of metal stuck together with wire and glue. Odan was never a very good blacksmith, you think to yourself as bits of the armor swing loose and fall to the ground. He only fell into the job because he likes playing with fire. Honestly, he strikes you as kind of dim. You would have made a better blacksmith. Even the mayor’s goat, Petunia, would have done a better job. You have lost track of the number of people injured using tools and weapons made by Odan. Heads of hammers swinging off and striking them in the face. At least your short sword is a family heirloom from a better era.

You are startled out of you reverie by a shrill voice calling out, “Who goes there?”

Looking ahead, you see a small goblin seated on a tree stump at the edge of the forest. He has a staff laying lazily across one shoulder and is idly smoking a corn cob pipe.

<To stab the goblin in the face, go to section A>
<To address the goblin, go to section B>

A.
You stab the goblin in the face with your trusty short sword. He screams, “Why have you done such a thing? We are a peaceful community of farmers, subjected to persecution and intolerance by the humans who inhabit this region! Oh, what a terrible fate has befallen me! Truly, this world is awash in villainy and darkness! I am glad I leave no heirs to suffer in this vile world! At least I die with my principles intact! Can you say the same?”

At least, he would have screamed that, but with a sword in his face it comes out more like, “Gah! Gurgle gurgle hack hack hack! Aargh!”

He falls to the ground, his tiny goblin legs twitching as his body shudders one final time. You return to your village to a hero’s welcome. Your friends and neighbors run into the forest, armed with pitchforks and torches, routing the remaining goblins and ensuring a life of safety and security for your human settlement. At least until a rival kingdom approaches in the depths of winter, stealing all of your food stores and valuables, leaving those they do not put to the sword to starve to death among the torched remains of your village.

B.

“I am <NAME>, last of my house, finest warrior in this realm!” you call out to the goblin. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I am Worm Mouth,” comes the reply, “of the goblin settlement ‘Forrest Village’, a village in this forest. We… are not a very creative group. What we are is a peaceful community devoted to the ideals of pacifism and growing organic, gluten free, sustainable crops. All are welcome, provided they walk the path of peace.”

<To stab the goblin in the face, go to section A>
<To explain to the goblin the weakness of pacifism in a feudal system ruled by might of the sword, go to section C>

C.

“Pacifism is an unsustainable ideology in the face of those capable of great violence,” you explain. “There are times when only violence or the threat of violence can prevent further harm to your people. When thousands might die in war to save millions.”

“Ah,” says Worm Mouth, “You argue that a morally objectionable action is justified provided it nets a positive outcome. Consequentialism. I would argue that nonviolent resistance can achieve the same ends.”

<To stab the goblin in the face, go to section A>
<To argue against the virtues of Dentology, go to section D>

D.

“Your belief system seems to place great faith in the idea that authority can be trusted,” you tell the goblin. “There are times when rules and duty are merely tools to perpetuate a corrupt and broken system. Further, you deal in absolutes, assuming that violence must always be wrong, when I have previously stated violence is merely a tool to drive a greater good. Sometimes some must suffer so others may prosper.”

Worm Mouth taps his pipe against the stump and replies, “To accept the use of violence in once situation makes it easier to use it in other, similar circumstances. On what grounds do you base your decision to be the adjudicator of when harm to another is called for? What gives you that right? Would you trade any of your beliefs provided you could achieve a net benefit?”

<To stab the goblin in the face, go to section A>
<To argue the virtues of moral relativism, go to section E>

E.

“No system of beliefs is superior to all others,” you tell the goblin. “There are times when flexibility is called for to defend yourself or others from the threat of harm. There are no universal moral values. Even murder can justified under the right circumstances.”

“It is better to die for the cause of peace and justice than to live as a hypocrite,” the goblin says. “My people have accepted the true path of harmony. You should join us.”

<To stab the goblin in the face, go to section A>
<To accept his offer, go to section F

F.

Taking the goblins tiny, proffered hand, you follow him back to his village. His people are happy and content, all working together to harvest their crop and ensure a serene, peaceful life. At least until the people of your village descend upon them with pitchforks and torches, slaughtering the goblins. They declare you a traitor and imprison you. With only the memory of your time among your goblin friends to sustain you, you slowly fade into madness.

Anniversary Email 66

Please join me in wishing <NAME> a happy 8 year anniversary with <COMPANY>!  <NAME> , for your continued dedication and hard work on <PRODUCT>, please choose from one of the following “Evening with the stars” rewards:

Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson: Unfortunately, Mr. Johnson is not available, but we do have the next best thing. An actual rock. Yes, you will get to spend quality time with a big ol’ boulder. It really doesn’t matter which one. There are plenty of them around here.

Taylor Swift: We couldn’t book Taylor Swift. We couldn’t even book Taylor Hanson. We did find a local cross country runner named Taylor, and he is pretty fast, so we went with that.

The cast of Ghostbusters: Who you gonna call? Not these comediennes, apparently. They wouldn’t return any of our calls. In their place we got a bag full of angry cobras. Why a bag full of angry cobras? Good question. Next.

Ellen: It was pretty easy to find someone named Ellen. Honestly, we weren’t even trying by this point.

Charmander: Wait, no. Sorry. I’m just playing Pokémon Go. Charmander isn’t real. I guess I could like… tie a lighter to a tail of a lizard? That might work. Sure. Let’s go with that.

Blastoise: Still playing Pokémon. I can just hot glue a couple squirt guns to a turtle. That will look a lot like Blastoise.

Pikachu: I could duct tape some live electrical wires to a rat I spray painted yellow. This is easy.

Gary Busey: I’m pretty sure we can actually get Gary Busey. I don’t think he is up to much these days.

Congratulations again! Thank you for all your hard work!

Anniversary Email 65

Happy anniversary, <NAME>. To help you celebrate, we are sending you to lovely LV-426, a planetoid in the Zeta II Reticulli system. Once there, you will enjoy such activities as exploring strange beacons and wearing a sealed breathing suit because the atmosphere is primordial and inert.

Once you have landed, feel free to explore the surrounding area. If you find any strange, U shaped derelict space craft, go on inside and have a look around. Really just… take it all in. Touch stuff. Press buttons. Be certain to look for any areas that seem like they may have cargo. Go into those and clumsily walk around. Bump into things. If you see any eggs, lean in really close for a good look. Even if it is opening. Especially if it is opening. Get your face right in there. It is completely safe. It is only an egg.

If you come across anyone with some kind of spider/crab thing attached to their face, feel free to disregard quarantine and bring them back on your ship. The safety of all our employees is paramount, and that is the fastest way to get them to a doctor. Head into orbit and punch in a course straight to earth. Should said spider creature fall off, you can safely assume the danger is past and invite that crew member or colonist to rejoin you at all normal activities, like eating dinner. Just put down a table cloth or a tarp or something. Because it looks nicer. Not because some monster baby is going to claw its way free of their chest. That would be ridiculous. Oh, some towels would also be a good idea.

If at any point during your journey a giant space cockroach starts murdering crew members, try to fight it with homemade weapons and flamethrowers. Those will almost certainly be effective. At no point should you seal yourself in the command deck and wait the thing out. If you have a cat on board, we encourage you to risk your life and the life of everyone else to go save it. Every creature is precious. At no point during any of this should you attempt to utilize the escape pods. If you do decide to use one, leave the door open while you go off and do something else. We thank you for your cooperation in this matter. Enjoy your trip!

Anniversary Email 64

Greetings and congratulations on completing your first/an additional term of service demarcated by a solar orbit by our planet. Certainly, your contributions have soared, just like the temperatures as of late. Some would claim that the record temperatures are the result of meteorological phenomenon. We, however, know better.

We must assume, nay, lay claim to certain knowledge that somewhere in our vast metropolis there is a group that has opened a portal to an otherworldly dimension of flame and heat. A place solely inhabited by creatures with rock like flesh who spew magma from whatever orifice they have that most closely resembles a mouth. Perhaps ringed with rows of diamond teeth for them to chew whatever their lava like saliva cannot immediately destroy. Their hands, if you can call them that, would certainly resemble some manner of pinscher, the better to grasp their prey for the inevitable showering. We can further surmise they would have a whip like tail to entangle and immobile their prey will noxious venom. Even now, we have to assume these flame beasts spill forth in great numbers, turning all they touch into cinders and ash, devouring all that resists their infernal caress.

We have no choice but to abandon this city and hope in time the portal closes, sending these creatures scurrying for home and leaving those who dawdle to await our mercy. Only then will this city rise like its namesake from the ashes, capable of being inhabited by humanity once more. Until such a time, it is best that forget this place, and seek our fortunes elsewhere. I hear the north country is nice, though not without risk of being attacked by the terrible yeti, demons of the snow, come winter time.  Wherever our pilgrimage takes us, one thing is certain: It is too late to save this wretched place.

Anniversary Email 63

Happy anniversary, <NAME>! It is weird, I had a dream about this last night. Lo, there came forth a great and terrible cracking, as though the seals of Armageddon were thrown open. A vast rent split apart the earth, swallowing entire cities, and from it boiled forth a vile tide. Leather winged monstrosities with flames for tongues and mouths overflowing with dagger like fangs. Their numbers blackened the skies before they descended, shrieking, upon the assembled devotees and cultists who cried out to them for deliverance. It was a slaughter of unprecedented scale. Bones stripped bare and cast aside to bleach under the wan light of a blood red sun.

All this I witnessed from atop a hill in the shape of a human skull, gnashing my teeth in impotent rage. The firmament tore itself asunder, and from the coal black clouds came a shining silver host, their gleaming swords striking outward and felling the beasts where they clashed, but too late, far too late for those piled in the carrion pits below. The two sides fought bitterly, tooth and claw against sword and shield. Having lost to momentum of the charge, the shimmering warriors began to be torn from their mounts and dragged to the earth below to wallow in the mire.

From behind me came a thing of smoke and death. Dressed in the souls of the fallen it whispered for me to bear witness to all that was to come. To serve as the herald even as my mouth filled with blood and my mind squirmed in revulsion. I saw all with eyes not my own, and the truth was burned into the teeming madness of my fevered brain.

I am pretty sure the dream was about the anniversary, at least. I can never really tell any more. The lines are getting really blurry. Anyway, happy anniversary!

Anniversary Email 62

Please join me in wishing a very happy 10th anniversary to<NAME>. Heading into the double digits as the outside temperature soars into the triple digits. It is not all celebration and joy, however, for they have come. The bees. In massive swarms they have invaded, conquering the Usery Mountain area. Some say it is all part of a diabolical plan to turn all of Las Sendas into one massive hive, a labyrinthian structure from which they can wage war on Phoenix, turning the surrounding cities into fields of corpses from which more flowers might spring to feed their insatiable need for pollen. That their empire of wax and honey shall creep ever onward, slowly extending its way across the desert southwest, into California, where at last they shall meet the ocean. From there the bees shall fashion submersibles of honeycomb and plumb the depths of our world, bringing the aquatic world under their control.
Of course, others say it is just some bees and the apocalyptic warnings are little over the top. That bees can’t swim, let alone make submarines. That this sort of message is hysterical and a waste of time. That we in the bee fearing community need a new hobby. Wherever the truth may lie, it is clear no one can stop them. That we are doomed and nothing can be done. Soon all the world will be one gigantic bee hive. Certainly some survivors will be spared. Forced to toil for the bees, feeding and caring for their queen. Made to mix them sugar water and serve as the vanguard for the bee army, a human shield wall against their foes, from behind which they shall swarm and overwhelm their enemies. It is too late for humanity, but perhaps we can send a message into space, warning others to steer clear of the earth, for it belongs to the bee dominion. Now and forever.

Happy anniversary!

Anniversary Email 61

Happy 13th Anniversary, <NAME>! Each year, as your anniversary approaches, we measure strange temporal distortions. Bursts of static. Seemingly random noise. Ghostly apparitions and human faces crying out in pain. Unusual activity, for certain.

We have, at last, uncovered a pattern in the chaos. Triangulating on the signal and filtering out heavy amounts of radiation, it appears someone from the future is communicating backwards in time to us. His message was garbled, at first, but certain phrases have repeated themselves. He seems to speak of a bleak world where the tattered remnants of humanity are relentlessly hunted and ruthlessly exterminated by what he calls <LAST NAME>-Bots. These awful, metallic creatures are spewed forth in limitless numbers by gigantic factories overseen by a malicious AI overmind.

These survivors believe the AI to be the remnants of a man, an engineer who merged his consciousness with the storage devices he oversaw. Driven mad by years of toil and countless NOC calls, his hatred for humanity overcame him and led to a mad quest to destroy all that lives. The missiles rained from the sky first, destroying the majority of the populace. Radiation took many of the survivors. Those left began to envy the dead as grim, skull faced robots began to scour the surface, vaporizing anyone they could find with plasma weapons.

We do not know who could be responsible for such an atrocity. We only ask that you remain vigilant and keep a watchful eye on your coworkers. The father of the <LAST NAME>-bots could be anyone.

Anniversary Email 60

Happy one year anniversary, <NAME>! In Caracas, Venezuela there is a mysterious substance oozing from the roads known as La Mancha Negra. Since its first appearance in 1986, this strange ooze has caused numerous automobile accidents and claimed thousands of lives. All attempts to identify the composition of La Mancha Negra have failed. It grows when warm and wet, with the consistency of chewed bubble gum, and shrinks when cold and dry, becoming as slick as black ice. Almost as though it were a living thing. All attempts to clean it have met with failure. Detergents do not work. Nor do high powered sprayers. They went so far as to resurface the road, and La Mancha Negra returned. The application of crushed limestone merely made the roads undrivable for residents.

We have our own theories, of course. La Mancha Negra is merely to physical manifestation of a malignancy buried deep beneath the earth. A foul intelligence that stirs in its slumber and claims lives as sacrifice to slowly awaken. It oozes and grows, making itself manifest in the physical plane, while in the psychic realms it goes unchecked.

Indeed, we burrowed tunnels beneath the earth, leading to great caverns where we surmise the source of La Mancha Negra alights upon our world. Deep in a underground, something is beginning to move. We sent down locals to investigate, secured to lines with safety harnesses. There was a terrible, chiropteran screeching, followed by screams. Awful, bone chilling screams. The lines all went taught, then slack just as abruptly. When we pulled them back, all that was left were the tattered, blood stained harnesses, and scraps of cloth and hair.

Given your project management experience, we have decided to send you to the site to oversee operations. The first order of business will, of course, require you to tour the tunnels, so you might ascertain what happened to the missing workers. We trust you will not fail in this matter.

Anniversary Email 59

Congratulations on your anniversaries, <NAME> and <NAME>. To reward you for all your hard work, <COMPANY> would like to grant you an overnight trip to the old abandoned summer camp outside of town.

Yes, amid gnarled trees that seem to groan in agony as a fell wind whips between their gnarled branches, you will have an amazing time swimming, canoeing, making friendship bracelets, and certainly not being repeatedly stabbed with a rusty machete by a monstrous, hulking former camper. A creature driven mad by the constant taunting of his peers and only able to enjoy a respite when he kills and hot blood splashes across the hideous mask that has now supplanted his face as the grim visage he presents to the world. Nor will you be terrorized for hours as you are relentlessly stalked across the haunted grounds, never knowing if he is just behind you, or awaiting just past the doorway ahead. Again, you need not have any concerns about such matters.

Nor should you worry that I have struck a bargain with this fiend from the depths of hell to spare my own life, sending him a steady stream of victims in a bid to save myself from being turned into a grisly trophy in his foul den, the basement beneath the skeletal remains of the cabin he was trapped inside when the other campers set it aflame, burning him terribly and rendering him immune to pain. That would ridiculous. Clearly I would never do something like that.

Enjoy your trip and feel free to wear lots of heavy clothes and clunky boots unsuitable for running in.

Anniversary Email 58

Congratulations, <NAME>, on your 7 years. You may have moved over to the hosting organization, but you have not truly joined hosting. No, not until you undergo the ritual.

“What is this?”, you may ask. We are not called hosting because we host web sites. No, that is a happy coincidence. A cosmic accident that obfuscates our grim purpose. A fluke of the fickle fates. We serve the hidden masters. We are devotees of the shadow ones. No, we are not an organization that serves hosting. We are an organization of hosts.

You see, <NAME>, each of us carries within a precious cargo. A thing that has supplanted our own will with its own vile intent. Each of us has taken our turn upon the dais. Chained to the ancient stone seal as the tome of ruin is cracked open and read aloud. Inscribed with ancient runes that burn our flesh and mortify our squirming human minds. Then the canopic jar is brought forward by hooded attendants and opened. The smell, by the stars, the smell. No, not pleasant. A stench of decay. The fetid rot of corruption.  An impossibility. The oily black tendrils ooze forth, leaving greasy stains. It comes to achieve unity. No, not ascension. The other direction. It drags us, screaming, into the mire of its existence.

You would flee if you could. I wanted to, but there was no escape. No, too far gone. No, everything that once made me a man cast to ruin. The union was unpleasant. It showed me things. Gave me knowledge I dearly wish I did not have. Opened my eyes to horrid reality we inhabit. This thin veneer of civilization that serves as a mask, allowing terrible darkness to go unopposed. You shall join our order, and all will be made clear. To oppose us means destruction. There is really only one sane choice left. The path of madness.