Author: Adam S

Congratulations, <NAME>! A prominent theory holds that any species advanced enough to colonize the stars would also be wary enough of potential challenges to their superiority to eradicate any other intelligent life before it could become a threat. This civilization would seek any traces of complex life in the galaxy and stomp it out before it could learn the secrets of interstellar travel or harnessing the power of a star. Massive extermination fleets would ply the void, bringing ruin and death to worlds.

As it turns out, our own planet has been visited by them in the past, during the last great extinction, where they wiped out life and forced an ice age in attempt to freeze anything that remained. For the last several decades, we have been blaring our existence into space, sending every possible signal that earth still harbors life.

These termination vessels have heard our signals. Two days ago they slipped into high orbit and began a series of scans. As we awaited our doom, only a single message came. One sentence from this fiendish alien intelligence that had eradicated the dinosaurs and attempted to kill our world. It said, simply, “Scan complete: Not a threat.” The ships then engaged their engines and left our orbit.

Congratulations, <NAME>. As you have doubtless surmised after our recent meeting with <OTHER NAME>, we are rolling forward with our plan to replace all management positions with robotic simulacrum. These new mecha managers will represent a drastic improvement over our old human based leadership system. They do not require sleep, nor take sick days, and they are experts at motivating increased productivity through the deployment of a series of powerful electrical shocks to the spinal column. It is better than a cup of coffee. One jolt and you are AWAKE, my friend.

Of course, to avoid confusion and/or conflicts between new <NAME> and what we are now referring to as “Meat <NAME>”, we will need to retire you. And by retire I mean dispose of. And by dispose of, I mean kill. And by kill I mean… Actually that is what I meant. There really is no further disambiguation possible. It was pretty clear.

Lest you worry your impending termination means you will be of no further use to the company, never fear. We have teamed up with SpaceX to perform a comprehensive study on the effect of explosive decompression on the human body. You start tomorrow.

Congratulations again! We are all very excited to meet Mecha <NAME>.

Happy anniversary, <NAME>!

I was walking through the ruins of a decaying temple in Central America when I was suddenly surrounded by a strange mist. I awoke to find myself in a vast stone room that was eerily familiar.

“Supplicant!” a voice boomed. “We have need of you!”

“Right,” I sighed, “The League of Assassins. What do you want?”

“Firstly,” the voice continued, “I do not care for your insolent tone. Second, you will bring us <NAME>!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed a hand over my face, knowing I would regret my next exasperated  question. “Why do I need to bring you <NAME>?”

“He must undergo the dread ritual and become… THE OCTO HYDRA!” The room shook, sending dust falling from the decrepit stone ceiling.

“Ok, so,” I began, “you still haven’t gotten that fixed. Also, a hydra has five heads, so what is an octo hydra? Is it like an eight headed hydra, or is it a eight hydras, meaning it would have forty heads? Or…”

“It has one head!” the voice shouted, “Behold!”

The stonework before me illuminated, revealing a carving of a man in an apron and chef’s hat, stirring a bowl with a spoon.

“Right,” I said, drawing out the word. “Don’t you guys pretty much just eat honey nut cheerios? I mean, why do you need a chef?”

“Because,” the voice protested, “We just do. Shut up. Bring us Paul, and he will undergo the ritual of the octo hydra!”

I folded my arms and trapped my foot impatiently. “What, exactly, does this ritual entail”

“First, he must don the skin of the octo hydra!”

“Ok,” I said, “So he puts on the apron…”

“Next,” the voice continued, “He must wear the cowl of the octo hydra.”

“So the hat.”

“Shut up!” the strange voice commanded. “Finally, he must wield the wand of the octo hydra!”

“And there is the spoon. Great. Can I go now?”

“No,” the voice replied.

I stood there waiting for a few moments as the situation grew more awkward. I began to push small piles of dust around with my feet.

“Now you can go,” the voice said, “and remember your task!”

“I’ve already forgotten it,” I offered as the mist swirled and took me away. I awoke back in the temple, a wooden spoon at my feet.

“Stupid league of stupid assassins,” I muttered, stumbling back out into the daylight.

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.

“Right…”

“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.

Happy Anniversary!

Please join me in wishing a happy 6 year anniversary to <NAME>! <NAME> is an integral part of the team, keeping watch over our provisioning flows and making sure our customers are setup quickly, reliably, and securely. Without his tireless efforts, account setup and modifications would be a process fraught with peril.

Of course, nothing can compare with the peril manifested by the grim legions of the ancient Kyardoon, skull faced master of the blood harvest. His minions are countless, the dull grey of their soul spears glinting faintly in the wan light cast by the brimstone fires of his realm, a realm of torture and madness. They stand arrayed in perfect formation, awaiting  word from their deathless master, who shall lift his head and whisper the words that shall unleash Armageddon on our world. On that day he shall ride forth from the underworld on a horse of smoke and flame, his legions close behind, to turn our works to ruin. His blood riders will cackle as they ride down those who attempt to flee, their spears slick with the blood of the fallen. The dead shall be bound into eternal service in his army. The living shall be left with nothing but tears and hot ashes, their hopes swept away in a tide of murder and chaos, their last recourse to envy the dead. Finally, at last satisfied with the toll enacted on humanity, Kyardoon shall return to his throne, lower his lidless eyes, and dream of dark days ahead as the funeral pyres flame out and ten thousand years of suffering descend on the last tattered remains of the human race.

Happy anniversary!

Please join me in wishing a happy 7 year anniversary to <NAME> of the <ORGANIZATION>. Our work wouldn’t be possible without his dedication and expertise. 7 is an auspicious number. The 7 wonders of the world. 7 Samurai. Seagram’s 7 and 7. Of course, none can compare with the 7 Trials of the dread beast Boggrim, she who devours. Given your anniversary, you have been selected to face her contests in a bid to bestow her foul blessings upon us.

The first challenge is The Desert that Thirsts. You will be consumed in her thousand fanged threshing maw, your flesh shredded and your bones ground to dust in the dark and terrible pit that is the creature’s vast and vile mouth. There you will languish and suffer for what seems like a year, but in reality is only eleven and a half months.

The Second Challenge is the Striking Serpent. You will be tossed back into the maw for more grinding and chewing.

Third is the Test of Fire. Basically a continuation of the first two.

Fourth comes the Freezing Rains. We dump some fire ants into the mouth with you. Honestly, this makes more sense if it were the test of fire, but I don’t really recommend trying to give feedback to a rapacious monster that is little more than a fanged tube leading to a seemingly bottomless stomach. The last guy who did that ended up learning about the eighth trail, which… the less said about that, the better. Just… Gah. It was awful.

Fifth and Sixth are… look, they have names, but are just more time in the fangs with the ants and acidic saliva and the chewing and the breaking of bones. I’m not really convinced Boggrim has the ability to do much of anything else. She is called the devourer for a reason.

Seventh comes The Ordeal of the Thrashing Thousand Fanged Maw. That is where you have to go back to high school and take a test in your underwear. I don’t get it either. Just roll with it. Honestly, at that point it won’t even seem that bad.

Finally, having survived the tests, you will be granted a request of Boggrim. You may ask for whatever you want. Now, I cannot guarantee the thing will understand or even care about your request. She may just toss you back into the maw, but there is a chance it could work out, and we feel it is worth it. Congratulations again!

Congratulations on your recent anniversary, <NAME>. As you know, here at <COMPANY> we are leaders in employee recognition and rewards. In honor of your anniversary, you have been selected for a trip to the Planet of Torment. Don’t worry, it is something of a misnomer. It is actually a moon orbiting a corrosive gas giant. In the pain zone, you will learn a new and horrible meaning of suffering, as the gravitational forces at work on the moon twist and pull your body, while the native population of stinging cybernetic insects infest your flesh. Don’t worry, it is all for a dark and inscrutable purpose set forth by the Ancient Ones, who inscribed this in prophecy a million years past. Of course, they were wiped out in a great purge when the queen of the stinging insects arose from her basalt tomb and screamed for the blood of the uncorrupted, but we heed their ancient wisdom to this day. I suspect all of this will end just fine, and in no way will you be used as a vessel for the terrible queen to rise once more and wage war on the galaxy. Further, I have absolutely no reason to believe that once this comes to pass she will seek me out to become her consort, allowing us to ply the stars together and purge the universe of life, her cold and chitinous grasping limb wrapped by my warm, fleshy hand as a thousand worlds in flame reflect in her compound eyes.