It’s great to keep one’s sense of humor in a world built on open source tools of mass deletion.
Fiction #Prompt:
The dangers of a Unicode text editor and a tool that accepts translation via transliteration makes the dangers of Babel in a command line easy to envision:
Press 1 to identify callers <ld>
Press 9 to end all calls <<disconnect all Tesla drivers>>
You pressed 19. Who wouldn’t? I respect myself also, those of us who do, we don’t short ourselves.
If it were that basic, you’d get a bit of code:
10 Immolate Yourself
The code revision tool now prevents access, Street Team Ticketing won’t take your calls to the event date customer service, because it’s now a chat tot.
You can’t edit your own code base, Even-steven is six of one, half off of another. Better call the dedicated VIP support line, in the Offices of Solomon, Sulemon, Rumi and Io-Wall, PLLC. A part of the Merc Boris family of companies.
You can’t call, and no one can hear your screams in space. But your mouth is open. Extremely open.
There is a barely detectable sound: “Hey, mon! Light up and leave IT alone.”
It’s James Cameron, calling from Chicago. He’s gone back in time to watch DePaul emerge victorious over St. John’s. Strickland was the truth.
<Queue Looney Tooney and the Worker’s Church O’Christ O’Wall-e and the Brothers Church of Unison, open psalm book to Psalm 68>