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Powered by a global network of data centres (land-based, floating, hovering, and submerged), satellites, and a million rodded lamp posts, Shniff Cloud is the world's most super-duper cloud thing, and central to the geminOS experience, even at the "shit tier", syncing everything up, and making you go, "Mmm… this is some really fine sync juice, yum… incredible that it's free… hopefully my genetic code isn't being sucked up into the cloud without my permission to create a slave clone in the caves…"
A data centre is understood, pretty much, though with our servers running the latest Blue Vapour CPUs, with their accompanying Delicious Emissions in place of unappetising heat and fan noise, to stroll along the racks is to be transported to a peaceful grove, to be making the sweetest love with the entity of one's dreams, or to be blissfully alone with an immersive book and some Vanilla Emission ice cream with chocolate stars / mini turds.
Our satellites are as the Orb, to the extent that we understand it. Patterns are released, though not the waves, as that sphere, since the world would be fried, and most likely, we would be sued into non-existence equals not yum. Not mmm, lick… though by then, tbh, we would all non-exist, physically, anyway. Pass the turd?
Thank you, Soran Shniff, for your sacrifice. You can do this! Do this hnngghhhh, do this not-yum, your auric shield having held. Having been boosted to superhero dimensions! wow!! granting unfettered, wheelbarrow-free access to Para'meesh IV. Is it possible you were born there? Quite likely. Is it possible the deeper Orb, yet to be unlocked, may contain some sort of filter for the waves, some sort of control – a modulation dial, perhaps – that we may be safe without your shield, and you may leave the Orb chamber and return to the world of the living, as it were? The company prays for this every day.
(Aside: Vanilla Emission is served to Shniffers in Shniff Café at Tuesday breakfast, Friday afternoon snack. FAQ. Everybody loves it. Everybody has a different theory re what those stars / mini turds really are. Zero votes for actual mini turds, interestingly… ;)))
And the rods! The crystal rods. A million rodded lamp posts, guarded by invisible Shniff security drones, bots, fields. Do not make the citizenry feel afraid, please, that is our only condition. Plus the funds, of course… both public and… the incentives, shall we say ;))) Defeat three waves to be taken to the stars! Borrow/steal a rod, expose it to your microscope, plant it in your mushroom tub. Quite the trip that would be! to a land where the lattice doesn't make sense??? even less!!! said the professor, with punctuation above his head.
It is said that the gardener known as Unit 47A, discoverer of the Orb, said/gurgled to Cook before his passing, "That's great! Also: if you wouldn't mind grating some of the Orb using the world's hardest grater. Here's a link. Don't worry! It'll grow back, if my calculations are correct. Twenty-two point two… two… if the grater breaks, just use it for cheese, mousse, etc. Sprinkle the Orb dust in the rhubarb patch during next week's full moon. Don't worry! Monstrous alien rhubarb creatures won't come knocking at your door to suck your – beneath the flab – strangely attractive face… lick… every June, there will be crystals. Rods! Harvest them, with the barrow, and your oven mitts. Warning: Do not touch them with bare skin until they have been throughly washed with sparkling water, okay? BTW: What's for lunch? Smells good! Forgive me, Karen… HNNGGHHHH!!!"
Thank you, Unit, for your sacrifice. Know that the rods grow bountifully and with great authenticity in the synthetic soil of the labs, and that we take care to wear our mitts. Sparkling water flows freely, making stops at Shniffalicious and Shniff Café, carrying stray turd chunks and fish scales to the labs, to be warmly greeted by the rods and consumed by said. Know that their lattice is integral to Shniff Cloud, integrating with the patterns of the magical network. And yes: the back rooms are indeed fitted with rodded, higher-polyhedral matter-generators.
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Shniffit is a next-next-gen+++ internet browser currently in pre-alpha development, written in the powerful, if nascent, and poorly understood, even by the geniuses at Shniff, even by the alien-inspired AI, alienotic programming language ORB, to which geminOS's codebase is also being converted.
Shniffit will add a whole new dimension to a user's online experience, whether a site is coded in ORB, or a rudimentary native tongue, perhaps even serving as a portal to Para'meesh IV.
Interest in Shniffit is huge, understandably, but so, too, are the dangers for those with less experience in the Higher Realms, and so: we are restricting access to these very early builds to those who are able to knock on Door 0.nine-seven-9-three-43 and whisper the magic word. You know who you are.
Access to Shniffit will increase as tetrahedral familiarity with ORB expands through the wider population.
Twenty-two point two years ago (note: due to the aliens' interquantum gate, this number never increases – think about it), an alien Orb was uncovered in the grounds of Shniff Inc CEO Soran Shniff's ancestral home, Manor Shniff, by a beloved, ancient gardener known only as Unit 47A, smoking his pipe under a tree in a remote zone he never touched. He couldn't be fucked. There was something weird about the earth there, something unfriendly to the plants, something friendly to his mind. He was escaping the noise of the irritating little pests who were touring the grounds that day (including a certain n-Vogen Barnes). Though their teacher was a charming young thing. Reminds me of Karen as I imagine her in twenty-two point two years!
While the Unit is, sadly, no longer with us, his heroic effort to wheel the weighty, wave-radiating Orb to the rear entrance of the Manor without the proper protection in that damn squeaky barrow he loved so much! – in which his granddaughter Karen would often ride, the Unit fascinating her with tales of Para'meesh IV, the fictional (?) world he'd created just for her – before handing it off to Cook (who, sensing the thing was "out of this world", and having some experience in such matters, promptly covered her nose and mouth with her apron and whispered an esoteric, numerical prayer with polyhedral tints) is remembered for all time in the powerful documentary Shniff vX: The Coming of the Orb, a film school graduation project by Emily Shniff, Chief Orb Officer and daughter of The Man, prior to her setting that "artistic shit" aside and commencing her rise up the Shniff Inc corporate ladder.
From her introductory monologue, since scrubbed from existence because it was "some seriously embarrassing shit, the film's only still around because my father loves it for some reason (plus he agreed to let me skip a couple of rungs)":
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The perks are out of this world. The work is out of this world+++.
You will be asked in your interview for your thoughts on Vanilla Emission, the ice cream served for free at Tuesday breakfast, Friday afternoon snack. FAQ. Come prepared with a theory re what those chocolate stars / mini turds really are.
No one's ever said "mini turds". Will you be the first?
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