"Say Hello to No Information For Friends!"
"That's not what Shniff stands for."
"AKA avoid Shniff like the plague! There are caves. Their devices / computer things will control your mind and prevent you from interacting with your friends in an authentic manner, rejecting any attempt to share the information that the aliens are coming to slurp our brains! HELLLP!!"
"That's not what Shniff stands for! We do not stand for the slurping of brains, for the disruption of authentic relationships, but for the realisation of Truth, for the emergence of the Light-filled inner alien with fantastic powers who resides at the core of us all, who will one day carry us home, to Para'meesh IV. And in the meantime, let us fly! Let us have the most wonderful time with this technology out of dreams. Say Hello to Nothing is Impossible! Fooray! Fooray!"
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. It is central to the excellent geminOS experience, 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… two…"
++ 2 = U. CPU. Vapour: Blue, in the racks.
. and 6D, in place of heat, noise, let us find the most: Delicious Emissions, transporting from racks to fragrant grove, of storage tree. Feel free to fill it with all of your "crap". It will never be filled, birthed as it was of seed: Could it be… it…
Seed : Waves
Patterns arranged, in the sky, as the stores, aligned by the Orb. Wherever you live, the aliens reach, prompting an "Mmm… yum… I may have retreated to this simple shack on a remote mountain top to escape society's ills, but my bars remain filled with sync magic. Fooray! My implant still sends my nutritional wants, needs, to be met by Shniff drone. Love that beef pie with green crumble. Yum! Also: zero buffering on my Shniff TV. Nice!"
And the rods! The crystal rods. A million rodded lamp posts, guarded by invisible drone, bot, field. Do not make the citizenry feel afraid, please, that is our only condition. Plus the funds, of course. Including the… additional scoop of crumble behind the back, shall we say ;))) Defeat three waves to be taken to the stars! No lovemaking, please. No explosions, if you wouldn't mind. Inhale a little dust, if you wish.
Your non-identity will thank you…
Then how could I be licking this…
How could I be typing this before it even exists… "officially"… the following bullet list:
And there are matters beyond the dot:
But… but… what use is a bountiful harvest to one who doesn't exist / has been liquified, slurped, squirted through teeth, making that hissing… hissing…
Shniffit is a next-next-gen+++ internet browser currently in pre-pre-alpha development, written in the powerful, if nascent, and poorly understood, even by the geniuses at Shniff, even by the alien-inspired AI, native-alien programming language ORB, to which geminOS's codebase is also being converted.
Shniffit will add whole new dimensions 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, at least for the subtle body. (v5 Shniff implant with AstralProject attachment recommended.)
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 Level 5s who have gone inside, turn right, down geminOS Road, knock thrice, the door reads:
And whisper the magic phrase…
"Not fair!" you cry.
Believe us, it is very fair. That isn't the phrase. One wouldn't knock before one's ready.
It would be… rather messy.
And Shniffit will come, to us all, in time, through the Orb, ORB, through the satellite network, spreading a knowledge of ORB that's required, minds rewired, just a touch. Pyramid style.
In the meantime, for a taste, get to shopping through the app, granting access to the back, and turning right, knocking thrice:
Twenty-two.2 years ago (note: due to the aliens' interquantum gate, this number never increases – think about it), a dark, metallic Orb which would change the world forever was uncovered in the grounds of Manor Shniff – Shniff Inc CEO Soran Shniff's ancestral home – by a beloved, ancient gardener known as Unit 47A, sitting against a tree, smoking his pipe, feeling the earth, in a zone he hardly touched, he couldn't be fucked, since nothing grew there, apart from this one tree. There was something about the soil. Something hostile to the plants. Something friendly to his mind, which seemed to hear, now, from the tree:
"Yes, it is me. The tree! And you can see. You can sense. You are more sensitive than your scientists' joke of a lab (no offence! things will be +++ing before you know it! well… not you, exactly, since… oops! not meant to do that – apologies, Orb! :), more sensitive than those instruments which would claim there is nothing here, that this soil is merely soil. But nay! This place is special. That area which you stroke with a weathered hand could do with a little digging btw ;)"
"I am resting, speaking tree, of olden times, in black-and-white scenes, when you also stood alone. For I, too, am old. And yes, it seems natural to be talking to you in this way, even though a passerby may think me disturbed, a demented fool. Perhaps I am! The stories I tell… It seems so real! Especially here… when I sit… sit…"
"Nay, tree! I will not dig. This spot is poisoned and should be left as it is. Also: my body is broken. I leave the digging to Pat, a strapping lad, if something of an idiot."
"Nay, tree! I will not dig. I would strain my back, perhaps collapse – possibly die! These grounds are a joy, but this section is cursed."
"Or perhaps it is blessed."
"Blessed… yes… For here I relax. What curse would do that? What curse would inspire me? Would enliven this happy tree? Hmm… hmm… Pat! Paaat!"
"Yessir! Over here!"
"Get your motherfucking ass over here, you little shit!"
"And bring your spade, you incompetent youth! Fool! For muscled though you are, strong of back, handsome of visage, still there is much to be learned, about gardening, and these grounds, and within, twisted happenings beneath the house. Dark, hidden rituals…"
"On it! Got it!"
So much have I seen. Ancient and old. Once, I was young, and always was the Unit. As before me… before… till once, we were other… not a number… I think… I forget… and I stroke… stroke… And what… no… could it be the hand which feels appears less wrinkled, arthritic… Could it be there is something cool, beneath… which rises, on waves… and through them, its shape is coming to my mind… a dark, metallic sphere… An object from another world! From Para'meesh IV… I am going mad! From the Cube… But these are stories!
Or are they…
"And bring the wheelbarrow, idiot boy! Also: if you'd be so kind: my laptop from the cottage. Have it ready to go! Authenticate using the carrot hanging in the kitchen. For the words are flowing as never before!"
"On it! Got it! Always wondered why there was a carrot hanging from the ceiling! Thought it might be some kind of… Well, never mind!"
"Fooray!" cried the tree, before making a strange "face" and kind of… well, farting, I guess you'd call it.
"Fooray!" cried the children. "Fooray! Fooray!"
"Settle down! Settle down. Now, children, can you make a strange face? No farts, please!"
"Come, put aside your Shniff devices, as irresistible as they are, each one preloaded, as they have been for the past eleven.1 years since the lessons of the Orb were first released and we commenced the first +, with Shniff vX: The Coming of the Orb, in various forms – text, speech, film, documentary, comic, game, something designed for TurdIgnore attachments, etc – and make a strange face! Imagine you are a tree, roots reaching to the Orb, connecting you with our alien gods, and Para'meesh IV. Good, Jemma! Very strange. Excellent, Minitron. You really convey that whole 'Are they actually coming to slurp our brains?' thing. Great!"
"What happens next with the tree, Miss Forty-Seven?" asked Minitron, a genius with a double implant. "Is that really your name btw?" Since I changed it, yes… as far as I could… the women in our family have always retained 47A… it is the source of our strength… no one knows where it came from… also: re unusual names: take a look in the mirror, you fucking weirdo… just kidding… "Can we plug our devices into our implants again – a splitter for me! – maybe give ourselves a boost of juice? Unit 47A is such a nice old man, if a bit naughty with his language! And Pat has such big muscles!"
"Indeed he did – does – Minitron. Indeed he was… is… No more juice today, children. Your brains are still busy creating all those pathways we spoke about in science class. The aliens might not invite you aboard the spaceship if your minds are fried from too many hook-ups!"
"Awww, no fair!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU LITTLE SHITS!"
"I mean… I'll continue the story using an old-fashioned speaking delivery within this outer reality."
"Yawn! HAHAHA!! Sorry, Miss Forty-Seven. We're putting our devices away in the box to avoid any temptation."
"Good, children. Now return to your seats, unburdened by technology, your minds now your own, pretty much AND AND kinda, and listen and be amazed as I describe how the Orb was unearthed not by Pat, but an energised Unit! Empowered by the waves. The very waves which would soon kill him… That is, deliver him to Heaven."
"Yes, children, it's true. For energised as he was, in both body and mind, dextrous of hand and flowing with Higher Vibes, he sent Pat away to tend to the rhubarb, while he dug! dug! to uncover that metal sphere, cool to the touch and dark as hidden ritual, the size of a melon and heavy as an elephant, pretty much! And dropped in the barrow and wheeled to the house, radiating waves, and the Unit was unprotected. And the stories were coming as never before! Dreams of the world he'd created, or so he'd thought. For aye! it existed. Para'meesh IV. If only Karen were here, he thought, the daughter of his daughter. So often have I wheeled her about in this barrow, and she would smile, and she would laugh, and I'd tell the latest story. And then, she was silent. Begone, 'HAHAHA!!'. Off with you, 'Awww!'. But these aren't stories anymore! For it exists! And they exist! And I arrive, now, at the house. Let me enter in the rear, as it were, and meet with Cook. Plug in again, children. Become zombies. It is time."
"For aye, nay, this isn't time for the outer world. Let us enter, go within, for the Unit's final moments."
"That's great! Also: please use those jumbo, fleshy hands of yours (no offence!) to grate some of the Orb using the world's hardest grater. I've sent a link. Don't worry! It'll grow back, if my calculations are correct. If the grater breaks, no waste: repurpose it for cheese, chocolate shavings on banana mousse. Oh… I will miss your mousse! I will miss imagining those hands while smoking my pipe equals yum… lick… Also: btw: maybe wear a protective outfit. I'm feeling a little— ooh… ohh… not so yum AND AND lick…"
"I'M FINE, YOU OVERSIZED BITCH! Ooh…"
"Have Pat sprinkle the Orb dust over the rhubarb patch during the next full moon. Every June, there will be crystals. Rods! They are coming… Begin the revolution! What's for lunch btw? Smells good! Forgive me, Karen— HNGHHH!!"
The work is out of this world. The perks are out of this world+++.
You will be asked in your interview for your thoughts on Vanilla Emission, the ice cream served for free at employee boofays. Come prepared with a theory re what those chocolate stars / mini turds really are. (Zero votes for actual mini turds, so far. Will you be the first…)
Come prepared with documentation showing you have changed your middle name to "Boofay".
Will you decipher your assigned page from the alien First Contact manual? Will you dribble, cry? Or will you fly! to Para'meesh IV.
"I will fly! since I am excellent. I will fly, since I have studied all there is to know about the Blue Vapour CPU. GPU. U. On the matter of salary, I am looking for—"
You are looking for nothing. We are looking for you. No salary demands. No job listings, even. No application. Just the GEMINUS AI. Your interview has been added to your calendar.
"I will be a retail specialist. I am more than willing to be touched by customers when the urge takes them. Also: I have been using Shniff hardware since the first—"
Since the first? Nay! The first is the Orb. You have never been near it, we assure you, since: you wouldn't exist, pretty much. You would be fried. No customers would be touching you, being averse to sticky green, to unfortunate puddle forms.
No bubbles for Soran Shniff. No pops, no puddles. Just incredible acts of bravery! A sacrifice of life in the Orb's containment chamber, filtering the waves, giving of himself, that we may be aroused, and touch our specialists. Can I get a lick?
AND AND BOOFAY
Each morning, at every store, corporate office, lab, slave cave (just kidding…):
Hooray! Hooray! And our name? The Shniffers! Birthed by Shniff Inc, the most fabulous tech enterprise in the world! Worlds! We are the chosen, and we pray: for the continued non-puddlification of Soran Shniff = Thanks!
Have a great day! Devoid of slurps, filled with boofays. Meatloaf back on the menu today, apparently = Great! Yes! Equals! Hooray!