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Redmond shall rue the day that Buttcrust the Berserker came to call.
Ahhhh, the smell of smoke, blood, and secretaries. Worker drones fall like wheat before the sickle as my axe sings a song of death about me.
My axe verily smokes as it tastes the blood of its first redundant middle manager.
Ah, to see my enemies flee before me, life is good. (That secretary in the vinyl mini isn't too bad either).
What's this? Server farm drones attempt to hold the door! Do they not know that their time of fatal error is at hand? Their bodies will but serve as a carpet for our feet and their reams of data just a magnetic memory amidst the debris. The door is like a paper to a razor as my axe bites again and again.
Come to me drones, your death is at hand!
__________________
Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you,
Jesus Christ and the American G. I.
One died for your soul, the other for your freedom
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