Madam, I’m Adam

Many moons ago, before the beginning of time itself, an ageless being was thrust onto the cosmic stage. A swirling mass—of youth, hair, FIFA, and recreational boating—asserted its rightful place in the universe. Before Eve, there was Adam.

Present in a vast nothingness the Adam cleared its throat and asked "Are we ready to get started?" and the world formed underfoot. Lakes and Oceans took shape, rivers connected a vast and barren landscape, from chaos came order. Adam took a moment to admire his work.

Eons passed, and the developers, led astray by their idolatrous worship of the Rust Web Assembly compiler, found their application in ruins. The Adam selected the prophet Vance to inscribe his words in Clubhouse binding the developers to the following eternal commandments:

I. Thou shalt not end a standup without a Magnum PI fact. II. Thou shalt only throw gasoline on the fire that is the Jesse/Adam ribbing dynamic. III. No one not named Greg shalt do charts.

IV. Thou shalt reverence the Lord RoadMunk, and shall fear Him alone, and keep His schedules. Lest thou be smote with lightning, and a plague shall follow thee, and the pestilence go before thee. V. Thou shalt honor thine clients, and implement whatsoeverest they request.

She looked up, catching the gaze of the preacher. His single red eye, always moving about the room, sat still, focused on her. She rubbed the scales of her left claw like she always did when she was anxious. God, why had Reverend Zythox picked today to read from the PM’s Bible?

"Trust in NEPTUNE with all your claws, fins, and tentacles and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." She realized Reverend Zythox knew of all the parties she had been carelessly attending despite Coralvid-19.

She needed to order more masks and fashionable hazmat suits for future parties!

Masks with fringe and fur. Suits that incorporated lights and sounds. She even decided to add glitter to the hand sanitizer.

Finally, she pinged her neural-link to queue the synthwave playlist and archive the full sensory memory of a party that she may otherwise end up with no memory of.

Synthwave blasting, she opened up her SimMemory program to try and come up with some new, artificial memories to load to her neural-link.

She wanted to wipe away the memory of the youthful wonder that had stolen her heart all those years ago. Still, it felt like only yesterday that they had set sail with every intention to see everything the world had to offer. With Adam by her side, anything was possible.

"Anything is possible..." Doug whispered to himself, having just completed the latest best seller (Furries genre) "Boag Bonanza: Full Boar, Whole Hog". Emboldened by his recent multiple Byline Frascars, Doug embarked on his dream: Meat Fedoras. Clear eyes, full boar - can't lose