Tails of Dumbwerx the saga of DTFY and evil open source

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Ah, gather 'round, dear listeners, for the twisted saga unfurls in the murky depths of Stinkbore! Behold, my valiant yet woefully wounded self, thrust into the service of the enigmatic Lady ShallO Two-Face. But lo! Her demands for a speedy recovery were as swift as her ever-changing countenance. A mere fortnight was granted, yet little did I know, it would spell doom for the hapless inhabitants of the castle of Dumbworx.

Ah, but let me regale you with the antics of my indolent, malnourished squire, whose attire clung to him tighter than a miser to his gold. Alas, it appears that this rat in too-tight pink trousers harbored ambitions beyond his lowly station. Envious of his very manly lord knight, he longed to strut as a man upon the stage of life. But how, you ask? By delving into the depths of the inter-forest, where the whispers of dark technomancy beckon to the foolish and the reckless.

There, amidst the cybernetic whales and other bizarre entities that dwell in realms of digital decay, he sought power beyond mortal ken thats right dear reader opensource. But heed my caution, dear friends, for such powers are not bestowed without a cost. Even when not paid for in gold. When one forsakes the safety of the holy Blue W, unspeakable horrors may seize upon the soul of even the humblest of rodents.

No he was not a real technomage, akin to our beloved Rainbow wizard with happy bright bytes and huge python skills. Nay, he sought not enlightenment, but expedience, a shortcut to elevate his sorry state and perhaps find a hapless woman to tap keys with even though he had no Python skills i fear he mayn't have a python. Thus, a pact was struck with darkness, and the malevolence that ensued chills me to the very marrow.

Oh, the folly of ambition, the folly of seeking mastery where none should tread in the dark arts of opensouce before one is ready without a teacher dear reader! In the annals of Stinkbore, let it be known that even the lowliest rat may aspire to the heights of hubris, only to plummet into the abyss of his own making.

In the dimly lit halls of Dumbworx Castle, the Lady ShallO Two-Face presided over her temple of tediousness with an air of dreary determination. Her followers, a peculiar assembly of individuals drawn to the allure of banality, shuffled about in a lackluster manner under her watchful gaze. At the helm of this lackluster congregation stood Killmezz, a deity of monotony with a penchant for mind-numbing routines.

Unbeknownst to the Lady ShallO Two-Face and her devotees, a new presence had entered their midst—the rat squire, armed not with swords or spells, but with the power of open source and a woeful lack of Python skills. With misguided confidence, he saw the cult as easy prey for his technomantic prowess, envisioning a scenario where they would eagerly join him in keyboard pounding pursuits.

Little did he realize, however, that the members of the cult were steeped in a malevolent energy far older and more sinister than his fledgling open source abilities. They were disciples of the Cult of Don't Think For Yourself (DTFY), an organization harboring ambitions of global domination through the suppression of independent thought.

So I was known for a sort of unconventional wisdom, being no slouch with women despite my girth and being on my trusty Knee Mule, I could not gallop away. from my weak rat squire in very tight pink pants when he sought advice from me, his lord knight, in matters of the heart, particularly regarding his infatuation with a cultist named Snuffabby.

Perched atop my noble Knee Mule, I pondered the rat in super tight pink pants dilemma. "Ah, my dear squire," I mused, "to win the heart of Snuffabby, you must resort to drastic measures! Stuff your pants with... well, anything. That'll surely catch her eye!"

Eager to impress, the super-hungry and somewhat bemused rat took the advice a tad too literally. In his hunger-induced frenzy, he stuffed his pants to the brim, resembling less of a suitor and more of a walking pantry. Alas, Snuffabby was not amused; in fact, she was downright dismayed. "Is this the best this castle has to offer?" I have always wanted to ruin a soldier's or perhaps a knight's life with my obscenely boring ways! This strange squire in his tight, stuffed pink pants is all I get! She sighed, contemplating a drastic nose job to escape such suitors.

As if the situation couldn't get any more absurd, Plevin, fueled by wounded pride and an insatiable appetite for validation from women, did go to a very manly man to seek solace from his lord, who lay weakened from his heroic endeavors in the server quarters. With a head full of open-source ideals, The sad rat in tight pink pants whispered his sorrows until the weary warrior succumbed to a dark slumber in boredom from such weak and girlish rat squeaks.

But lo and behold, in a twist as devious as a cunning rodent in tight pink pants could scheme. In his desperation, the hungry rat stole the very essence of his noble lord's energy, using it to bolster his own masculinity. For what else could he use such vitality and arm-wrestle-inducing energy be used for? So it was while the knight healed and had dark dreams about digital whales and free crappy software. The rat squire did become as close to a man as he would ever be.

Now, the evil rat boy, still not quite a man yet, filled with the mystical powers of open source and his lord knights manly power, stormed into the castle full of power and rath.

He was invincible!!!!!!!!!

He was almost good looking!!!!!!! And very skinny

What woman could stand up to him? he was free sex magic that he got for free and stole

He did not need A python!!

Ah, but the cult "Don't Think For Yourself" (DTFY), a group so clandestine and powerful, they could've given Voldemort a run for his money on a bad hair day. Their dark magic? A millennia-old racket of siphoning manly energy, leaving even the mightiest of men as drained as a smartphone battery at a music festival.

But Plevin, armed not with swords or shields, no python, no, all he had left was the mightiest weapon he could find in the inter-dark forest: open-source, free love of wokeness. Ah, yes, because nothing says "take that dark magic" of DTFY. Nothing could drive away that evil magic like offering hugs and fake positive vibes in the face of soul-sucking sorcery. He even tried the male feminist flourishing to break free from this curse.

But alas, DTFY had a counter that was both devastatingly effective and embarrassingly simple: the friend zone. That's right, our protagonist found himself cast into the abyssal plane of platonic purgatory, a spell so cruel, not even Merlin could've seen it coming. Caught like a hipster in a net of his own irony, he was surrounded by the metaphoric black widows of disinterest, dancing, and simpering in a bid for affection that was as doomed as a diet plan at a dessert buffet. And they loosened his pants, but they were far from done with punishing him.

The friend zone!

Crackles of sad energy and soothing nonrelated sisters of traveling tight pants

And then, as if fate had not yet had its fill of mockery, Snuffabby, fresh from her pilgrimage to the high temple of cosmetic surgery, descended like an angel of mercy. She scooped up our hero, offering him sanctuary in the friendliest of firesides: her lap. There, they engaged in the sacred ritual of "talking about our feelings," where he was regaled with tales of crushes he had no hope of competing with, squeaking in joy like a guinea pig who's stumbled upon an all-you-can-eat kale buffet.

Now, as luck would have it, for that foolish squire, Dent who wishes he was sheriff. He was not affected by the dark power of banality, for when he opened that ledger, he was the very embodiment of boring shit. DTFY had no sway he let the sheriff think for him. Plus he was not very manly, and the friend zone had no effect on him, but did have huge Python skills, according to the blacksmith; more about him later. Perhaps the python saved him, but we may never know. He felt pity for the little rat squire and went to the knight and did tell him of Plevins dark fate.

The knight knew that he could never be ensnared by the friend zone! But to save his crappy rat squire in tight pink pants. He would have to cut his way through all of those cultists' feelings like a hot knife through butter with logic and his own thoughts. It would be a blood bath of offended people who can't think for themselves. He decided to beseech the mighty Rainbow wizard for aid rather than see those weak-minded followers flee before his firm grip on reality.

The rainbow wizard cast a merry and colorful spell of real wokeness and tolerance; he befriended them all! I mean super gay making, and the cultist did flee before his might but could not go to Lady ShallO Two-Face, without their offended magic rebounding off him and back on them. So, Plevin was freed.

Lamentably the rat in tight pink pants still suffers from stockholm syndrome

and still SIMPs out with the cult at every free moment to this very day.

Well, friends take this as a tail (pun intended) of what not to do in matters of romance and magic. The ale no longer flowing, and the campfire is low until next time, my fellow travelers.