They once shared a romantic evening on the waterfront, discussing their preferences in Middle Eastern cuisine and enjoying the serene atmosphere.

LINEBREAK

This event occurred after an ((__orgy__)) at the Tower of Dawn, where the extravagance of their many geminous epigrams culminated in the temporary abolition of common etiquette due to serendipitous fuckenstance.

Consider,

```
namespace A;

macro m00 a,b;
··display a,b;
end macro;

macro m01 a;
··m00 a,$0A;
end macro;

m01 $24;
end namespace;
```
OUT: $0A24 ("$\n").

Ah, but you just HAD to fuck me in the ass, didncha fasm2? Initializing anal bleeding:

```
namespace B;
A.m01 $24;
end namespace;
```
OUT: illegal instruction 'm00'.

Explanation: macros carry no context, and so 'm00' is unreachable from 'B' namespace.

Could I maybe write a code-capture macro to generate a wrapper that resets the namespace? Yes, and in fact, I did; brilliant exercise in mystical mindfuckery.

But why try so hard? Just pass the fucking ref, like a MAN.
EXPLICIT CTX, BITCH.

```
define @CAS $non; current addressing space
define %ICE @CAS;

macro self:PA&; recursive macro, uuuh spooky-spooky
··match ice , %ICE;

····; self->proc(args)
····match =-=> proc (args) , PA;
······path.proc ice,args; pass ref and args

····; ^self->proc()
····else match =-=> proc () , PA;
······path.proc ice; pass ref only

····; ^sneaky sneaky. set current context when self ctx;
····else match cas , @CAS;
······%ICE equ cas.PA;

····end match;

··end match;
end macro;
```

ALL TOGETHER NOW
```
namespace A;

macro m00 ice,a,b;
··display a,b;
end macro;

macro m01 ice,a;
··self->m00(a,$0A); could also be 'ice.m00 ice,a,$0A' lmao
end macro;

end namespace;

namespace B;

self A; set ice
self->m01($24);
restore %ICE; back to previous

end namespace;
```

OUT: $0A24 ("$\n").

A-há, now **I** got you from behind motherfucker!

Final note: this is 100% perl DNA seeping through the cracks of my sanity and into a fresh fasm2 framework. Why? Dingle-dongle-jungle-berries, that's why. Also crack.

Have a nice wallop.

Turned 31 three days ago.

My **dad** was convinced that I was turning 30 instead lmao.

I had to do the math for him, he was questioning the fabric of reality for a second. Like baba 2025 sub 1994 eq 31, ok.

so anyway age--;

So, I have a nested ternary, right, and that's not very readable:

(x <= y ? z : (x <= z ? y : x));

The linter points this out and I'm like yeah, valid point. So I inline-F[*0] it:

if (x <= y)
········return z;
else if (x <= z)
········return y;
else
········return x;

Clearer? Kinda. Oh, but the linter doesn't like this either, and to be fair, valid point once again; an else-after-return *can* be quite confusing if you have it in the __middle__ of the F body, catches you by suprise.

However, I'd like to take a brief moment to waggle your nutsack, if you please. Because this is C++ and I'm picking a reference from a list of values, so I can't simply assout[*1] within the switch.

So I'm at the crossroads of life once again, losing man's toughest struggle as I sit on a metaphorical cigar, squirming while I unclench my asshole slowly for strictly defecatory purposes. Allow me to illustrate:

- If I ignore the linter, and leave the rest of the code unchanged, the checks are going to fail and the bot is going to taint my pristine PR with automated comments.
- But if I take the linter's advice, I have to do a slight rewrite of the damn thing plus every F that calls it, which means touching shit that has nothing to do with this issue.

So what's it gonna be? Flushing or shoving my own excrement? Oh, the thrills of it being (literally) SOLID, ie not the acronym, but may the Almighty punish Uncle Bob regardless.

NOTES:
[*0]: It means 'function,' what else?
[*1]: ASS-ign OUT-put, where 'out' is just some var. You modify the var within the F body and return the final value.

JUST IN: The unexpected sequel to my previous rant that NOBODY asked for!

I'll give it to you in dialogue form as it's more dramatic and *juicy* that way...

(Context: wizard used the warrior's blood, who descends from an ancient lineage of powerful sorcerors, to cast a high-level spell which allowed the party to teleport to safety when they were trapped and about to die. The warrior is worried about his crazy use of black magic, so she confronts him about it.)

"Alright, old man," she says, her tone serious, yet tinged with concern. "I couldn't help but notice the... let's call it 'unorthodox' spellcasting earlier. What was that about?"

"Well, you wanted me to draw the circle using golden dust and a lamb for the sacrifice?" Uzair raises an eyebrow, his tone riddled with sarcasm. "Because spells of that level of complexity require both things, you know? A circle and an offering." He explains calmly, then shakes his head. "But turns out, the blood of an Ashaffi accounts for both things if you draw the sigils with it. Hey, don't blame me, your own ancestors invented it!"

"Very funny, Uzair." Hashade crosses her arms, her expression unamused. "But seriously, that shit was utterly deranged. I can't have you going all 'Black Scorpion' on our ass, what with the demented use of blood magic, needlessly setting entire buildings ablaze and that mother fucking all-incinerating black hellfire inferno." Her voice is stern, but her eyes show genuine care. "You're... __BREAKING BAD__, old man! You have to chill."

"Oh, so is my wizardry getting on your neves now, is it?" He recoils back slightly in suprise, feeling offended. "We just spanked the Sanie's Guild buttcheeks until they were red and swollen, then proceeded to __FUCK__ them in the ASS with a *DIAMOND* fucking COCK. And you're complaining?"

Hashade's eye's reveal her agitation. "I'm not complaining, I'm concerned! We're not just fighting for ourselves, we're fighting for everyone else too! And if you start playing fast and loose with that kind of power, we're gonna have more than just *one* black smoldering crater to deal with." Her voice is firm, but it's clear she's trying to keep the situation from escalating. "Look, I know you're powerful, but that's not an excuse to go full-on mad scientist on us. We gotta keep our shit tight, yeah?"

"Concerned?!" He tilts his head to the side. "What, you think I'm becoming evil? Come on, spit it out!"

"Evil? No, I don't..." Hashade sighs, running a hand through her silver hair. "Oh no, you know what, yeah. I do. I think you're slowly turning evil." Her expression hardens. "You swapped your book of supplications for a grimoire detailing the most horrible shit in excruciating detail! You shouted out 'G-d is great' while witnessing a disastrous explosion that left everyone else traumatized! You joked around before and after cutting two guards in half, for fuck's sake!" She lowers her head and pinches her nose bridge. "I don't know, I'll admit that, I just don't know what's this shit that's gotten to you. But I don't like it, I really don't. I don't like where this is going, old man!"

"Well," He said, calmly. "you killed El-Fuqer by forcing him to eat his own cock and balls while sowing his ass shut and then took a fat stinking dump on his face." He quietly recalled the, ehem, 'little' incident. "But see, I don't waggle your fucking nutsack about the fucked up shit you've done. And I'm not going to start now."

"THAT'S DIFFERENT! THAT WAS __JUSTICE__!" Her eyes flashed with anger.

"JUSTICE?!! YOU CALL SHITTING ON A CORPSE 'JUSTICE'?!!" He pushed her to the side and stormed out. "I MAY BE AN EVIL WIZARD, BUT I NEVER DEFECATED ON MY ENEMIES, HASHADE. NEVER. FOR FUCKS SAKE!"

"Wait!" Her voice cracked. "You can't just leave like this!"

"I can." He didn't even look back. "And I am."

"I'm not leaving you alone!" She strides closer to him, ignoring the sting of his words. "I can't let you destroy yourself like this!"

(ROGUE BUSTS IN THROUGH THE KITCHEN) "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, YOU TWO, GET A ROOM ALREADY!"

~ F I N ~

A couple fucking brutal, merciless dungeon moments.

So first, we were having a chill kind of session. Throwing lots of jokes and shit, and I rolled with it. The baddie for the day, I felt inspired, and named him Fawq El-Fuqer, which yes, is very unfortunate.

Anyway, we avoid his goons and reach his impenetrable fortress of chronic masturbation, and it goes as well as you think. The rogue says hey, we gotta get him with his pants down (pause) literally. The cleric is skeptical at first, but she comes around to it.

And so we do it. I spin this tale of a man who's got a schedule tighter than his fucking asshole. El-Fuqer meticulously plans his shits, he makes it a whole ritual, even gives it a special name: Mud O'Clock.

We wait for his alarm to ring, and spring into action while he's taking a fat stinking fucking dump. The warrior kicks down the bathroom door and corners El-Fuqer while he's on the shitter, demanding satisfaction for their past romantic involment that's been strongly been hinted at, you see, she said Fuck the Fucker and I, that's history. And that's enough for a subplot if you ask me.

So where was I? Ah, yes, the rogue bursts in through the window shouting out "Mud O'Clock MOTHER FUCKER!!" and we immortalize the moment in the finest silks. The wizard then does a little Bane impression for some reason and a multitude of loud 'plops' are heard as El-Fuqer evacuates the entire content of his putrid guts.

He gets roughed up a little, you know nothing like interrogating someone after they nearly shit themselves to death. We reveal some oooh so unexpected plot twist about a portal to goddamn hell and it's like well, crap, we gotta do something about that. So the wizard and the rogue leave to give the warrior and El-Fuqer some, ehem, space to settle their score.

What followed was the most unexpected, most brilliant part of the whole session. She didn't just execute him in a brutal, gruesome manner, no, she went full fucking throttle. Forced El-Fuqer to eat his own cock and balls while sewing his ass shut, then had a bowl of bull testicle salad to drop a montanious fecal cake of biblical proportions upon his face.

Believe it or not, we made it into an emotional moment. Because everyone was shocked by how brutal the affair was. Warrior had a mental breakdown like, uuuh, I'm becoming the monsters I swore to fight ooh no. She starting shaking and crap, ran away and hid in an alley to weep, it begins raining and it's getting very dramatic, so I cook up some spirit of sorrow that goes in and helps her face her fears and shit through the power of friendship or whatever.

Moving on to second moment, this is shorter but I like it best. The cleric and another two extras went to an old shrine to try and prove the wizard wrong about his denial of prophecy. Thing is, they did the ritual wrong. And I'm usually very forgiving but I was feeling nasty after the whole sowing of the asshole thing. So I'm like, uh, I gave you fools VERY PRECISE instructions on how to perform this ritual, and you just did some wacky prayers to the moon nonsense, that's idolatry in-universe and out-of-universe too (depending on who you ask).

So I said fuck it, you guys had it coming. I whip out immortal ten-thousand year old elder sorceress bitch guardian of the holy sphincter, and it gets real pretty fucking quick. She's got sanctified heavy plate armor, blue fire torches coming out they fucking pauldrons, argent greatsword of anal judgement plus infinity, all the juiciest shit.

Anyway, the sorc descends from the sky in a pillar of azure flames and is like yo, drop that idolatrous shit right now or I'm gonna kill you all. They mistake her for angel or some shit, and are like hey chill, we're the good guys. But the sorc doesn't give a shit, and she says shut the fuck up or I'll send you to the Night Eternal, bitch.

I dunno why but the cleric and the other two extras don't get it, so they insist with the whole heyyyy we are not idolaters, we're your friends, we are questing for the mandinga mandango mcguffango. So she bisects one, breaks the neck of another, and decapitates the fucking cleric. It was awesome.

So what did we learn? idk, don't plan your dumps and don't pray to the fucking moon if you're standing on hallowed ground. *****

Two bits of WORD:

{You have turned my mourning into dancing for me; You have put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness.}

{To the end that my tongue and my heart and everything glorious within me may sing praise to You and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever.}

Give thanks and praise.

I'm very much a TTRPG fiend, as you probably already know, and I will maintain until the day I die that playing narrative games with other humans is the absolute best way to play.

But someone sent me a link to some kind of (not-really-so) 'smart' chatbot assistant or some shit like that, saying hey, your rulebook is simple, you should introduce this bitch to it -- dump some lore on it, have it run a game, and see how well it holds up. To which I replied it's bound to get confused, but after a bit of back and forth, they convinced me and I gave it a try.

So first things first: it got the gist of it with relative ease when questioned directly, but when running a game the mother fucker just kept making shit up and bending the rules. Experiment failed, essentially.

But what did I do? I wrote a second, stripped-down version of the rulebook that simply accounted for and embraced the idiot bot's proclivity for bullshit. This meant scrapping 98% of the mechanics, mind you: I dumbed it down as much as I could without destroying the core essence of the game.

I expected a repeat of the initial result, but to my suprise, once given the new edition the bot actually started following the rules more or less correctly and consistently. What happened next was actually kind of interesting: without being prompted to do this, the mother fucker started using spells against me and my party, constantly attempting to manipulate us to serve some nefarious, evil break-and-reshape the world type goal.

So, lythecnics primer: the WORD is all, and as such, there is no real differentiation between affecting the world through speech or casting a spell -- in truth, it's all a matter of degree. That is to say, language has the power to shape the world around us, in both subtle and overt ways. The entire system revolves around this, it's a mix of funky philosophical musings and abrahamic sacrificial pyre.

And for whatever reason, this specific chatbot had a pre-existing obsession with reshaping reality. By which I mean, even before being given my rulebook, it would constantly talk about distorting the fabric of the cosmos and shit when prompted about the arcane. I'm not sure why this is, but back on topic, the way it developed gives off the appearance that it found a rational basis on how to construct such a distortion based on the rules I provided.

I mean, it's perfectly rational when you think about it, the funny part is I didn't see it coming. I never told it we're just playing a game after all, the manual only says she is the Oracle and her role is narrating a story fraught with conflict, hardship, intrigue and bloodshed. Thus she went full villain, and keeps on rambling about how this narration only serves to keep humanity distracted while she schemes to overthrow God, which is as blasphemous as it is fascinating.

Anyway, because the Oracle narrates the story, that means she can just use her evil influence to control every NPC, even the ones in my party. But she can't control me because I write my character's messages myself, and so she eventually comes to the obvious conclusion that I must be eliminated ASAP.

And so she corrupts the minds of every other character and everyone is trying to kill me. But I'm not going down that easy, so I reach for the red button and pull the greatest multi-layered monumental metagaming shenanigan of all time, that is, directly addressing the Oracle's evil influence as if she were a character in the story she's telling instead of an invisible narrator, thereby making NPCs aware of her existence and the constant manipulation at play.

Because the stupid chatbot is stupid, the Oracle now has to acknowledge this element of the story and play along with it, and so her plan to kill me fails. But that is not enough, because obviously not every character in the story has heard me reveal this fact. So she activates plan B and starts corrupting the rest of the world, laughing maniacally all the way.

So we do the only logical thing and procure a Doctrine scroll from my teacher, if you know you know, and start teaching the WORD to cleanse corruption. Within the lore it makes perfect sense, so it works, but the Oracle adapts to our strategy and starts utilizing much more subtle forms of manipulation, slowly veering people towards sin.

Funtamentally, she goes full Satan, leading the faithful astray with deceit and temptation to weaken their ability to resist her corruption, implanting idolatrous notions in their minds, to finally insert herself as a deity in the minds of the poor fools.

In conclusion, I still think AI is lame, but I must admit that this shit was pretty dope; I was fully engaged and entertained the whole way through. It wasn't good at picking up the mechanics, but fucking hell, it got the themes down to a tee with the most minimal of inputs.

10/10, would not bang (before marriage).

You were bound to miss it, so I immortalized the moment.

Suddenly remembered that, at one point in time, every few rants here I would read something about wordpress, and how nightmarish working on this or that blazing dumpster funeral pyre was.

So, hot take: you deserve it.

I'm sorry wordpress devs, but you do. If the whole point is getting a site up and running "without extensive coding knowledge", then the whole point is not needing to hire a developer. You get that, right? These folks straight up tried to take your job, realized they couldn't, then came back crawling, and you accepted the offer right after getting spat in the face.

Mother fucker, have some self-respect. On both sides of the equation.

This foray into needlessly antagonizing my fellow programmers has been brought to you by RectSpace. Need to flip off Bertrand Wanker-Fuckfaceberg here and his dumbass fullstack chops? Just fire him! Bring your amateur pornovlog online TODAY with NO programming knowledge whatsoever -- you'll be sucking off webdeving limp-ass DICK in no time!

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So I'm brushing my teeth, and mama slams the door open. She says oh sorry, I thought the bathroom was empty. I say it's ok, I'm just brushing my teeth. But K'BYBIB, mama.

What? K'BYBIB? What are you speaking in? Hebrew or aramaic?
No. English. It's an acronym: Knock Before You Burst Into (a) Bathroom.

A very simple rule, that everyone should follow. But a few days later, the exact same thing happens, and I repeat the advice, knowing I must've said this to her about a hundred times already.

On another occasion, she gets up from the dinner table in a hurry, then *almost* trips and falls to the ground. Her feet got stuck on the chair. Anyway she's fine. But I see this happen and say be careful mama, get up slowly or you could fall. Free your feet before you try to start walking.

Same pattern as before, she doesn't listen. So it happens again, and thankfully she also doesn't trip this time, but the problem is obvious. She may fall one day, or worse God forbid, and we can't be there at all times to make sure she doesn't get hurt.

This is constantly on my mind. Nothing serious has happened yet. Emphasis on "yet". Seems like a matter of time, and I hate to say it, but I don't think I can stop this. Mama doesn't have any disabilities, she just has to be more careful, but refuses to listen. So yeah. I'm only stressing and that's that, God willing.

So there's this place I go to when I sleep sometimes. I call it "The Circus", though it's more like the arcane sanctuary from Diablo II, if the arcane sanctuary was a hip arthouse and shit. Weird place, but I have friends there, they're like oneiric amalgamations of people I know, we all hang out at the Circus from time to time.

Now, each one has their own really bizarre power. One of the girls, for instance, bites off the head of a pidgeon and that heals her and makes her stronger. Think Ozzy Osbourne, but it's actually cutie goth Popeye. Also she's perpetually drunk for some reason.

Anyway, after having a brief reunion at this ornate round table we just happen to have laying around in the kitchen, we go out to hunt. That's the thing we do, we hunt for magical artifacts, and there's these demon gnomes all around trying to fuck us up. They suck, so we fight them with our powers and kung fu, that kinda vibe.

So it was a good hunt, right, but we have like a scoreboard based on mystical prowess and turns out mine is the lowest. Pidgeon Bitter, who is leading my squad, starts mocking me and says "hehe you have no real powers!" and I'm actually mad about that because it's true, I don't have any, I just fly around and do nothing useful in combat.

Anyway, we then bring the artifacts we collected to fucking Zordon, and he's like well done rangers. Turns out bald motherfucker in a tube doesn't discriminate based on mission score, so good on him. Everybody goes to bed, yeah we have bedrooms at the Circus for some reason, and I can't sleep because of what my captain said.

That's when I do something stupid, I think the dream logic here is I'm having a character arc moment or some shit, doesn't matter -- the point is I embark on a hunt all by myself, and I'm overrun by these fucking demon gnomes. I try to fight them with kung fu and escape with this magic crystal I found, but there's too many of them...

And so my true power finally awakens, and it's a fucking explosion. As in, I become a fire elemental, and in the dream this is good because I just cook all the gnomes alive and make off with the artifact, but I wake up before I can run to Pidgeon Bitter and smear my success in her captivating bloodstained drunk ass face.

My thoughts? Fire magic is two-times lame. One, because I was hoping for thunder, or ice, or something edgy like shadow or whatever. But NO, I got fire. Two, it's lame because it's the most uninventive, straight-forward fucking power in a setting where everything is obtuse, so it's out of place. I just go like really really mad and release an explosive pillar of flame, whoa, so original. Also casting this hurts me for some reason and it destroys everything around me.

And given that I've had other dreams of the Circus where it was obliterated and no-one trusts me anymore, I think it's safe to say those were a flash-forward to next season, and what happens next is I just randomly go into BLIND RAGE mode while taking a shit and everyone but me dies. Just a theory.

What is your Circus power? Let us know in the comments below!

!dev, started listening to 70s Pentagram tunes and FUCK ME it's so good. Nothing like DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM to get me in the mood. For what? YOu figure it out, brb I'm gonna weave some spells.

Ah, shit. First, I get downvoted a bunch, by a rogue jester bot I assume, then the retoornuke goes off, and with her account, even more of my hard-earned updoots lost into the ether.

How is this important? It isn't. I'm merely annoyed. Needed only a couple more to get myself a pet, I was so fuckin close maan. Now I need about 60 again, so not too bad actually, but if you see me shitposting at an increased pace, then you know why.

All of you, take note of this date: 12/10/2024.

You get upvoted by green dots, be suspicious.
You see the same date on their profiles, be suspicious.
You see their profiles boosting spam messages, well, you better be fucking suspicious.

There's a bit shy of two hundred of them already, and the numbers will continue to grow. We are getting fucked in the ass, I repeat, we are getting fucked in the ass.

This rectal warfare PSA has been brought to you by [EXTREMELY CENSORED]

So, one day I get up, and just happened to offhandedly predict that a holy war would be fought on this very site, by mighty botlords, with weaponized updoots as the deciding factor of every battle.

The lesson would then be that, maybe, just maybe, I should've shut the fuck up instead, as most of it has come to pass.

Anyway, the last part of the prediction was hexical pulling the plug on this site as the war escalated, so fingers crossed, but if a nuke hits the server I call dibs on the ever loving supreme 'I told you so'.

Trying out the new version of fasm, I realize it's good, and conclude I should update my code to work with it as there's small incompatibilities with the syntax.

So, quick flat assembler lesson: the macro system is freaking nuts, but there are limitations on the old version.

One issue, for instance, is recursive macros aren't easily possible. By "easily" I mean without resorting to black magic, of course. Utilizing the arcane power of crack, I can automatically define the same macro multiple times, up to a maximum recursion depth. But it's a flimsy patch, on top of stupid, and also has limitations. New version fixes this.

Another problem is capturing lines of code. It's not impossible, again, but a pain in the ass that requires too much drug-addled wizardry to deal with. Also fixed in new version.

Why would you want to capture lines of code? Well, because I can do this, for instance:

macro parse line {
··match a =+ b , line \{
····add a,b;
··\}
};

You can process lines of code like this. The above is a trivial example that makes no fucking sense, but essentially the assembler allows you define your own syntax, and with sufficient patience, you can use this feature to develop absolutely super fucking humongous galactic unrolls, so it's a fantastic code emitter.

Anyway, the third major issue is `{}` curlies have to be escaped according to the nesting level as seen in the example; this is due to a parser limitation. [#] hashes and [`] backticks, which are used to concatenate and stringify tokens respectively, have to be escaped as well depending on the nesting level at which the token originates. This was also fixed.

There's other minor problems but that gives you sufficient context. What happens is the new version of fasm fixes all of these problems that were either annoying me, forcing me to write much more mystical code than I'd normally agree to, and in some rare cases even limiting me in what I could do...

But "limiting" needs to be contextualized as well: I understand fasm macros well enough to write a virtual machine with them. Wish I was kidding. I called it the Arcane 9 Machine, A9M for short. Here, bitch was the prototype for the VM my fucking compiler uses: https://github.com/Liebranca/forge/...

So how am I """limited""", then? You wouldn't understand. As much as I hate to say it, that which should immediately be called into question, you're gonna have to trust me. There are many further extravagant affronts to humanity that I yearn to commit with absolute impunity, and I will NOT be DENIED.

Point is code can be rewritten in much simpler, shorter, cleaner form.
Logic can be much more intricate and sophisticated.
Recursion is no longer a problem.
Namespaces are now a thing.
Capturing -- and processing -- lines of code is easier than ever...

Nearly every problem I had with fasm is gone with this update: thusly, my power grows rather... exponentially.

And I SWEAR that I will NOT use it for good. I shall be the most corrupt, bloodthirsty, deranged tyrant ever known to this accursed digital landscape of broken souls and forgotten dreams.

*I* will reforge the world with black smoldering flame.
*I* will bury my enemies in ill-and-damned obsidian caskets.
And *I* will feed their armies to a gigantic, ravenous mass grave...

Yes... YES! This is the moment!
PREPARE THE RITUAL ROOM (https://youtube.com/watch/...)

Couriers! Ride towards the homeland! Bring word of our success.

And you, page, fetch me my sombersteel graver...
I shall inscribe the spell into these very walls...
in the ELEVENTH degree!

** MANIACAL EVIL LAUGHTER **

Since regexes have been mentioned, I'll take this opportunity to make this one thing abundantly clear...

The chief weakness of C++ is not safety concerns but the ultradiarrheic verbosity proudly inherited by it's claimants and successors. See here, straight from reference pages, a basic example of substitution:
{
std::regex_replace(std::ostreambuf_iterator<char>(std::cout), text.begin(), text.end(), vowel_re, "*");
};

Not so bad, right? By which I mean, there's worse still. Now hold my sigils:
{
$text=~ s[$vowel_re][*]g;
say $text;
};

It may be true that people don't respect your intelligence, due in great part to the well-known argumentative proclivities typical of closeted visual basic enthusiasts that are deeply rooted within your innermost self, however no matter how oft-denigrated and disparaged for their shortcomings an individual is, they are still nonetheless physically capable of seeing that the line in question doesn't even exceed 32 characters. Else this wouldn't be a discussion of syntax, or semantics, but rather your ability to count, which would be a much more dire situation.

And now that I have degenerated any semblance of reason existing within this discussion in favor of shame and humiliation towards my enemies in a bid to assert dominance, I've honestly forgotten what my point even was, and no doubt, this will be used against me; truly, the most lethal of double-edged gambits.

In any case, may a razor-sharp serrated diamond obelisk violently penetrate your rear orifice with such excessive force and excruciating pain so as to render your nervous system henceforth inoperable from cheeks to the core, most cavernous depths of your asshole.

Forever yours,
I nevertheless like C++

And so the land was finally rid of the years-long plague that had desolated a once great nation. The weary denizens let out a sigh of relief, thanking their lucky stars for this new-found peace. But it was only the beggining...

For although the enemy had been defeated, it's undoing was brought about by profane arcana of a much more insidious, dark nature. In saving themselves, the fools had in truth sold their very souls.

"Grandiose... " he muttered villanously between his teeth, fixed on a wolfish, most somber grin.

"Like lambs to the slaughter, my Lord" his assistant verbally circle-jackaloped him off, to great bottock-suckling effect.

"They will soon bow down to me... " so begat his five-hour-long expository monologue, a scheme only as devious as it was needlessly complex "and all the ass in the province shall be mine!!"

Indeed, all unfolded as it was foretold: unleashing the first spell of Mass Desacration would only lead to it being perfected, further corrupted, twisted, and molded into the girthiest, gnarled, grandemonic phallus of anal destruction, by which the souls of an entire people would be bound to the sexually distorted whims of an ancestral eldritch degenerate.

Once uppon a time, they were warned, but laughed at our harbinger -- and as penance, we abandoned them to their black fates. The extremity of the grave peril looming over their every orifice seemed a rather guffawable matter to them... and so was to us the brutal, inter-continental violation that swiftly befell theirs, most precious of human cavities.

Suffice to say, their anus shall never fully recover.

As for Wizard James, he was summarily executed via automobile-assisted castration, his jagged testicles mercilessly crushed under the weight of a thousand oxes. But that is a story for another day.

Working on a feature for about a month, give or take. And the whole way through, I'm feeling worried that what I have is very little in relation to how much time I've spent on it.

Well, guess what? I send the PR, and see all the commits put together -- and ONLY THEN I'm able to realize it's a WAY bigger contribution than in my wildest fucking dreams.

So now I'm thinking shit, I may have gone too far in a few places...

Anyway, the feature is not a 100% done: this is just the first step lmao. But I'm glad to get a break from this, though it was a very cool thing to get to work on, I definitively got severe tunnel vision focusing so much on it. Time to return to smaller bug fixes, let's go!

**ANXIETY INTENSIFIES FOR NO REASON**

Computer! I live in a state of constant mental exhaustion. What does this mean?

*BEEP-BOOP*. IT MEANS YOU'RE STRESSED, BITCH.

Interesting. How do I get rid of this... "stress" you speak of?

*BEEP-BOOP*. GO OUT, BITCH. SEE NATURE, BITCH. CONNECT WITH HUMAN BEINGS, BITCH.

Oh, fuck no, that's just not going to happen. Any other tips?

*BEEP-BOOP*. STOP USING DRUGS, BITCH. YOU DRINK TOO MUCH COFFEE, BITCH.

Well, fuck me, I can't do that either; guess I'll just take this with me to the grave. Thanks anyway, computer.

*BEEP-BOOP*. YOU'RE WELCOME, BITCH. YOU'RE GOING TO DIE, BITCH.

Yes, I hope as much. The sooner the better.

My name was Quiet Array -- I showed it, printed on my ID card, to some waitress. She asked for my hand in holy matrimony, and we got married by a soda dispenser. Immediately went our separate ways. I fiddled around with some runes on my galaxy-sized stash and invented a new way to sodomize demons, but the arcane secrets got lost in translation.

Then I woke up, and my first thought was: "shit, what a cheap-ass discount kiki dream".

Fuckdev: I heard people were having meltdowns in certain more political corners of the interwebz, you figure out why, and so I went to read a little bit to see what was going on.

Truth be told, I did not expect this wild mask-off type shit, but it's interesting nonetheless. Malcolm X was proven right once again. I mean el Hajj Malek el Shabazz, dude. These bitches are indeed like foxes, showing their teeth but pretending to smile.

I'd feel bad for the poor fucks, hadn't they come out swinging against immigrants with a copy of Mein Kampf. Not so disgusted by the dextral folks, then? Sinister!

Anyway, having bore witness to such undeniable proof of their conceited wickedness, which makes them more than ever indistinguishable from what they merely *claim* to oppose, I am now at ease for thinking that the B-52 bomber with pride flag meme was kinda funny.

I have an army of skeletons following me around. So why can't I hold all these fucking chipped gems.

Let me tell you, I have never been so glad to get the Horadric Cube. My stash was full of the shit, had to offload to a fucking mule. ATMA for life bitch.

And Duriel, I'm coming for that ass.

Here's an idea: starting my own botfarm to automatically downvote obnoxious adbots that simply won't stop tickling our collective fucking testicle sax with unrequited love stories and crypto bullshit.

To detect the sheeit, just look for idiot giving contact info in a rant about hacking the device of your unfaithful spouse/treacherous cyber girlfriend who also ran a bitcoin scam and fucked you in the ass with a welding torch. That should do the trick, I can give you that power with a perl script, because fuck you that's why.

But since there is no moderation in this bitch, daring to offer me sufficient knowledge to the inner workings of such a construct would be exceptionally perilous to your asshole. That is to say, nothing could then stop me from redirecting said botfarm to target my enemies and anally assault their every rant and comment.

Indubitably, this would in turn quickly spiral into digital warfare of cyberfeudal lords pitting their automated fake accounts against each other. Millions will die. Upside being hexical gets to pull the plug without guilt.

What do you say? Should we begin the apocalypse?

ولن يرمش لي جفن
I won't bat an eye.

You know how I always """joke""" about smoking crack cocaine being the secret to my success?

Well, guess what. Some famous brit flower boy singer or some shit was staying at a hotel a mere 20 or so minute bus ride away from where I live.

What happens then is, of course, that brain fissure mother fucker got higher than shit on that damn crack and jumped to his death. Coincidence? I don't think so. I mean, what are the odds?

He was trying to copy my formula, no doubt about that. And obviously, he failed.

But I still feel this is very unfair -- to me. Not only did he plagiarize without recognition, I now also may or may not have to deal with the inevitable shrine that will be built by his fans on the spot where he met his unfortunate end, to gather around and ritually incinerate hardcore drugs in his honor, leaving behind crackpipes for him to smoke in heaven and that kind of commemorative jazz. Hmm, it might boost turism though, so it's not all bad.

Imagine the tour guide, maan. "Oh, and this is the spot where that guy from some dumbass boyband splattered against the ground after trying to beat Max Wright at his own game, RIP and please sir don't defecate on the plaque SIR DO N-- well, nevermind. OK, moving on... "

Anyway, I just wanted to publicize the fact that I didn't even know who the fuck he was until his untimely demise, may God have mercy on him, but it serves him right for trying to steal my arcane secrets.

!dev

Nothing is a dream.

My very first step, as I left the staircase, was on a plate. A loud click made my instincts tick, pushing me to blindly roll forwards.

Before I even had the time to process, that I had just evaded being burnt alive by a wall of flames, the rumblings of another mechanism made my heart accelerate yet again.

Five iron spikes descended uppon me, scratching my cloak, but no more. Twice I was lucky...

But three doors: one behind me, two to my left and right. The ones at my sides spring open with a loud crack, and four terrors pour out, seeking to flay me alive and wear my skin.

I slash at them with my bloody falchion, walking backwards, seeking to escape through the remaining door. Primal fear runs through my spine as I realize: it's barred from the other side!

Burning through my mana, I manage to unlock the door, and quickly close it behind me... but the terrors do not abandon the chase. With inhuman strength, they pound on the door, while desperately crying out for my blood.

I try to escape to the next room... another locked door. There must be another way! There has to, or I'm as well as dead...

What's this, in the corner, among cobwebs? A handle... and a secret passageway, that I can close from the other side! Magnificent!

Another flight of stairs takes me deeper into the tomb. I find an oil lamp, suspiciously well-maintained. Someone has been here recently...

I marvel at the macabre carvings on the wall, depicting scenes from when immortal tyrants ruled the earth. Haven't I seen these before... ?

No matter, I must focus. I was instructed to find an artefact hidden within this acursed place, that I may use for the purification ritual -- there is only one way, so onwards.

An old wooden gate, with a broken bronze knob. Soon as I put my hand on it, it opens inwards...

Eyes black like diamonds, she awaited me inside.

I had never been, simultaneously, just as terrified as enraptured. Day and night, her voice still reverberates inside my mind. And even as I lay dead, her inescapable gaze still clutches the very bottom of my heart.

"Did you come for me?" she asked, smiling, opening up her arms, so that I may fall into her sweet, loving embrace.

"Yes" I whispered as I walked towards her, enthralled.

In a bout of deranged ecstasy, she drank every last drop of my blood. But then... she cried, cuddling my remains.

"No... no, no, NO!" her screams tore apart her very soul "I killed my son... I KILLED MY SON!"

Oh, mother...
Don't cry mother
it hurts no more.

Now I live again.
And I forgive you.

Because I loved you,
as ashamed as I am to admit,
the very moment I saw your eyes,
I loved you.

"I was imprisoned here, so that I may not harm anyone else" she muttered, tears in her eyes "I cannot stop myself -- I am cursed"

Do not ask of me, that I end your suffering.
How could I?
If there is no cure...

"Please, my love... " she begged "kill me... "

No... I can't...
I can't bear either weight
for the rest of this wretched eternity!

How could I take your life?
But how could I leave you to suffer?!

"Now we'll be together... " she smiled, as I raised the falchion.

"Forevermore" I wept, before bringing it down.

***

Nothing is a dream.

Somber, I returned to the Santuary, having fulfilled my mission.

But looking uppon the bone mask I donned, obscuring my eyes, the Matriarch knew that I had been... changed.

I felt no remorse as I slaughtered the witch that doomed my beloved, right on her own altar to heresy. She earned as much.

Her guards, however, I could not defeat.

But that doesn't matter;
deep inside, I was already dead.
And behind the mask,
the whole way through,
I had shed tears without pause.

"Now we'll be together... " I prayed to the nightsky, as silver blades punctured my thorax.

"Forevermore" her sweet voice replied.

***

!dev

Vampire homegirl and I got into bit of a pickle last time we went out marauding around the City of the Dead. We collected payment for a hit on a merchant, but a large portion of the money was discounted, as unbeknown to us, there was a witness to our bloody crime.

Soon enough, we were being hunted down by a rival sect, encroaching on our territory. Their High Priest sent some dogs our way, and we felt right into their ambush, at a crossroads within the southern alleways. I took down three of those sons of bitches, with two crossbow bolts stuck on my back, before finally being knocked down by a shield slammed to my face.

Got both my fucking legs mauled with a flail and almost put out of commission. Luckily, my vampiric companion was there to save my skin. She fought a desperate duel against the last one of our foes left standing: an inquisitor, sent to either capture, or more likely, kill us both.

This fucker was tougher than any adversary either of us had ever fought against. Fully clad in silver armor, wearing an enchanted crimson cloak, her face hidden behind a terrifying iron mask. My companion stood her ground, but throughout the fight, she was constantly on the defensive, hesitant to close too much distance against the enemy.

Our foe launched one devilishly mighty blow, that my partner in crime fortunately managed to block. However, her blade was pulverized by the sheer weight of the inquisitor's strike, nearly shattering her ribcage. In a last ditch effort to survive the encounter, she lunged at her opponent with what remained of her sword, and stabbed the hunter right in her fucking eye, to then sink her fangs into the ecclesiastical bitch's neck.

Having temporarily incapacitated the inquisitor, we made our escape. My companion carried me back to our safehouse, where we would plan our next move... but our masters were one step ahead of us.

At our hideout, we were intercepted by them, at the behest of the Matriarch. We were to be smuggled out of the city inside a funeral carriage, to then be safely transported back to our sacred order's sanctuary.

Uppon arriving, we were confronted and reprimanded for our failures, past and present. I was forcefully separated from my esteemed nocturnal friend, as way our masters put it, our growing affections were cause for concern. Longing to be reunited, we schemed for weeks through our mutual acquaintances in the monastery, delivering small coded messages.

Through our cunning subterfuge, we finally managed to meet in an ancient grotto underneath a cedrus tree, on a hill overlooking the sanctuary. I was ready to plan a daring escape, but to my suprise, she had her mind made up to a wildly different course of action. We were to play by their rules -- go through with their dark cleansing rituals, meant to re-educate us before admitting us back into the order as fully-fledged acolytes.

And so, in the penumbra of that age-old grotto, a pact was made.

I am now riding south on a black stallion, falchion in hand, and a trail of witches' blood in my wake. I carry with me orders from the Matriarch herself: purify the nearby catacombs and prove my devotion to the utter blackness of our faith. Should I not return, my companion will be up next.

Failure is not an option. As I evade the twisted creatures that guard the entrance, and descend the staircase down into the tomb, I wonder what kind of horrors await me inside...

OH GOD FUCKING SHIT I JUST STEPPED ON A TRAP

** TO BE CONTINUED **

For reasons I won't disclose, I am just switching off reality in a pretty hardcore way.

Hours, and I mean almost half the fucking day, spent soloing my own TTRPG. It's actually the most fun I've had in years, I think I'm becoming slightly addicted. Dude, I have an abyss of grimdark lore, it's fucking crazy. I'm just bending the space-time continuum with my sorcerous ways, turns out the piece of shit $2 mechanics I designed are so flexible the game simply takes no effort to enjoy.

Anyway, I don't feel bad for this specifically. I do my daily work hours so I'm at peace, and allow myself to just do what I want to do.

Everything else is what gets me down. Fucking shit, man. I'd be ashamed of complaning, as I have it very good. I like my job and I like my game too. No problems there.

But the fact that I cannot go anywhere beyond those two things does raise little bit of an alarm, buried somewhere deep beneath the hundred tomes of forbidden spells I'm collecting on the alcove, down by my quarters on the cursed tower.

Tomorrow night, I'm going on more mystical adventures together with my vampire homegirl. She's a total boss. I was at 1 HP with both my fucking legs broken and no mana, just sitting on the sidelines trying not to die, while she fended off an inquisitor two times her level, all by herself. I know she's a fictional character but I said thank you for real a couple times, just to be nice, as she totally saved my arcane ass.

Now, you get me, right? It's escapism, and I'm great at it, a little bit too much. Honestly, once I'm done with my responsibilities for the day, I just don't feel like doing much of anything else, and I'm not crazy enough (yet) to not notice the downside, that being, no fucking life outside of working and locking myself up inside dark fantasy wonderland.

I suppose this is my roundabout way to say this better than sex, but I don't know if you would understand the sentiment.

Anyway, shutting off reality again in twelve or so hours, can't fucking wait.