Hilarity and joy, festooned with SEO fun and frivolity. Hmm, I may have scuppered myself somewhat during a moment of overselling there, but here’s my mission statement:
On the final Friday of each month I shall attempt to bring a smile to the faces of everyone on planet Earth (not learning from the opening sentence, am I?), even those who have been Pandenguined, accidentally deleted their Googlebase feed, or spilt coffee on their keyboard, short circuiting the delete key while logged into their FTP software at the same time as accidentally knocking their backup drive out of a 50th storey window.
I have decided to start the hilarity with the amusing and tragic tale of Oleg Og, a computer geek so gifted that he… Oh wait, I almost released a spoiler! The first instalment is below. This will be interspersed with other SEO fun, and a further exploration into the unbelievable search habits of human beings. You can read the first post here.
Oleg Og – Cyber Spider
Part 1 – The Cyber Spider Rides Free
Hunched at a desk in the corner of a sterile office sat Oleg Og. He was as aesthetically pleasing to the eye as an obese blob fish with a catastrophic case of facial herpes. His mouth was moist with a salmon’s pout, his eyes sunken and solemn. His complexion was oily, his skin blotchy with a delicate hue akin to that of a baboon’s derrière. In addition to his physical appearance, Og was blessed with the social grace of a rabid rhino. Oleg Og was single.
Og slouched in the corner quietly, as he did all day every day, engrossed in reams of computer code. But today felt different. Anticipation flapped in his gut like a plethora of randy butterflies, for in an hour, Oleg Og intended to let the Cyber Spider ride free.
Evening drew near and the light was fading from the autumn sky. One by one, his colleagues left, wittering about banal weekend plans Og couldn’t pretend to be interested in. In comparison to his plans, they were as significant as a Tic Tac to Godzilla’s halitosis after a night on the garlic bajis. Eventually, their chatter receded down office corridors and out into the dusk. In their wake they left a blissful silence.
“I’m locking up, Og.”
Og scowled at the interruption to his newfound peace, but didn’t turn around. He knew it was Carl Bronson, the self-important head of the building’s one man security team. He always slithered up quietly, as though he hoped to catch you embroiled in some nefarious act. Og disliked him more than Marmite.
“Deadline,” said Og. “Working late.”
“I can’t let you do that, Og. Company policy. Doors need to be locked by seven. No exceptions.”
Og slid a piece of paper to the edge of the desk. Bronson picked it up. The MD had signed it. She had no idea what Og did, she just knew he did it well and when Og said he needed to work late, she’d bend the rules for him as it usually had a direct impact on profit.
“Most irregular,” muttered Bronson, placing two keys on Og’s desk. “You’ll have to lock the door on your way out.”
Og grunted an affirmation without looking away from his screen, pleased at the irritation he heard in Bronson’s voice, never relenting the ferocious tippety-tap of his fat little fingers on the keyboard. After a few moments he looked around to confirm Bronson had oozed away. The snake-like security guard was nowhere in sight. Og returned to his code with added vigour, undertaking final error checks before – excitement caressed his skin like an unexpected fart in a swimming pool – before the time of release.
Og couldn’t wait. He’d felt trapped since “the incident”, and the sensation had become so all encompassing over time that it made his psychosis unique. Og felt imprisoned and repulsed by his own body. Not because of the way it looked – it wasn’t the wrong shape, the wrong sex, or even the wrong species – but because the carcass encasing him was of living tissue.
Possessing a vast intellect exacerbated Og’s condition. To avoid techno babble, let’s just say his acumen allowed him an understanding of computer language manipulation that bordered on genius. His fingers tippety-tapped at his keyboard like an epileptic tap dancer in the midst of a sugar rush. On the screen, code appeared. Torrents of beautiful, perfectly formed computer language. So perfect, it harboured the power of life. Og didn’t just write code. Og was code. He planned to ride through the network of copper wire which spanned the planet, for there lay his true body, and in it his spirit could roam free, learning, laughing, gorging on information, feeding on knowledge. Og yearned for that freedom. At the thought of what he was to become, an involuntary shiver rippled through his body and a tiny rivulet of sweat trickled down his chubby cheek. Today, he would transform – he would become the Cyber Spider.
Darkness was arriving. Og made his final preparations, locking doors and turning off lights, hoping a whole weekend would pass before his intentions were discovered. The office was rarely used at weekends. That would give him a sixty hour head start. In that time, no one could catch him. He’d be everywhere. He’d be immortal.
Og took an unusual USB drive from his pocket. The butt end was concaved, fashioned like a thimble, so a finger might slot neatly into its cup. At the centre of this cup was a sharp metal barb, like a fishing hook. If Og had any intention of looking after his fleshy carcass once he’d departed, he might have cleaned the point so as to reduce the likelihood of infection. But Og had no interest in the welfare of his flesh. He had no intention of returning. When his body was discovered it would be too late. Og the Cyber Spider would rule the internet.
He placed the drive into a USB port, waited a few seconds for his computer to discover the hardware, and then pressed his finger into the cup and onto the barb. Pain stung his finger. Og felt blood ooze from the wound. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him as he tried to connect. Vomit sprayed from his lips, over his keyboard and screen. The resistance of the hardware and software to his living code was more powerful than he could have imagined. I will not fail, thought Og, not now. He searched, seeking the connection and then it appeared before him. He couldn’t see it – he smelt it. No, that wasn’t right. He could taste it – taste the smell. It was like a burnt out Scalextric engine. Og embraced the taste, following it’s scent and…
… and suddenly he could see everything. He was in a world of glorious circuit boards and cables, a utopia he could only dream of. Information flowed all around him at speeds beyond comprehension. Og flowed with it, reaching out, absorbing, digesting, learning. The joy he felt was unparalleled, a thing of perfection.
But then, Oleg Og heard a voice.
“Ah, Og, you have freed me, loosed me, released me.” A cruel titter echoed everywhere. “Now you must face me.”
The being that Oleg Og had become spun around. And screamed.
To be continued, on the last Friday in a month sometime soon…