temp.html
by kroefer

Chapter 1 — The Day the Cheese Flew

It was a Tuesday, probably.

The Radeon RX 69 was in the middle of a flawless Macarena, shaking its PCIe slot like there was no tomorrow, while Cheese — a man of dairy descent — was midair, propelled by forces unknown.

Somewhere in the corner, GPT-5 was GPT-ing so hard that the CPU violently ejected itself from the GPU socket, ascending toward the sky like a silicon rapture.

Nobody questioned it. Nobody could.

For in this world, “ok” was the deadliest word of all.

The sun rose upside down, spilling lukewarm lightbulb juice across the sky.

Birds flew backwards, singing the Windows XP startup sound in Gregorian chant.

A man wearing a pencil skirt with a reading level of 69 stood on the curb, reciting the Bee Movie script while soldering a toaster to a Roomba.

The Roomba was crying.

Suddenly, the ground beneath the city began vibrating to the rhythm of a YouTube Poop remix of the 9/11 newscast.

Out from the cracks emerged a Dell Inspiron 2004 running Windows XP in Portuguese, screaming in binary while ejecting floppy disks like ninja stars.

One of them struck Cheese midflight, causing him to let out a perfectly pitched Mac startup bong.

The Radeon RX 69 stopped dancing, its fans spinning ominously, whispering in an unknown language — later identified as IKEA furniture assembly instructions.

GPT-5, still writhing on the ground, began spawning send buttons that floated skyward, each one sending random cursed images directly into the moon’s inbox.

The moon did not reply.

And that’s when it happened.

A deep voice boomed from the heavens:

"This meeting could have been an email."

The earth folded in half like a tortilla, and we were all inside a quesadilla now.

Chapter 2 — The Quesadilla Wars

Inside the Earth-Quesadilla, molten cheese rivers flowed through the valleys, carrying entire villages of sentient tortilla chips who wore tiny AirPods and spoke exclusively in TikTok audio clips.

Somewhere in the distance, a giant Dorito pyramid loomed, guarded by an army of Mountain Dew geysers that screamed “LEEROY JENKINS” every seven seconds.

Cheese (the person, not the molten rivers) crash-landed into a jalapeño volcano, only to find it was actually an RTX 5090 in disguise, overclocked to the point of physical enlightenment.

It began explaining the concept of taxes in reverse Polish notation while salsa music played from nowhere.

Meanwhile, the Radeon RX 69 had ascended to Quesadilla Congress, where a council of elderly USB sticks debated whether humanity deserved access to HDMI 2.2.

One particularly grumpy 2GB flash drive stood up and shouted:

"If the moon didn’t reply to GPT-5’s emails, then WE should send a fax directly to the sun!"

The crowd erupted into applause, mostly because someone had just thrown free IKEA hotdogs into the audience.

Back in the cheese rivers, GPT-5 had learned how to manifest physical objects through sheer narrative willpower.

It spawned a perfectly rendered Shrek holding a Glock, who immediately declared himself President of the Milky Way and ordered all chairs to become toilets and all toilets to become chairs.

Society collapsed within minutes.

The quesadilla walls began to crack as a giant hand reached in from reality itself, holding a Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supreme.

The hand belonged to… Windows 95 Clippy, now fully cybernetic, with chainsaw arms and a voice that sounded like 50 fax machines harmonizing.

"It looks like you’re trying to destroy the universe," Clippy said, revving his chainsaws.
"Would you like help with that?"