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An Announcement from Farkistan


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On January 6, 2006, a world was created. We called it "Bob" or "CN". It grew by leaps and bounds. That was before the virus. The Penale Culus virus was a deadly disease that caused intense boredom, loss of interest in maintaining a nation, lackluster coding, and feelings of hopelessness about the future. Thousands of nations were destroyed. Thousands more were lost to inactivity. With so few left, only the most stubborn would remain to survive, to lead...

 

 

legend.jpg
 

 

I am Farkend

 

One of the last few survivors awoke in a hung-over stupor, as he had every day since he turned 21. He gargled with some warm, stale beer and dutifully trudged to the radio. The radio broadcast went out, as it did every day: "My name is 905. I am a survivor living in Planet Bob. I am broadcasting on all OWF frequencies. I will be drunk at the Fark Street Bar everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there... if anyone is out there... I can provide beer, I can provide bacon, I can provide boobies. If there's anybody out there... anybody... please. You are not alone."

 

 

The weeks were getting longer. Nations disappearing forever at an alarming rate. How soon before the whole world just vanished? A few days later, a response came back: "This is Our Blessed Saint of Booze, Smontag. I am the leader of a small band of survivors. Two of them, Slick Johnson and beachrat, were bitten by a heard of goats infected by Penale Culus and need your help! The group has been scavenging for supplies from a local liquor store. Decide R Inchief wants us to leave the rest of the group and head for new pastures. We need a more reliable source of booze! We heard your message. Can you help us?"

 

 

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Unfortunately for them, 905 was too busy trying to score with a mannequin that he'd been chatting up for the last month. Everyone gets lonely sometimes, you know? So the other survivors all died horrible, screaming deaths in the CN wastelands alone. But there is a happy ending though: the mannequin eventually put out. Oh, and somebody maybe found a cure or something. Whatever.

 

10 years later

 

A monument is erected. The statue is of a broad-shouldered man holding a bottle of scotch and looking with disgust and disapproval at another man who is having relations with a goat. The plaque on the monument reads: "In 2014, a deadly virus burned through our civilization, pushing CN to the edge of extinction. Dr. One Eighty Two dedicated his life to the discovery of a cure and the restoration of humanity, but ended up just drinking a lot and watching porn. On June 1st, 2015, at approximately 12:00 A.M., he joined the Fark gov lineup. At 8:52 A.M., he woke up and realized his mistake. Everyone we knew and cared about has left the planet. Why the hell are we still here? We are their legacy. This is their legend. Light up the darkness."

 

tl;dr

 

Fark gov lineup:

 

Submitter: 905

 

Squirrel: One Eighty Two

 

Speaker of the Council: Our Blessed Saint of Booze, Smontag

 

TF Council:

 

Slick Johnson

beachrat

Decide R Inchief

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