Rodent of Unusual Size wrote:
> I'm not up to forking the text, but for your entertainment:
>
> http://www.kanga.nu/~claw/bug_count.html
Fine, *I'll* fork it. This piece has been up on the wall of our
CTO's office for years. It deserves to be forked, or even reforked.
- Joe
(BTW, RAID is the home-grown bug tracking system used at Microsoft.
See e.g. http://www.stsc.hill.af.mil/CrossTalk/1995/oct/Shippin.asp.
It was a fine tool, better than any other I've had to use...)
The Bug Count Also Rises
by John Browne
(Imitation Hemingway Contest Winner)
In the fall of that year the rains fell as usual and washed the leaves
of the dust and dripped from the leaves onto the ground. The shuttles
drove through the rainy streets and took the people to meetings, then
later brought them back, their tires spraying the mist into the air.
Many days he stood for a long time and watched the rain and the shuttles
and drank his double-tall mochas. With the mochas he was strong.
Hernando who worked down the hall and who was large with microbrews came
to him and told him that the ship day was upon them but the bugs were
not yet out. The bugs which were always there even when you were in
Cafes late at night sipping a Redhook or a double-tall mocha and you
thought you were safe but they were there and although Enrico kept the
floor swept clean and the mochas were hot the bugs were there and they
ate at you.
When Hernando told him this he asked how many bugs. "The RAID is huge
with bugs," Hernando said. "The bugs are infinite."
"Why do you ask me? You know I cannot do this thing anymore with the bugs."
"Once you were great with the bugs," Hernando said. "No one was
greater," he said again. "Even Prado."
"Prado? What of Prado? Let Prado fix the bugs."
Hernando shrugged. "Prado is finished. He was gored by three Sev 2's in
Chicago. All he does now is drink herb tea and play with his screensavers."
"Herb tea?"
"It is true, my friend." Hernando shrugged again. Later he went to his
office and sat in the dark for a long time. Then he sent e-mail to Michaels.
Michaels came to him while he was sipping a mocha. They sat silently for
awhile, then he asked Michaels, "I need you to triage for me."
Michaels looked down. "I don't do that anymore," he said.
"This is different. The bugs are enormous. There are an infinity of bugs."
"I'm finished with that," Michaels said again. "I just want to live
quietly."
"Have you heard Prado is finished? He was badly gored. Now he can only
drink herb tea."
"Herb tea?" Michaels said.
"It is true," he said sorrowfully.
Michaels stood up. "Then I will do it, my friend," he said formally. "I
will do it for Prado, who was once great with the bugs. I will do it for
the time we filled Prado's office with bouncy balls, and for the time
Prado wore his nerf weapons in the marketing hall and slew all of them
with no fear and only a great joy at the combat. I will do it for all
the pizza we ate and the bottles of Coke we drank."
Together they walked slowly back, knowing it would be good. As they
walked the rain dripped softly from the leaves, and the shuttles carried
the bodies back from the meetings.
--
The Combatant State is your father and your mother, your only
protector, the totality of your interests. No discipline can
be stern enough for the man who denies that by word or deed.
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