Debian has shown, once again, how a strong community of friends and workmates
it is. Here's a success story, not related to our common duties as Debian
Developers. This has nothing to do with packages, mailing lists, PO files or
britney runs. This is all about pants, and the ties that bind
Let's introduce this story a little. Four years ago, if memory serves
right, I had the pleasure to host
Clint in my flat when he visited
València for a few days. When he eventually left to go back to NYC, I was at
work so I couldn't help him check he had packed everything in his bag. It took
me weeks to realise he had left his yellow pyjama pants hanging behind the
door of the bathroom I never use. I couldn't help making fun about his
kidnapped pyjamas on IRC, and unfortunately this has kept going for years.
I would go shopping for new speedos with my mom, and wear the pants during
the shopping trip, when I needed to sample some jamón ibérico, I would
always wear them. When I required lounging in the sun, his pants
were a constant companion. The pants became more to me than just pants I
found hanging on the bathroom hook. They became a private confidant, metalic
objects would fly out of people's hands and stick themselves to the pants.
I once went outside in the middle of the night, wearing only the pants,
everyone who I passed in the street got a sunburn. The pants radiated joy,
they cooked eggs just by standing near them, weekly they would push out
perfectly formed flan that I would enjoy while wearing the pants. People's
monitors would self-degauss when I walked by. I no longer shaved yaks,
they simply were shaved seeing me in these pants. The pants were magical.
They are so soft, I think they are made out of a combination of baby's
bottoms, astroturf, handlotion, cotton candy, and hair from the hide of the
mystical Softasaurus, a beast so soft that if you were to look at it your eyes
would soften in their sockets. I am pretty sure that the Torta del Casar from
Cáceres is made from the milk of the Softasaurus. As you can imagine, I became
attached to these pants, we lived together, we went out together, I would
always tell Clint about it of course, but we developed our own special
relationship. My girlfriend became jealous.
Of course, I took care of keeping the trousers in a safe place and I always
meant to return them to Clint, if I were to meet him again. I did not want to
return them, because they were my precious. But if someone came from the US who
could bring them back I vowed to hand them over to them to act as a proxy.
However, even if it was my best intention, somehow I kept forgetting about it
when friends flew to NYC. My idea was to get them posted to Clint by someone in
the city, as a nice way of returning the pyjamas... but the pants held some
kind of power over me, and it never happened, I don't understand what
On July 23,
I went to Debconf 9
in Cáceres. In the very last moment before leaving, the pants called out to
me from the small shrine I kept them in, "take me to my leader!" I could see
them glimmering in the candle light, somewhat obscured by the incense I burn
there, they were pulsating, I became afraid and knew that maybe I had gone too
far. Clearly, it was time to return them, and so
Operation PANTS officially started!
During Debconf, the pants began to exert some kind of bizarre magical
influence over the attendees. They were afflicted by a mania that frantically
lit up their eyes, they sparkled in freakish ways. They would get cold sweats,
and shake uncontrollably. Someone puked on the printer, a host of carrion birds
circled above the venue and the security guard began carrying handcuffs and a
billy club. People would drool on their OpenMokos and emit soft moo'ing sounds.
They talked in hurried and hushed tones while always looking at me
suspiciously. Something was clearly exerting a strong force. As an example, on
the day that Launchpad was released with a Free Software licence, people were
crying and hugging each other in the halls. It was like the ring to Gollum, but
this was pants, one pair to rule them all. More than once, while
someone was eyeing me askance, another Debconf attendee would grab hold of the
pants and yank them from my body, laughing maniacally. I would be left naked,
without my glorious pants, and it was then, crestfallen and forlorn, that I
finally realised that I had hit rock-bottom. I was addicted to these pants,
and it was only when I lost them did I know how powerful of an influence they
had on my life. I needed help, I was addicted to pants.
I found Micah, and we began to stage interventions to free people from the
powerful grasp of the pants. We would find someone, huddling in the corner with
the pants, bloodshot eyes, typically with jaundice or some other
malnourishment, dried drool on their chin, etc. who was doing some unholy thing
with the pants. We would then use the camera flash to temporary blind them by
saturating their fully dilated pupils and in that moment, we could take back
the pants. We could only touch them with rubber gloves, for fear we would be
tainted. Luckily, there were many cameras around, and there is
evidence of our interventions
that can be used to rebate denials of these happenings. Be careful, for you
will find there fellow Debianistas in compromising states, at embarrassing lows
in their life, you may find yourself and remember how horrible your pants
addiction was, it is an unholy sight. For some this addiction
was as if Hell itself opened up began spewing out MORE hells, until the
universe, the cosmos and all dimensions were infinite hells stacked on top of
each other and they were each individually oozing some ghastly fluid.
Micah took the pants back to NYC, in a hermetically sealed bag, illegally
transporting them across international borders. Something happened along the
way, Micah could not resist one last chance with the pants. So on a warm summer
night in NYC, he took them to meet their rightful owner. Everything was going
well. He and his handler (Karl Fogel) met Clint at a nice, quiet restaurant in
the Village. They ordered food, and things were proceeding nicely, but suddenly
Micah was overcome with a desire he could not withstand. This was his last
chance, just one more taste of the pants! What could possibly go wrong, he just
had to visit the bathroom for a quick change into the pants, and then he could
give them back. He got up, under the auspices of cleansing his hands, went to
the bathroom and put on the PANTS. He stood there, shivering in bliss. He
exclaimed, too loudly, "They are SO SOFT!". It was too late, he could not take
them off. He left the bathroom, with them on. He returned to the table, and
Clint DID NOT NOTICE!
Micah was overcome with guilt and said, "Look what I got from Jordi!" Clint
still did not notice, the pants were somehow camouflaged from Clint's gaze.
Micah, was forced to vigorously point to the pants he was
wearing and say, "Its your pants!"...
... at which point Clint noticed...
... and Micah was forced to take them off in the restaurant.
― Plot and execution by jordi, micah, nattie, pabs & all the
people addicted to the PANTS!
Syndicated 2009-08-20 11:15:00 from I still don't have a title