active_apathy | This insanity brought to you by, well, me.

So, this is about the first thing I thought when I saw this metaquote. It's here because it's rather too long for a comment. So!

DETAILS An interactive nightmare of policy announcement v0.23 lj_biz You are in the lj_biz community, which resembles nothing quite so much as a very big room with padded walls. There's battered and broken furniture here and there, the most serviceable of which are a battered couch and a makeshift desk. There are no exits. There is no escape. You see here a policy. > take policy Taken! > read policy The policy is noteworthy only for its utter lack of detail. > post policy Don't you remember what happened last time? At least try to find some details. > i You have a fire suit (worn), a goat icon, a weird little orange flag and a detail-free policy. > x suit It's a suit designed to protect its wearer from fire. You know from past experience that you'll be comfortably insulated from any flames. > x icon Ten thousand pixels of a weirdly-proportioned cartoon goat that somehow looks more like a cross between a llama and a game show host. It's probably best not to look at it too long. > x flag You don't really know much about the flag yet, but something tells you that they won't like it. > x desk It's a makeshift desk, made up of what looks like milk crates and a couple of planks. The desk shows signs of damage, most likely from fists and heads being beaten against it. There's a small sign on the desk, and a short, wobbly stool underneath. > x sign It's a small, battered sign, made of cardboard. Someone's written on it with a Sharpie. > read sign The hesitantly scrawled letters spell out "CUSTOMER SERVICE". > search desk You search the makeshift desk, hoping for some sign of the details you need for the policy... and come up empty. > l lj_biz You are in the lj_biz community, which resembles nothing quite so much as a very big room with padded walls. There's battered and broken furniture here and there, the most serviceable of which are a battered couch and a makeshift desk. There are no exits. There is no escape. > x couch This battered couch has probably been left here for those who want to quietly enjoy watching the flailing and the angst. If nothing else, the cushions look soft and comfortable. > search couch Would you like to search under the couch, or under the cushions? > search under cushions You move the cushions around, looking around and under them. Eventually, you find $1.99 in loose change. You search again, frantically, but it looks like those extra icons won't be yours today. Oh, and the details weren't there. > search under couch Looking under the couch, you see a piece of paper. You start by trying to reach underneath and get it out, hoping your silent prayers reach the glorious halls of IKEA and work to make the world's furniture roombable. Eventually, giving up on that approach, you just shove the couch back off it. You see here a piece of paper. > take paper Taken! > x paper It's a picture of an alarmingly listing boat. There is some writing on the paper. > read paper "ALL ABOARD THE FAILBOAT" is written on the picture in big letters. This isn't the detail you're looking for. > search floor Eww, no. Don't you know how many spleens have been vented on this very floor? > search me Hint: try not to say that where the users will see. > post policy Don't you- oh, wait. Did you look- yes, ok. So, no details here, then. Oh well. The Policy appears in bright, burning letters on the wall; broad, sweeping statements of intent with the minutiae conspicuous by their absence. Once there, the Policy makes copies of itself that are then dispatched toward thousands of inboxes. Well, that's done. Now it's just a matter of time, and you settle in on the wobbly stool to wait. > wait The room takes on an ominous silence. > wait The very air feels fragile, and once-harmless shadows brew themselves into bubbling pools of ill-will. > wait A horde of users descends as one, in a vague blur of demands, indignation and entitlement. Flames burst forth from the angsting mass, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of yet more spleens being vented. From a corner comes the sound of singing, something about 'yo ho' and colours, while macros rain like kitten-covered confetti on the gathered masses. > l lj_biz You are in the lj_biz community, which resembles nothing quite so much as a very big room with padded walls playing host to a riot. Somewhere in the crowd, you think you see a glint of light off a pitchfork, probably from the burning of Frank effigies. A lone voice carries over the horde, asking for the pattern for the knitted pitchfork; someone else, near the back of the crowd, shouts "FIRST!" There are no exits. There is no escape. > hide_