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***COGITATUM HONORUS ANCIENTUM DIRECTORIUS .//. BOOT FILE 709-755-6-EL-3***
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To the ignorant ancient humans of Most Holy Terra of the year 014.M3, as yet unenlightened by the glory of His Immortal Majesty the Emperor of Mankind;
From Aurelius Ventro, Tech-Marine, Imperial Fists, 4th Company “Fists of Dorn,” stationed on Adeptus Mechanicus planet XB-0701 in this year of the Imperium of Man 999.M41:
In the name of the Emperor and the Primarch-Progenitor Rogal Dorn, blessed gene-father of my most honourable Chapter and loyal Defender of the Golden Throne —
Greetings. I am your new advice columnist.
Doubtless your primitive minds are perplexed by this missive. How can I, a genehanced super-human Space Marine of your far future — a bionically-augmented warrior of unmatched intellect, technical skill and martial prowess — deign to correspond with such inferior beings as you?
I wonder this myself.
However, as decreed by Chapter Master Vorn Hagen himself, I am ordered to assist Magos Valence Mak, Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, in her study of archeotech recently unearthed on this stinking backwater world. Said archeotech, through which I am transmitting now, is a primitive computing device of most ancient and obscure design. The device has been designated Cogitatum Honorus Ancientum Directorius. Or, since your feeble minds will doubtless find it too difficult to parse Imperial Gothic nomenclature, CHAD.
Through as-yet unexplained means, CHAD allows the transmission and receipt of short messages across space and time. To your great fortune, the machine has settled on Terra, circa 014.M3, as the sole, immovable target for its communications array. Lucky you.
Magos Mak and I agree CHAD’s neglected and degraded machine-spirit is comp***928345WW38Q46234 10 PRINT ‘BUTT’ 20 GOTO 10 BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT BUTT***romised, but through patient st***BUTTBUTTYOUAREBUTT***udy, the regular incanta***BUTTASSBUTT***tion of Mechanicus rites, and the application of sac***POOPOOBUTTBUTT**red unguents, we are confident we can soothe CHAD’s machine-spirit into complian***COMPLYWITH BUTTCOMPLYWITHBUTTCOMPL***
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Apologies, mortals. CHAD’s malfunctioning logic circuits have now been slathered with enough blessed unguents to prevent further interruptions.
As I was saying, CHAD allows us to transmit and receive messages, but I have also configured it to access your rudimentary noospheric infrastructure — the morass of irrelevant data you know as “the Internet.” Having studied your primitive culture through your “Internet,” I remain baffled at your survival. You appear to be more consumed with pic-feeds of feline creatures making odd facial expressions than with practical matters such as the conquest of neighbouring star systems.
Indeed, it is your very ignorance that informs my mission. In fulfillment of my secondment as a Tech-Marine to the Adeptus Mechanicus, Chapter Master Hagen has instructed me to impart the wisdom of the Adeptus Astartes, His Imperial Majesty’s Space Marines, to you — undeserving subcreatures that you are. It is his hope that by disseminating a mere fraction of the millennia of knowledge we possess, the primitive humans of 014.M3 may be more prepared for the coming of the Emperor — and for the grim darkness of constant war that awaits you in the far future.
Magos Mak has agreed to this experimental use of CHAD, on the condition that she can periodically monitor a noospheric locus categorized as “hentai.” I am not certain what this ancient term means, but Magos Mak appears to have dedicated her most flexible mechadendrite to interfacing with CHAD’s rear I/O port for this very purpose. The port is already beginning to look a little worn. Perhaps this is why she has requisitioned extra unguent stores.
According to your “Internet,” the most efficient way to impart my wisdom is first to solicit questions from you, so that I may reply in an “advice column” format. The most sophisticated data-slates of your time, COSMOPOLITAN and PENTHOUSE, employed this tactic to great effect. Therefore I shall transmit my advice column once per month, sidereal time, to fill your empty brains with wisdom as one would pour amasec into a goblet.
Magos Mak suggested the title “Dear Space Marine,” although I am not, in any sense of the word, “dear.” Unless you cross my path in battle, in which case you shall pay dearly.
That is called a “pun.” Already you are benefiting from my superior wisdom.
I engaged CHAD’s data-search function to determine the best way to reach the approximately seven billion mortals of your time, and it selected a publication called UNWINNABLE WEEKLY. Despite its preposterous, defeatist title, it is apparently required reading in your finest scholams. Throne, but you lot were grot-heads.
What should you inquire of me, you ask? Your miniscule intellect will already be reeling, I am sure. To set your animal fears at ease, I have been instructed to opine upon any topic not requiring Vermillion-level clearance. Since most of you just had to look up the meaning of the word “vermillion,” I am under no illusion that you will present me with the slightest challenge.
I have configured CHAD to accept messages via the primitive communication protocols you refer to as “email” and “Twitter.” You may “email” your queries to DearSpaceMarine@gmail.com, or “tweet” them to
@DearSpaceMarine. I shall endeavour to reply with the most practical, tactically-sound, Codex-compliant advice your pathetic organic neural pathways can process.
In the Emperor’s name, I remain His most Humble Servant,
4th Company “Fists of Dorn,”
Imperial Fists Chapter,
Saviour of Hive City 17, Delta Magna IV,
Defender of Orbital Platform Justicia Omni,
Standard-Bearer of th***BUTTBUTTBUTTBUTTBUTT***