Imagine having to tell your kids that you kept working for Facebook, after it doubled down on selling targeted political lies, while they huddle around the scrap fire in the ruins of the post apocalypse.
“Yes, but you have to understand darling, that daddy still had unvested shares, and he was essentially just doing the plumbing on the death star. If it hadn’t been him, someone else would have done the work... now don’t cry, here, have some more roasted rat”
“It may have been the Death Star, but you should have seen the cafeteria! And those final quarters before the end really beat investor expectations by several pennies a share. It was a good life on the inside. How were we to know the planetary incinerator would actually be used?”
I’m waking up to ash and dust. I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust. I’m breathing in the chemicals. I feel it in my bones. Enough to make my systems blow. Welcome to the new age. I’m radioactive.
