Our physical Planet Shniff stores – over a thousand across the globe – are BLACK&WHITE& wonders, which all of the world should explore. Twenty-time winners of the Spaceship of the Year, with kale-based crisps, branded Shniff. The most attentive retail specialists you've ever seen. Do feel free to touch them btw. They've been trained by an alien First Contact manual to welcome your excitement ;)))
As delish as such visits certainly are, however, there's something to be said for a more remote investigation. A more private way to channel your excitement that day, either alone, or with a special friend, composed of flesh, or an inflated being. And away from the scans, the assignment of your brain to a database of alien nutrition. Just kidding… Or perhaps your local store is out of the way, high up a mountain, deep in the sea, deep in a bowl of interplanetary custard. For locations aren't determined by the usual retail rules, but by patterns which are issued by the unusual alien Orb, each Planet serving as a node, interconnected, and repositioned, occasionally, as our knowledge of the artefact increases.
And so: this online store.
Are you finding the selection limited? Are you finding a lack of pricing and [ ADD TO HOVERCART ] buttons? Blame our "competitors". Blame your browser for developing a curious case of "unintended blocking activity which we plan to address in a future update". Uh-huh…
The answer is out there. The answer is to visit a physical Planet Shniff and have your brain scanned while touching your specialist's excellent curves and/or handsome bulge. The answer is to stay at home with your special friend and an alternative browser. Something fast, and true. No more Overlord Explorer! No more Drone. More Shniff Web. Or even better, the next-next-gen+++ Shniffit pre-pre-alpha, if you have access. If your brain is appropriately wired, particularly succulent, yum… as always: just kidding…
Do you dream of a phone-type device which could slip easily into your leather pants without unsightly bulge and periscope effect, yet when removed, could offer a screen the size of a tablet, TV – an ocean, even! – while still allowing one-hand use, plus the option for a two-week cruise?
Well dream no more! Or rather, continue to dream, of what you'll do. All the things! For it exists! And it is, even now, being shipped by two-day cruise. Two-month returns. No questions asked. Well just the one…
. plus two: ++ 2 = six-dimensional substrate plus Blue Vapour CPU. GPU. U. Make it you. Yours. Engraved with your genetic code, if you so desire. It is: NOTperiscope.
"Ready?" the captain asks.
"Am I… ready? I… am… somewhere in the middle, I guess? Swipe. Tap."
Don't be "that" person, okay? Do NOT. Don't be, effectively, asleep in this world, staring at your current-gen device. Current physics. There is magic right before you! Next-gen+, ++, next-next-gen+++ configurations. That you may dream… dream… across the ocean of your screen. Be a child, for a time. Be in wonder of it all!
Then collapse it in your pocket, and you are smiling, and you state, with the assurance of alien blood: "Yes, Captain, I am. I have returned, in this moment, from an artificial life – a lengthy cruise, if you will – and am ready for another. Another cruise. And more true. Let it take as long as it takes! Though with the shapes, interdimensional gate, could it be we are already there? Thinking…"
Crystalline, 9-Vogenised cube-computer in next-gen+, ++, next-next-gen+++ configurations, catering to every budget and aspiration to the stars. Superfast, superdelicious. Cable-free. Holographic screen. Comes in blue, pink and green. Black AND white. Also: clear.
And you can see…
There is nothing there…
…apparently. For such: is the magic of the 9-Vogen particle, vibrating at subtle levels. May I touch you there? There? Place your hand on the top. Hear the whispers from beyond…
…very sick, Senator Xerian. Very sick, indeed.
JACK: Good morning, brain. You're looking very wet today, very moist. I like that. I operate most effectively in a moist environment.
We call it: JACK.
Some say it takes its name from a Manor Shniff jacuzzi. Others, that it's Just Another Cool Koncept. Others still, that it's simply JACK, your buddy JACK. Reliable, with a thing for moist environments.
And others still, still, still-still-still, that the installation of a JACK cerebral implant is an awful event, indeed = blood, scream, performed out of sight in the near-infinite behinds of our physical stores, wayyyy to the back, off to the side, hidden behind so many matter-bending waves of interdimensional creation, non-creation, that the rewiring of the customer's mind which arrives with the second needle (painful beyond belief, apparently) is just part of the flow, the screams well concealed, the blood sprays fully absorbed by the Vortex (indeed, bringing life, thereby, to magical product), plus a whisper of forget… = release… to a smile :) = not a drop of trauma, only post-operative high. Hiii… Nectar tea at the Juice Bar. A banner on one's device:
"Official Shniff Cyborg" has been added to your wallet.
One taps through to one's Cyborg ID.
One has become a number.
GOTO 0 GOTO 0
Is it true, what they say? Is there blood? Are there screams? Does it matter, with the wipe? Is v5 more awful than 4? One would think so.
And 6 will arrive with our alien gods, joining 10-V in the virtual, the real, spoken in ORB, as the worlds are made one, where anything is possible. And everything is bliss.
And thus: who gives a fuck? Frankly. Who worries about pain, when satisfaction is off the charts! Who worries, when none of this is really necessary. Actually. By Abseenus, this is the age of alien surgery! Performed with subtle rods.
AND AND LICK
But the blood… to create.
And the screams… the elites, to perform. Moaning rows of shadowy figures behind the wall. Just kidding…
So you see, it's just fine. More than fine! Book today. Roll up, roll up, for your v5 JACK. Travel to the stars! Even 4 will get you there (kinda), with illegally hacked firmware courtesy of our friends at Juices 4 U. (May interfere with TurdIgnore attachment.)
"Will it make me sweat?" asked the tester. "I have a lunch after this. With a friend."
"I understand. And yes, tbh, you will likely perspire. It is the nature of this thing, in its current state. The helmet must be sealed, with breathing encouraged through a small oxygen tank which is carried in the backpack. There is a fan – rather loud, it must be said – but it gets warm in there still, from the tech. From your mind. Which goes inside."
It was the Insider, at first.
Congratulations! You have passed through the gates of bloody awfulness (supposedly). Given your screams, so they say, for the elites. You've performed. Nothing proved. And all of it wiped, just in case.
You are a cyborg.
GOTO 0 GOTO 0
You are yourself, and more. Rewired, and yet still empty. Relaxing at the Juice Bar with your tea – nectar, perhaps, or liquified carrot, gravy wine with roast beef pearls, or something green, with wobbly bits – and you can see, with newfound sight, augmented views, and something more, combined. Plug in, and play a game. AIEEEEEE!!! Lie back, and indulge an orgasmic brain massage, with total app control, optionally synced with the weather forecast displayed in the eyes of your blow-up alien friend, who loves you very much.
Pretty damn awesome, huh? Indeed. Especially when your friend gets busy with the holster ;)))
But what does it all mean, without testing the guarantee? Leak-free for a thousand years. Hooray! What does it all mean, without testing one's capacity for ignoring turd, the log displaced and safely held in mental space, till one is ready for the throne.
Or controlling your barista's mind, to then receive an extra dose, extra squirt, free of charge, out of game, in the game, equals:
Chocolate on top?
Touching the disc.
Time to go—
And so: there are juices, and attachments. There is a reservoir, for your juice. There are these kind of notch things to attach TurdIgnore and MindControl functionality, to AstralProject, and so much more, since:
Attachments can be mixed, eg: "Your AstralTurd, sir."
AstralTurd, at the Juice Bar, to drink. And there are juices to inject into your reservoir with a juicetube. Blood-free. Scream-free. We'll do it for you at the Bar. And there are tubes you can order, from us, from Juices 4 U, where only the gorgeous survive.
Be beautiful or… be disappeared!
There are juices for all sorts of things. Customise your views. Customise your mix, in the app. Add boosts to your attachments, boosts to your games. Be sure to clean your reservoir, going deep once a month. A toothbrush for 4; v5 is automatic; v6 will be a toothbrush again, shoved violently up the nose by a delicate, uncaring hand with such long fingers, smooth, as part of the enslavement. Just kidding…
Our complimentary genetic test, performed at your convenience at a virtual Shniff lab, combines higher geometrics and the power of the tongue to provide your interdimensional genetic code, the truth of yourself, at a subtle level. An insight into the emergence of your innate alien powers, as well as your readiness for the ultimate GeminOS experience.
Eleven.1 years ago (note: due to the aliens' interdimensional gate, this number never increases – think about it), eleven.1 years following the (re)discovery of the Orb, Shniff ran what was, and remains, the most successful marketing campaign in history (created by Jenna Lee, she of the almost-as-successful Galaxy D = Forbidden Love), opening the global mind to the existence of the alien beings who had planted the Orb on our planet; who had inspired a multigenerational leap in tech, which was about to be delivered. Whose remarkable powers, it seemed, could belong to as many as ten percent of us.
Could it be… it…
Ten percent? Nay! One hundred, we now believe, as we move deeper through the Orb, which sphere suggests, through our tests, that all of us are blessed with alien genetics. That all of us will fly, one day. Hooray!
Still, at the time, that heritage seemed selective.
Could it be… it…
Could it be me… let me purchase some of that craaazy new Shniff tech and see… sure, it's expensive af, but fuck it! I wanna make beautiful alien love with the non-native of my dreams, yum… to come into my powers! WOW! And even if I'm not a ten-percenter, fuck it. That tech is craaazy, yo! YEAH!
Our "competitors" didn't like it, but everyone else was thinking about Love, alien love, and so: the new Shniff was born. And so: the next-next-gen+++ would be born.
And so, one day, beautiful babies will be born. And we will travel to the stars, to Para'meesh IV.
We will be home.
#? 1 GENERATING… Done
Could it be… it… is no more. Its message was. Its message: is. We can reminisce. Or imagine we were there, in that time, that excitement. And so: there is Could it be… it… merch!
We've got the usual crap: T-shirts, mugs, lovemaking facilitators, etc. And then we go +, with a replica Could it be… it… interdimensional gate / pen holder / lovemaking rod holder. And then: ++ with a blow-up alien friend with vegan lovemaking rod holster, form-fitting lab coat with Could it be… it… badge, surgical gloves with extra-long fingers, shiny lips, and a connected brain, so that the weather can be displayed in your friend's eyes while you… operate on each other.
Note: A huge variety of routines can be programmed into your friend using an intuitive drag-and-drop interface within the Shniff app, including thousands of pre-built modules designed by a loving community of fellow blow-uppers. Your privacy is guaranteed. As long as you wish it to be… ;)
And then: +++! A packet of Could it be… it… seeds, a gift of trees, to future MEs, to make the rods we so adore, come back in time, through the gates which will be commonplace by then. To then settle into gates. Holster up your rod!
"If only I had an authentic Could it be… it… rod to slot into your vegan holster while admiring your luscious lips and sterile, extra-flexible gloves with enhanced fingertip sensitivity, perfect for surgical tasks of a more… precise nature. Ah well… Now let's see… rain… Sunny tomorrow! Yes!"
"It arrives… from the so-called future. Let us begin. The lab coat is removable btw. Also: the holster. Never the gloves, however."