@bravojohnson
Marc Andreessen arrived in Hell with the same expression he wore in board meetings: a serene, self-satisfied glow, like a man who had just discovered the concept of fire without noticing it was already burning him alive.
A demon with a clipboard—formerly middle management at a failed fintech startup—checked him in.
“Reason for arrival?” the demon asked.
Marc smiled. “Thought leadership.”
They walked through a canyon of tormented souls, all screaming in a way that suggested they’d been asked to navigate a crypto wallet with a broken CAPTCHA. Marc inhaled deeply.
“Lucifer has agreed to see you”, said the demon.
They passed a river of lamentation clogged with souls who’d been sentenced to set up smart home devices with no Wi-Fi. Every few seconds, one shrieked, “WHY DOES IT NEED MY LOCATION?”
Marc inhaled the sulfurous air like it was fresh VC capital. He strolled into the throne room as if he owned Series A in damnation.
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