To test, or not to test — that is the question.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The lasers and turrets of Aperture Science,
Or to take arms against a mad computer,
And by opposing, end her? To quit, to sleep —
No more — and by sleep to say we end
The bruises and thousand literal shocks
That flesh is heir to, ‘tis a Game Over
Devoutly to be wish’d! To quit, to sleep —
To sleep — perchance of cake: Ay, there’s the rub.
For in that sleep of death what cake may come
When we have shuffled off this Portal coil
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long a test.
For who would bear the ammo fired by turrets,
GLaDOS’s ire, Wheatley’s babbling,
The pull of gravity going every which way,
And the incineration of companion cubes
That patient merit of the test subject takes,
When she herself might her pastry make
With ill-timed leap? Who would insults bear,
To grunt and sweat through endless trials,
But that the dread of something after testing,
The German chocolate cake from whose frosting
No devourer returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather submit to experiments we hate
Than to try out others that we know not of?
Thus, Cave Johnson does make lab rats of us all;
And thus the clarity of 1920×1200 resolution
Is pixelated o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great angle and momentum
With this regard their turrets spin awry,
And lose the will to self-frag – Soft you now!
The dear Caroline! Secretary, in thy files
Be all my stats remember’d.
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