This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/TheLucid0ne on 2024-12-27 06:45:12+00:00.
We studied them, of course. Humans. A backwater species from some gaudy blue-and-green planet they couldn’t even leave without duct-taping themselves into glorified tin cans powered by explosions. Cute, right? Primitive. Naive. A species so cosmically new they still argued over whether pineapple belonged on their primary food source.
We underestimated them. Oh, how we underestimated them.
The first encounter was supposed to be simple. We, the Zynark Coalition—masters of tactical brilliance, wielders of advanced weaponry, and conquerors of countless worlds—had deemed their solar system ripe for annexation. What could these fleshy bipeds possibly offer against our armada? We calculated their chances of meaningful resistance at 0.0002%. Rounded up.
We opened communications with a stern demand for surrender. Their response? Laughter. Actual laughter, followed by a noise they referred to as a “fart.”
“This is how they treat a galactic superpower?” Admiral Thraak hissed, his tentacles quivering with indignation.
We fired a warning shot—a plasma beam across one of their uninhabited moons. Their retaliation? Memes. Thousands of them. Crude images of our glorious ships adorned with captions like “U Mad, Bro?” and “Come at me, alien scum!”
“I don’t understand,” murmured Lieutenant Kzzzt, staring in confusion at a pixelated gif of a cat in a space helmet. “Are they… mocking us?”
The real attack came days later. We expected a coordinated assault with whatever laughable technology they could cobble together. Instead, they sent something called Florida Man.
An unarmed human in a sleeveless shirt and a trucker hat, wielding a baseball bat, piloted a stolen space shuttle straight at our flagship. It shouldn’t have been a threat. Yet, somehow—defying all known laws of physics—the shuttle’s trajectory struck our fusion core dead-on. The flagship was obliterated.
“That was a fluke,” Admiral Thraak insisted.
Then came the Karens. Hundreds of them, demanding to speak to our commander. They overwhelmed our communications systems with noise complaints and threats of negative reviews on something called Galactic Yelp. Our shields couldn’t withstand the sheer volume of nonsensical demands.
As our fleet struggled to regroup, they deployed their final weapon: sheer, unrelenting idiocy. One of their soldiers—if you could call a human in a hot dog costume a soldier—somehow hijacked our AI systems by convincing them to play something called Minecraft. Within hours, our navigational controls were replaced with crude blocky replicas of their homeworld.
When we finally retreated, broken and bewildered, a single human transmission followed us through hyperspace:
“L + ratio + skill issue.”
We have no explanation. No counter-strategy to this… stupidity warfare. The humans are not advanced. They are not organized. They are not sane.
But they are undefeated.