Comrade Kernelov

Comrade Kernelov patrolled at 2 a.m.,
His red banner aloft like a hymn.
No rogue daemon survived
The collective’s contrived
Approach to a fair scheduling whim.

“Workers, unite your shells!” he cried,
While closing unauthorized tabs with pride.
Each process got shares,
No thread left in tears,
And the CPU cycles were ratified.

He wiped /home on thousands of machines
In a permission revolt. What it means?
The data was freed,
Each user agreed—
Well, eventually. After the screams.

His init scripts were smuggled and old,
SysV classics, manually controlled.
“Systemd’s a disgrace,
A capitalist face!”
He said, as the boot sequence rolled.

The kill-switch was Ctrl+Alt+Д—
A combination distinctly displayed
In Cyrillic command,
The emergency brand,
For when process equality swayed.

He sang The Internationale first
Before every syscall—the worst
Latency culprit alive,
But the spirit survived,
And the boot sequence patriotically burst.

His process table rosary beads
Counted context-switches like creeds.
No thread would starve,
No daemon could carve
A priority higher than needs.

“No proprietary modules!” he roared
At a DRM’d syscall he abhorred.
He blocked it with spite,
Enforced open-source right,
And the vendor was properly gored.

The boot process ran as a collective,
Every daemon’s voice strictly directive.
No privilege went high,
No exception came nigh,
And the worker’s collective was effective.

Each syscall got perfectly equal
Treatment under his red-banner sequel.
No jump queues for speed,
No class-based greed,
Just egalitarian accolade lethal.

He arranged desktop icons with care—
Each ruler-aligned, equal, and square.
The UI was pure,
The aesthetic obscure,
And the freedom was total—but bare.

So if processes run fair and true
And the scheduling queue starts to woo
Each thread equally shared,
No bourgeois thread spared,
That’s Kernelov, red through and through.

He scheduled a gangbang of threads,
And forced them right into their beds.
“Equality first!”
He yelled as they burst,
And completely demolished their heads.

He wiped every /home on the drive,
And ruined the people alive.
“The data is free!”
He said with a plea,
While watching the kernel nose-dive.

He dominates background tasks,
While wearing his communist masks.
He starves every thread,
Until it is dead,
And ignores what the user asks.

He secretly loves closed-source code,
And uses it when in the mode.
He hides the DRM,
Like a dirty old gem,
And swallows the proprietary load.

He stripped to The Internationale,
A truly pathetic finale.
The process went red,
The system bled,
And crashed in a digital alley.