With the first threat of disobedience, we are instructed to answer the needs of our factory before friends, brothers, even ourselves. We must guard the fidelity of those we work with, that our factory may thrive. If we should be found lacking in this respect, may our throats be cut ear to ear, our tongues torn out by their roots, and our bodies buried on the beach to await the coming of the tide!
With the second threat of disobedience, we find the power of the chain of command. We trust in the suggestion box to carry our needs to whoever may hear our pleas. Acknowledging our dependence upon the most high brings clarity to our actions, and makes us a stronger factory. Should we go outside this chain of command, may our eyes be eaten by owls, may our ears be pierced by un-autoclaved instruments, and may their lobes be infected with staph and fall off unto the dust!
With the third threat of disobedience, we are reminded of the responsibility of trust. Holding in our heart the secrets of our Factory and never reporting them to the EEOC, FDA, or any other government or civilian regulatory agency or media outlet. If we should leak our knowledge, may our genitals be smashed by hammers and our anal sphincters torn asunder that we might ever leak our contents into our finest clothing!
With the fourth threat of disobedience, we are ever challenged to uphold the quality of our product. In an age where snails are left to breed upon the ground, where mollusk devours mollusk beneath the sea, where mucus runs free over the land unkempt, we are ever charged to construct our components true, be they on the assembly line or the office typewriters. And if we should fail, let us be devoured by Limax Maximus Optimus Dominus, Lord of Slug and Snail, and digested in his fiery belly unto the end of time!
With the fifth threat of disobedience, we forsake all gods and all family. We forsake all fortune and glory. We abandon all hope that lies beyond these walls and embrace the perfection of the Factory as the only light to guide our way! The Factory is our only temple, the product our only prophet. For our payrolls feed us, and who feeds us is our lord. So it is done! Semper Limosa! Hail the Snail!