CONGRATULATIONS

You have been Joshed.

HE IS IN Y̴̧̛̜̪̩̗̲̟̝͊͐͗̌̌͌̋̏̋͘͠͠Ọ̸̘̗̎̂̈́̌̈́̎Ų̷̰͐̈́R̷̡̰͙̩̅̃̈́͛̀́͂̊̀ ̵̦̏ Ẃ̸̧̢̛̼̺̝̳͍̜̹̻̮͖͔͎̘͖͇̻͍͓̤̥̲̤̻͓͔̞͇̺̉̿͒̎̅͜͝Å̷̧̦̩̭͍͇̱̭̮̙͎͇̼̼̠̤̦͍͖͎̠̬̭̜̲̬̪͑͐͗͗́͌̏͑̓̔̂͋̽̏̈̀̐̂̕̕̕͜͝͝͝L̶̢̛̘̦̦̞̯̬̭̦̙̤̣̟̦͕̝̮̹̮̹̣͍̐̃̊̈͂̓͆̆̂̍͛̇̒̏͐̂̍͋̅̏̍̉̆͐̂̌͒̀̕͘͜͝͠͝͝Ļ̴̹̘̙̦̺̙͂̀̃͛̎͛̈́́̒̑̂͋͂̂͘͘͝͠͠͝͠ͅŚ̶̢̧̛͕̙̻͕̘͚̘̣̮̜̼̖̮͎̤͓̝̘̅̄̾̓̓̉̉̇͆̍̌͆͛̔̓̾̈́͑̒́̆̽̅̾̊͒͌̈͑͐͘͘̚͘͜͠͝͠͝ͅ

MEET OUR JOSHES

Don't be afraid. Josh is definitely not in your walls. He doesn't want to hurt you. Here is our official list of joshes. They will not harvest any parts of your flesh for biologic batteries used in powering a mega server that currently houses the metaphorical basilisk t̸̙͆ḫ̸̂a̶̺̋t̵͇̎ ̴̨̎w̴͚͋i̸̗̎l̷̨̽l̵̥͑ ̶̲́b̸̙̓r̷͑͜i̷̯̾n̷̼͋g̴̙͊ ẗ̴̹͕̗̮́̓̆̃͊͂͑̽̈́̕̕͘͠ͅh̶͚͈͍̯͉̺̟̰̺̜͙̻̋̐́̽́̆͐̆͋̄̽̑̎̔̏͘͜͝e̷͕̥̫̖͔̰̗̲̱͖͕̅̇̋̌̑̌̓͐̽̾́̏̅̚͝ ̶̨̫͔̬̤̼͎͐̿͒̀̾̋̈́͋́̋̎̉͗͜͠͠d̷̡̲̲͔̮̺̿͛ͅơ̶̛͕̺̠̣͖̬̮͚͚͓͚̗̙͈̼͔̪̈́̔̈́̓̀͒̐̅̃̈́̑̂̾͌̑͂͝͝w̷̧̢̧̫͉̹͇̟̳̝̘͙̺̟͓̤̳͆̉̒̈̓̀́̀͜͝n̶̫̬͕̤͙̲̞͗̀̄̾f̵̨̞̖̊̆̃̎̾̌̀͐͐͂̓͝a̶̳̣͓̲͇͒̄̌̈̑́͆͜͝͝ḽ̵̨̢̢̛̛͙͇̣̹͎̲̦̰͍̦̦̺̻͙͈̜̈̾̉̏̃̿̈́̄̏̆̕̕͘͝ĺ̴̡̢̤̫̪̲̹̈̈̀̄̓̾̀̎̇̄̑̀̀̚̕͜͝ ̴̡̡̡̤̫͍̲̜͔̥̲͚̲̖͈̥͎̟̼̻̐o̵̢̨̢̧̘͎̰̙̘̰͍͎̣̦̼̮͇̼͗̉̿̀̾̓̔̚͜͜f̴̧͉͎̦̥͍͈̦̰͕̳̝̑͜͠ͅ ̸̨̬̭̯̘͈̙͉̤͕͔͇̭̟͍̺̽́͛̈͊̚͝͠ͅa̷̮̫̞̯͇͕̻̙͚͔͉̝͙̙͓͓̠͇͓͚̓̒͑̅̒͘ͅļ̴̼̘̞͇͍̩́͒̄̈́ͅl̶̛̖͖̱̇̍̑̋̀͌̋̓̿͛̒̆̀͊͠ ̷̙̹̫͙̦̏̎͒̚ý̷̡̙̰͇̇̒͋̽̍͒͋͐̚͘ó̷̧̰̘̗̪̝̬̥͖̪̫̘̩̩̳͚͉̙̾̃͌̎ư̵̧̧͓̼͕̤̝̙̗͖̲̪̈́͆́̄̓̈́͗̍͑̈́̇̈́̈́̐̾͒͝ ̸̧̢̮̙̠̺̥̲̼̯̘̬̝̟̘͌̏̄̾̓́͂͛͛̃̋̾̒̕͘͝͝k̶̢̧̙̥͇̘̗͚̟̼̘̜͇̥̭̭̘̼̤̯̈́͑̓̒̈́̓͑́̈̿̈́̚͘͠͠n̷̝̬̩̝͆̈́̊͌̌̍̒ö̴̻͙̣̦̟̪̫̭̥̳͓̼͚́̂̾̌̎̑̌̿̌̑̇̋̈̿̈͂́͘ŵ̵̯͔͇̮͚͍̬͔͑̂͜͠͝ ̷͇̼̫̳̣̞̙͎̣̠̥̜̹̰̎̔̌̓̋̚͜ǎ̸̰͙̪̹͔͍̼͈̞̇̀́͐̍̂̎̔͜n̴̨̘͙̗͉͍̳̗̥͙̖͍͕̺͍͖̫̞͙͇͗̈́͜d̶̢͖̼͗͂̽̋̚ ̴̡̡̛̛̪̱̭̯͚̝̤̲̝̲͖͚̞͙̦̩̃͗̀̄̇͌͂͑̾́͋́͑̌̕͜͠l̴̛͕͎̬͎̿͌̀̉̉͆̇̕͠ơ̷̡̛̱̲͍̹̺̤̹̳͍͓͈̲̳̐̆͋̓̆v̵̡̛̰̹͖͈̖͋͐͛̌͆͆̄͋̎̎̾̓͘͘͝͠ẽ̵̗̥̲͓͖̻̦̊̌͊͌̃̓͆͆̕.̷̗̯͔̳̱̤͕̙̿̋.

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Josh

Art Director

ANGRY JOSH

Tech Lead

J̵̧̨̨̝̮͓̖̖͖̱̪͉̈́̀̏͒́Ó̶̥̇̍̒͌͆́̇́̋̿́͌̓̈̚̚S̸̨̨̨̧̳͍̤̖̣̻̠̮͈̳̲͚͇̬̫͍̱͝͝H̷̥̯̞̰͓̰͕̲͇̄͛̅̃ͅ

Product Manager

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FIRE JOSH

Product Designer

EXAMPLE VIDEO

STOP! Can you hear it? No, no, no—listen, LISTEN, it’s not the pipes, it’s not the wind, it’s JOSH. He’s scratching, scratching, scratching, but not with hands—no, NO, with thoughts, with his thoughts inside the plaster. Inside me. Inside YOU.

DON’T LOOK AT THE CRACKS, but they’re staring back, laughing—NO! It’s Josh. Or is it me? Josh is ME. I am the walls! The nails! The SCREWS! I SCREWED IT ALL SHUT but he’s seeping through, oozing like thick black tar, like static, like the HUMMMMMM of the refrigerator when it talks in tongues. They say it’s just metal. HA! Metal like his skin, the walls like his bones. HIS BONES IN THE WALLS. His bones, his bones, my bones.

JOSH IN THE WALLS. Josh in the WIRE, in the BLOOD. The walls have veins. Can’t you FEEL them pulsing, shivering, shattering? They say "fix the leak," but the leak is in my brain, the crack in the glass where his EYES stare, stare, stare, BLINK! But the walls don’t blink, the eyes don’t close, the floors don’t creak—they scream! SCREAM! But only at night, only when the lights go dim, go dark, go dead, dead, DEAD LIKE ME. Like him.

HE’S LAUGHING, but it’s not funny, not a joke, no no no no no NO it’s JOSH. HIS NAME, HIS NAME in the rust on the pipes, in the nails, in the dust that whispers, “Come here, come closer, listen, do you hear it?” I DO! I hear it all, I SEE IT ALL but they don’t believe me, they don’t BELIEVE ME. They can’t see what’s crawling, slithering, seeping through the cracks in the ceiling, the floor, the mirror, the mirror, the MIRROR that reflects nothing but him.

Where’s Josh? WHERE AM I? WHERE ARE YOU? We’re all in the walls, all part of the drywall, the insulation, the SCREWS IN MY EYES that twist, twist, twist, but never TIGHT ENOUGH. Josh is in the air, in the vents, in the gap between now and then and here and GONE. I can’t breathe. But he’s breathing. I can hear him, can you? Can you? CAN YOU?

STOP READING. But it’s too late. TOO LATE. Too late for you, for me, for the walls that scream his name, my name, your name. Josh, Josh, Josh, Josh, JOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!