visitor@linuxweenie:~$ ls /hall/distros/
Two wings, one truth: there is no best distro, only the one you are currently defending in a forum thread at midnight.
Enshrined for service to the community. Plaques polished nightly.
The bedrock. If your server hasn't been rebooted in four years, it runs Debian — and it is judging your uptime.
"I use Arch, by the way." Rolls so fast its wiki has become a personality trait. Breaks occasionally; teaches constantly.
Bleeding edge with a seatbelt. Where tomorrow's enterprise ideas go to audition in front of a live audience.
Brought Linux to the masses and warm beige themes to our hearts. First to teach a generation that sudo is a love language.
If you can read this plaque, your kernel finished compiling. A distro for people who read the manual for fun.
The oldest surviving distro (1993). Change comes slowly here; Slackware simply declines to attend.
"It just works," with a hint of cinnamon. The distro you install on your relatives' laptops so the phone calls stop.
No projects were harmed. These plaques roast behaviors — mostly our own.
The true desktop environment is the friends you made while re-partitioning. Exhibit includes a preserved USB stick labeled "FINAL_final_v7.iso".
A rite of passage. You felt powerful. Your threat model was "homework." We have all been young.
Started Tuesday. The netbook is now a space heater. The compile finished; the user had graduated, married, and retired.
Forty-seven config files deep, chasing the perfect transparency. The desktop is gorgeous. The user has a meeting at 8.
rm -rf / StoryEvery veteran swears it happened to a friend of a friend. The museum's official stance: it happened to us, once, and the backups were a myth.
Posted daily since 1998. Answer is always "it depends." Thread is always 400 replies. Nobody has ever been converted; everybody has been entertained.
The Fame and Shame halls share a single janitor's closet, because every hall-of-famer has a hall-of-shame story and every hall-of-shamer eventually becomes somebody's favorite distro. Circle of life. Now please proceed — quietly — past the Flame Wars gallery. The exhibits can smell fear.