404 Page eaten


home









You look at the spot where the page used to be. In its place is a bald middle-aged man wearing a suit that seems to be composed of tinfoil and broken transistor radios. He's got a colander on his head and a laser pointer attached to his left ear.

He stands up when he sees you. He tries to look menacing, but just ends up looking like he's got a stomach ache.

"I am Pacard of Brog", he declares as he strides towards you. "Resistance is futile. Surrender and be digested."
"Don't you mean assimilated?" you say, confused.
He stops. "No, digested. Like the webpage you were looking for." He looks down at his feet. "William Shatner holds the copyright on Borg and a patent on assimilation. We wouldn't have the budget for it, anyway."
"Sounds tough."
"Yeah, well. It's one of those jobs. Every so often I think the company's finally going down the drain, but somehow it always manages to cling on.
"I know how it is. Hey, you fancy a drink?"

You stroll towards the site index and the wiki together.