For as we all know, the nebbian collective doesn't exist inside one body, but several, all at once. Nevertheless the meld was astonished to realise that PR's typing speed was a shade shy of 40 wpm, an amazing achievement given the antiquated keyboard that was surely being used, modern cybernetic implants being shunned by the adamist PR.
The pickles (Aristocrat bread and butter, of course) as well as the salami, brie and water crackers were plonked down on the table, as a sort of peace offering. For what the nebbian collective weren't sure, but their elected representative assured the nexus that it was required.
The recent vipashna session had made several things clear to the collective, one of which:
- Taking over the universe is not cool
had etched itself into its
gestalt, its core being. That said, the neural interface was recently abuzz with talk of several members assuming the personality of an ancient underbridge dwelling creature...
Static overwhelmed the ancient brain-washing device. Decrepit sat up with a start, and was shocked to realise where he was. The advertising-program hadn't run the full course, and his brain was still stuck in the middle of a Hardly Normal commercial, repeating on an endless loop.
Just then, a massive voice roared:
"YEEEAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH ME HEARTIES WHERE'S ME PARROT WHEN I WANTS 'ER?"