Once, long before the digital dusk fell behind our silicon curtains, we staked our claim in the realm of the binary befitting of a housewarming party for the absurd. Oh, how we laid foundations of coffee-stained pixeldom over this three-room residence, mismatching treasures left by those whose aspirations once flickered like badly executed neon signs.
Have you ever tried to frame irony within the walls of earnestness and ended up with a Picasso portrait drawn by a toddler? Well, step inside our abode. Here lies the sofa on which 256 possible existential crises contemplate their reflections during the nights of 8-bit nostalgia.
Within these remaining corridors of what one might ironically call innovation, a bulb flickers, sputters, and dies just as any hope for a third industry revolution does — perhaps jokingly summoning ghosts of user experience designers past, wielding the wrench and destiny of errant click paths.
Stumble upon our legacy withered away but not erased: remnants of the once-vibrant byte parmigiana, the cold taps of forgotten email etiquettes, virtues now flung lazily upon the digital breeze. Beyond the curtains of our main page lay fascinating obscurities: like how to whistle a symphony over a whiteboard full of quadratic procrastinations.