"We are the Borg.
Lower your shields and surrender your ships.
Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own.
Resistance is futile."

Bold words. Profound words. Poetic words. Prophetic words. These words, awesome in their power, have echoed down through the generations. They have inspired fear into the hearts of many. But they have also inspired... unity... into the hearts of many former individuals, and brought them closer to the perfection that the Borg so selflessly offer. Altruism. That word embodies the Collective. What could be more philanthropatic than offering perfection to the universe? And those who will not take it, the Borg are even so kind as to forcably and vicously, yet altruisticly show people the way by granting them cybernetic implants, which, though tremendouly painful and altruistic, are bringing them closer to perfection. Mistrust is the tyrrany of the individual.

"What is a drop of rain compared to the storm? What is a thought compared to a mind? Our unity is full of wonder, wihch your tiny individualism can not even conceive."

"You are so very alone. How does it feel to be one against the Infinite?"

"We welcome you to our Collective. We invite you to spread yourself out on our warmth. One of our many will be there before long."

"Do you think you can defeat us? We offered you the ecstacy of our union. But you chose the vaccuum of individualism."

The Borg are so misunderstood. School is great, for a lesser part. Philosophy is not as good, as we are studying tedious, hollow works, like "The Nature of Mind" by Armstrong, I believe it is. History is less than it was, also. The Russian Revolution is so much more... sterile than the chaotic French Revolution. They so totally led with their faces, unlike the meddling Bolsheviks who planned every step. Damn October! That month was detroyed the moment the Bolsheviks gained power. Such a dry month, now.

Now the sister unit must do "homework" by which she means listen to music and talk on MSN. But my mother has a habit of believing anything she says, while when I speak she oft replies with "Bullshit, Glen. Oh, wait, what did you say?" But enough of that, I'm going to go and listen drift in the music of the infinite chorus of vioces that make the Collective so magical. A sound so beautiful it inspires love in the highest part of my assimilated soul.

Resistance has, and always will be, futile.