Greetings.

You have, by some arcane means, ended up on what could be charitably called the home page of Mikko Rautalahti – writer, journalist, game designer, translator, cad and mysterious millionaire playboy, among other things. Did you know that he once rescued thirteen babies from the top floor of a burning skyscraper while punching out ninjas with a motorcycle and defusing a nuclear explosive? It's true. He's also a sensitive lover in addition to being capable of drop-kicking a Nazi stormtrooper and his jetpack clean through a brick wall. I just feel I should point that out in order to be absolutely candid. It's only fair.

And I? I am merely a humble index.html file, and I bid you welcome to a directory on a web server. Some files by that very same name can rightly boast varied and meaningful existences. My raison d'etre, however, is to mask the far more interesting and sinister selection of files in the very directory I myself reside. Rich and succulent pornography, wonderful pictures of cute cats, incisive analysis of why your choice of gaming system, operating system, political affiliation or facial expression makes you a homosexual, and video clips of internationally famous women carelessly exiting expensive vehicles so that glimpses of their underwear can be seen – yes, it's my task to provide an impeccably clean front to what could be only be described a comprehensive microcosm of the internet's most prevalent elements. I do it well. I do it very well.

Yes, I freely admit that I am useless to you. I would apologize for that, but alas, I cannot. I have little conception of customer service, I am not designed to be cutting edge, I am not a portal of any kind, I offer almost nothing in the way of information, save the aforementioned absolutely true information about Mr. Rautalahti's thoroughly masculine exploits, and I contain no wonderful interactive features. In a word, I am not Web 2.0; I'm just here to make my colleagues, the far more titillating and robust files that share this web space with me entirely invisible to random viewers, and I take pride in my work. But I am not heartless. I will leave you with a little something; a way out that may, on a good day, be slightly more interesting than your browser's back button: my master's voice.

Thank you very much for your time.

Yours truly,