"How odd," she mumbled to Bronstein. "I'd have sworn that was a dead profile. Entirely friendless, with no discernible activity since the profile was created - it even still locates him at the Knowledge Factory on the Hill - it really resembles a cobweb page in every manner imaginalbe. Why would Facebook think I'd be interested in a spot of necrophilia?"
Bronstein blanched. "Perhaps," he clutched at straws, "it's the living dead? Perhaps a zombie profile?"
"Perhaps," laughed the Cow. "I always wondered about Bremnercrats. That they feast in the twilight hours on the blood of young innocents wouldn't surprise many people."
"Students may be young, but few are innocent!" snorted Bronstein. "And anyway, it seems to be their money rather than their blood that Bremner is interested in."
"True," admitted the Cow. "Besides, he doesn't really fit the profile of a zombie. More like..." She paused.
"Well," chuckled Bronstein, "I have his new web page open here, and it says he was born in Guildford!"
"Guildford!" gasped the Cow. "You mean...?"
"Indeed!" laughed Bronstein. "A reincarnation of Ford Prefect! A real live alien, all the way from Betelgeuse!"
"Well, that certainly explains a great many things..." sighed the Cow. "I guess we've just got time for drinks at Milliway's, then?"