10 to 2 AM, X, Yogi DMT, and a box of Krispy Kremes, in my "need to know" pose, just outside of Area 51. Contemplating the whole "chosen people" thing with just a flaming stealth banana split the sky like one would hope but never really expect to see in a place like this. Cutting right angle donuts on a dime and stopping right at my Birkenstocks, and me yelping... Holy ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥!

Then the X-Files being, looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan with Isabella Rossellini lips and breath that reeked of vanilla Chig Champa, did a slow-mo Matrix descent out of the butt end of the banana vessel and hovered above my bug-eyes, my gaping jaw, and my sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip and all I could think was: "I hope Uncle Martin here doesn't notice that I pissed my ♥♥♥♥♥♥' pants."

And after calming me down with some orange slices and some fetal spooning, E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose. He said, "You are the Chosen One, the One who will deliver the message. A message of hope for those who choose to hear it and a warning for those who do not." Me. The Chosen One? They chose me! And I didn't even graduate from ♥♥♥♥♥♥' high school.

You believe me, don't you? Please believe what I just said, see the Dead ain't touring.
And this wasn't all in my head. See they took me by the hand and invited me right in,
Then they showed me something. I don't even know where to begin.

Strapped down my bed. Feet cold and eyes red.
I'm out my head. Am I alive, am I dead?
Can't remember what they said.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. ♥♥♥♥ the bed!

Overwhelmed as one would be, placed in my position. such a heavy burden now to be the one.
Born to bear and bring to all the details of our ending to write it down for all the world to see.
But I forgot my pen, ♥♥♥♥ the bed again,
Typical.