Good morning, group of strangers assembled on my front lawn.
I would like to start out by apologizing for the comments I made last night regarding the demise of the universe. I had been drinking quite heavily since lunchtime and was a little emotionally fragile after a serious fuck-up at the office, which I’m told will cost my firm its best client. I was in no condition to claim that the only way any of us would survive the Earth’s imminent explosion would be to come back to my house for inter-dimensional transport. Again, I apologize.
I am pleased, though, that so many of you—I believe you are calling yourselves “The Progeny of Orion”—have embraced this movement so readily. I see you have removed all your body hair and coated yourselves in petroleum jelly according to my instructions, which, again, I did not expect you all to follow. I don’t want to say that I was in any way “joking” because by the looks of manic determination on many of your faces I can tell that you did not find it funny. I will say, however, that I did not intend to find such a receptive audience for cult membership during happy hour at the Red Lobster by the on-ramp.
I should also make a special announcement for all the women among you, hairless and difficult to pick out as you may be. Lately, my problems at work have been compounded by troubles with my girlfriend who has recently moved out, destroying my self-esteem. It really makes me feel validated to know that Karen missed out on becoming the Humanly Vessel of the Inter-Dimensional Supernova Jesus, whom I claimed I would father and who so many of you were willing to carry. And when I suggested that the mother of this new deity should be determined through a topless make-out competition, you were all equally committed. For that, I thank you, but again, I apologize.
I should wrap this up as I have to get off to work. But just to recap, there will be no inter-dimensional travel happening on my lawn today or any other day, despite what I might have said last night.
Feel free to use the garden hose to wash yourselves off. There’s also some V8 juice and a half a bag of mini-bagels for anyone who’s interested. Just please, before you go, put out the oil drum fires and take the vats of feces with you. Thanks.