Confess

You ever worry that you don't exist anymore?

That you've been torn away from crushing expectations

the sort placed upon you by either the:

• mortality,

• society,

• the combine

Or perhaps you were even blown away by some sort of solar affair with the glow of the moon and the twinkling of the moons of Jupiter in the light and the void?

That you've done irreparable damage to your person simply by being a victim of being confined to this life under the sun?

Well they've got their eyes on you, and you should confess.

Contrasted by the glow of the buffoon,

the stars,

and eternity,

the orange orangutan orator from outer space profanes,

none of this will leave you quite the same.

You should confess to your local civil defense agent.