Dear Planet Earth,
In case you just tuned in, Iâ€™ve beenÂ held in an underground cell by mole people for the past two weeks. So far, theyâ€™veÂ killed two friends of mine that I know of. They asked me random questions for days on end before giving me my laptop and imploring me to report on everything Iâ€™ve seen.
The mole people themselves are keeping their distance from me, delegating all interactions with me to theirÂ homeless henchmen, whom Iâ€™ve just now decided to start calling â€œhomiesâ€ (it was between that and â€œhomosâ€).
They fed me the shittiest food, which Iâ€™m hesitant to describe for fear of offending actual shit. This gruel made me empty my bowels from holes I didnâ€™t know I had and caused me to see visions of my father, Jesus Christ, myÂ dead girlfriend, and Billy Dee Williams.
When Iâ€™m alone, I reflect on my many past mistakes and play infinite scenarios through my head about how to escape and liberate my fellow humans from this torturous slave labor camp. I wonder how Iâ€™m still alive and why theyâ€™re keeping me in here instead of working on their strange machines outside. I whisper to the empty cells next to me, vainly hoping to hear Maria or Karter tell me that weâ€™re going to be okay. Iâ€™ve started to really hate being alone.
Read more at Beneath Average