About half an hour ago, my bro Monster says he’s watching the needle on the elevator dial and it’s moving up. Really slowly, of course, because the damn elevator is heavy and there’s only so much the hamster wheel can do to lift it. That means that there’s plenty of time to prepare for them. It’s definitely not my dudes in the elevator—they would know better and signal ahead of time. It’s got to be Jefferson and his assorted half-breeds, sexual deviants, and losers. How do I know? It just makes sense. Because I realize now that not only am I God’s favorite show, I am his favorite person. And he is shaping my triumph. Now is the part where I beat back the mutated hordes and put the crown on my own head. It’s all working out! The champagne is chilling, the nukes are warming up, and my enemies are literally delivering themselves to me in a box. The only disappointment is that last part. It’s a tiny bit of a bummer that it’s going to be so easy to kill Jefferson, after all this time.
