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OK, I'm not gonna lie to you. Actually, I am, but not about that. About what, you may well ask. Errr, can't remember. Jesus, I'm feelin' wasted today. It's tough at the top, kids, remember that. We of the In-Crowd get to see things you little people don't, know what ah mean? This week, for example, I had the pleasure of viewing a full-blown Coachella Festival pass package thingy, 'cos it starts TODAY - Friday the Thirteenth! It was pretty sweet (this isn't the lie, by the way), kinda like an overized VHS case, packed with little things like a book, and tickets and a vial of cyanide like secret agents use. Actually, I made that last part up (but that still ain't the lie, sucka), but wouldn't that be cool?! It took me back to the documentaries I used to watch as a starry-eyed teen about the 1960s and the mad festivals they used to have back then. All the hippies trippin' on CIA conspiracies, goat people, Vietnam demonstrators, concert organizers with reptile eyes, crazed rock stars who really knew how to party and thousands of switched-on people boogyin' to Janice Joplin and the Stones and the Thirteenth Floor Elevators and The Seeds. Then I remembered Altamont and Kent State and Richard Nixon and the Manson Family and JFK and Andy Warhol's stoopid freakin' soup can. And I felt sad. Especially about the can.

So, I'm in the office this morning keeping a low 'un. Profile, that is. Why? Cos it's FREAKIN' FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH, that's why! Dark forces are after me. I'm not talking about Freddie Kruger or that little minx from The Ring who climbs outta the TV and damn near makes you soil your undertrolleys. I'm talkin' 'bout the CIA, brother. They want me to become one of the sheeple, but that ain't happenin', oh no sirree Benjamin Buford Blue. The CIA can go lick frogspawn off a turd wagon, 'cos this dude is sizzlin' with secret answers and I'm gonna unleash 'em on the world.

This trouble with the CIA began with my wife complaining about how fat I am. So I broke into a thin person's house and stole a set of them P90X DVDs to exercise to. That's when it hit me: It's 2012. End of the worldtimes. P90X...Planet X...hmmm. Coincidence? I think NOT! This freakin exercise system is designed to git folks in shape for when that Planet arrives! An' it's in the mail, make no mistake about that. Can't you feel it in your water? It's like a moon got in my bladder and started makin' its way down my tubes! Or perhaps that's just something I drank. Like the WD40-MDMA cocktail my mom gave me the other day, on the rocks with salt. Awesome gear y'all. But back to the planet; if you know what's good for you you'll break into some health nut's house and take their P90X DVDs and git in shape afore that rock arrives. Gonna be rougher'n' a night boozin' with Nancy Reagan, kids, an' that skinny li'l lizard can really put it away. Bet Nance keeps up on her P90X. She knows what's comin'.

Anyway, I got to thinkin' about this Planet X stuff, and the Mayans and Rod Stewart's tight pants an' all kinds of stoopid nonsense, especially Rod Stewart's pants. But Rod's nothin' to do with Planet X. or the Mayans, at least not to my knowledge. Christ, I'm ramblin' here. I went online, on that YouTube thing, to do research. Well dip me in scorpion bisque if there ain't a huge web of conspiracies all over that internet! Ya see what I did there? I said "scorpion bisque" then mentioned a "web". 'Cos a scorpion's a spider, y'see? That's what we In-Crowd like to do. What's that? Scorpions don't make webs? Well why don't you shove your general knowledge up your fat keyster, Mister Clever Clogs Bigshot?!? It ain't the freakin' point! Ah, sheet, where was I? Oh yeah, so you're never gonna believe this, but there's folks out there reckin that whole 9/11 business was masterminded by the United States Government! They have some real authority figures on their side, too. People like Charlie Sheen and Jesse Ventura. People who know. Apparently it's all connected to the people who run the banks who are being controlled by alien lizards who have been on this planet forever! Not only that, but George Bush Sr. is a lizard! Jesus, lemme get myself together here. I'm sweatin' bullets. I mean, not literal bullets, but there's saltwater poppin' outta my forehead from a network of pores that evolved over billions of years and are now glistening in this present moment as Planet X hurtles towards our solar system to destroy civilization and all it stands for. I really am wasted today. Shouldna snorted that third chinchilla de-wormer pill, but Mom insisted. I never learn.

Anyway, it's Friday the Thirteenth. The Devil's Day. The scary thing is, Camp Crystal Lake - where that Jason dude drowned and came back to kill all them other geeks - is right near here, in Connecticut. There's a Crystal Lake here, so it has to be the same one, right? Some people think Jason and Freddy Kruger are just characters from films, but believe me, on days like this you start to see how there are devils and aliens living among us, horrific beings that strike fear into the hearts of regular Joes. People like me and you. Well, people like you, anyway.

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