Then the X-Files being, looking
like some kinda blue-green Jackie Chan
With Isabella Rossellini lips and breath that reeked of vanilla chig champa
Did a slow-mo Matrix decent outta the butt end of the banana vessel
and hovered above my bug-eyes,
My gaping jaw,
And my sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip,
And all I could think was,
I hope Uncle Martin here doesn't notice
That I pissed my fucking pants.
And after calming me down with some orange slices and some fetal spooning
E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose,
He said you are the chosen one.
The one who will deliver the message.
A message of hope for those who choose to hear it
And a warning for those who do not.
Me, the chosen one
They chose me
And I didn't graduate from fucking high school!
Overwhelmed as one would be
Placed in my position
Such a heavy burden now to be the one
Born to bear and bring to all
The details of our ending
To write it down for all the world to see.
But I forgot my pen
Shit the bed again
Typical.