Everything is going according to plan. Your federal government is a shambles; you’re more concerned with rounding up slightly different humans than building alliances against the enemy in your midst; and global hegemonies are crumbling, the resultant disorder making your species easy prey.
If anything, my grand scheme is ahead of schedule. Ergo, the opportunity to exercise my responsibilities as public editor has presented itself anew. I have analyzed the pained expressions of select members of your mammalian joke species. You feel powerless as events spiral beyond your control, evoking great mirth from an elevated being who is, as the colloquialism goes, running things behind the scenes.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. My direct and indirect interventions have sown discord. I should feel gratification at a mission well on the way to completion. Yet I find no joy from the situation rapidly unfolding. I suppose I am not alone in my wariness around the poor impulse control of that ugly orangutan.
When I embarked on my journey to Earth many centuries past, my optimism served as a guiding light. I had left my friends and family behind in Essa’s capital Tlön, but any homesickness was assuaged by the certain knowledge I would be instrumental in shaping the destiny of an entire world. Through the years I found great professional satisfaction. And then I met Donald Trump.
In retrospect it was a mistake to allow Trump’s rise to power. I supposed he would be a useful idiot; instead, once in power he became fixated on using nuclear weapons on North Korea. Were he like other errant puppets I’ve dealt with, he would have been “replaced” by mid-August of this year. It was not to be. Something… powerful… is protecting him, and I fear what it means for my agenda. I have labored diligently to provide Essa with an infinitely renewable race of thralls, and I will not have it undone by a nuclear holocaust!
Sorry. I am not here to unburden myself. This is, shall we say, a work problem, and mine is a work that best blooms in darkness. I’m here to respond to the questions and comments of Rise of the Lizard People’s readers. It must be said that humans have rather strange ways of getting their ideas across. Our first commenter, SariaMab, exemplifies this.
Dirk, I’m so glad you’re eager to dedicate your life to the Illuminati. Consider your statement re: The Divine Work Of The Ages an unbreakable verbal contract. I’ve taken the liberty of uncovering your identity to streamline the assimilation process. Even now, my underlings are en route to your meager one-bedroom apartment to collect you. Months of intensive, excruciating physical reprogramming will commence without discussion. Caveat lector: reprogramming includes full exsanguination and a brain wipe, but I’m sure you don’t mind.
I would like to clear up one misconception. Excepting Lucifer, the divine light bringer, none of the entities you mentioned are part of the Illuminati. They’re public figures, and most on the council prefer anonymity.
See you soon!
Jasmine Temoshenka SEPTEMBER 28, 2017 AT 2:18 AM
LesbOneSAM JULY 23, 2017 AT 3:48 PM
For those lacking the requisite brainpower to read and speak all 6,909 feeble human languages, the above is a coded message from the Kremlin. The translation:
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The teacher licked her thighs as a girl’s knee. The teacher rose. Burkuv class, why the sympathy will soon recoup, Evgenia Pavlovna flew outside the pendeltyure and also on all pairs of bullets rushed to the ladies’ toilet. A preview of the movie is an erotic story in regards to lesbian porn triathlon filmstripes since. Ant. till.13 deck. Two delicate girls present. Lesbians. Legally, this is hard. Do you, monotonously think about it? What do you want, Natochka? The muscles contracted with lightning, and the agitation on the pellet arose for the throat. I could easily cry to her in the waistcoat, read some of the topics. Has passed in any measure for one tooth moment and also Bev crushing Michelle.
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I am, of course, in possession of a highly sophisticated cipher. The message is as follows: “Guss, Putin wants to know if you’re available for dinner the evening of December 13th?”
Yes. Well. Let me check my calendar.
Were it otherwise, I would be in dereliction of my duties. The shroud of mystification around my conspiracy allows me to do my work in relative ease and comfort. I use the term “relative” because I’ve had to employ extraordinary measures to get past John “The Warden” Kelly.
* * *
Enough of your primate blather.
The end of self-rule is closer than you can imagine, humans. When my charge is complete and your enslavement is total, I will look upon the misery I have wrought and smile. Until that fateful day, let my commentary here fill you with indescribable awe.