Adam Blatner

A friend asked, “ Won’t “they” be mad?” I replied: Great question. Actually, “they” hardly know I exist any more. Alas, “they” haven’t been persecuting me at all since the FBI-CIA have looked at their budget and reassigned priorities. (Just kidding! Not really paranoid!)

My contact—you know? The one who used to beam threatening messages that were picked up by the antennae implanted in my dental bridge? Sigh: Laid off. I thought, “What am I, chopped liver?” One of “their” last communications was, “Alas, insufficiently threatening. Bigger fish to fry. ‘Bye.”

As a result, I’ve changed sort-of-religions. I no longer am paranoid. I’ve become pro-noid. This is another group that’s out to get me. But they want to help me be enlightened and happy. Much nicer. Of course, I had to convert, and have come to believe that I merit such extraordinary kindness. But there they are. And I sort of know who they are: My angelic platoon. (Ta Daa!).

Really, I ought to write about them. We all have them, but like Tinkerbelle, you have to sort of believe for them to make contact. Once you do, they shower grace on you. Well, not shower, but drips and sometimes even globs come. It’s a very happy and compelling illusion. It’s not a “delusion” because I know I’m making all this up. I am happy to be in this new religion.