Yeah, you're paranoid. Who can blame you, boobala. The mob is standing outside your window waving cudgels and you've no memory how you came by that bloody bandage on your head. No, don't touch it! Is it really so impossible that the aliens got ahold of you in your sleep, especially now that the human beings on the planet are treating you like an extraterrestrial? Up to now, you've shut one eye to the evidence, but it's sure looking like a National Enquirer kind of world out there. This is the sort of situation where a glass of magic water would sure hit the spot! You've spent years and years constructing a complicated apparatus for accessing the angelic glossolalia. All you've managed to do is produce some pretty good counterfeit coins. They put smiles on a lot of people's faces when you hand them out in town, it's true. But the jig is up and it's time to pay the piper. Now you know how Elvis felt. If only you hadn't let your imagination get the better of you. If only you'd been able to bring that sparrow back to life. If only you left the day before yesterday. This is the advice I gave Jesus before the divorce cleaned him out. Now he's playing supper clubs on has-been alley. Listen, I've got the Yeti gassed up and parked right around the corner. Just say the word. I'll have you out of here and in Atlantis sipping ichor before dawn. It's your call. Either way I'm outta here in ten. I hate to be a reptile about it but if you're waiting for them to break the door down you're waiting alone. There ain't no future in martyrdom. So what's it gonna be, boobala? Clock's ticking.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
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