I’m so unoriginal. I’ve been hiding out hoping you wouldn’t notice. I’ve been standing in front of your house with dynamite strapped to my body holding a large clock, waiting. Slumming so fantastic. Open your window. You can hear it if you listen hard. The ticking of your heartbeat, the rhythm of the traffic pouring down the streets. The mice scratching under the floorboards are safe to follow when the ship starts to sink. They’ll be running in the opposite direction of the mad scientists. Towards Nihm, towards Nicademus, into the hazy summer sky-glow as the clock runs out. The score is tied so there’s gonna be overtime. Sudden death. The pink pills are for your sanity. So lets go kids. Lets go…

The Better, Happier Me.
The Better, Happier You.
A Better, Happier World To Live In.

How is everyone out there in happy land? You been taking your vitamins? You been drinking lots of milk and saying your prayers? You been good little boys and girls? Hmm? You know Santa doesn’t just check up on you at Christmastime. He’s watching all year round. So you’d better be on your best behaviour. You’d better be looking both ways before you cross the street and brushing your teeth twice every day. Santa doesn’t like little boys and girls with yellow teeth. He sends them to an unhappy land where fire falls from the sky and rivers of blood cut through a harsh, barren, rocky wilderness devoid of plant life and animals (except for man-eating wolves and giant three headed vultures that can rip little boys and girls apart with their claws and teeth). So you’d better keep those teeth clean. You’d better be cooperative and obedient. You’d better be doing your homework, your leg work, your chores. I can no longer guarantee what will happen if you don’t. They have a way of finding out if you’re not happy. They have hidden cameras and informants dressed up like ordinary people. They smile all the time, as if setting some example for you to follow. Like there’s an equation that you’re supposed to memorize and use to attain that which all people strive to attain: inner peace, humility, civility, the programmed ability to bend. Call it what you will. They’re watching and taking notes. They’ve got computer files, metal files, paper files, and the cabinets to keep them in. They’re the ones that wrote the handbook. Everybody gets a shit kicking. You don’t have a choice in the matter. They’ve brought in seasoned professionals to make sure that you get one. Everybody gets one. That’s the rules. I didn’t make it up, I’m just saying.

So be happy. Happiness is paramount. Your happiness is of the utmost importance. Everyone else has their own happiness to worry about. You just follow the program and keep reading the handbook. Everything will be revealed in time. But for now you just keep grasping for that gold ring, that blue ribbon, that dreamy picture-perfect-magazine you. It’s in there somewhere. With your DNA, what you ate for dinner, and all those terrible secrets. You’re in there somewhere, waiting to be reborn. The better, happier you. If you play your cards right the possibilities are endless. There’s an equation for everything. For you, for us, for everything. Everything’s been prearranged. Mostly for the better. Mostly for the worst.