There is very little chance anyone will ever read this, so I will be brief. Listen to me very carefully. I know only two things. Tunnels. Long, twisting, dark tunnels full of treacherous crags and trickling streams of poison. One of these tunnels, sadly, is what (before the relentless nuclear torture) I once called my anus. The other tunnel is the perilous future of mankind if we do not thwart these horrible apes.

What a fool I was, thinking I could combine those tachyon crystals from the planet Orbloo with those precocious little lab apes. I was so certain I was on my way towards winning the Space Nobel Prize, in the category of Space Physiology or Space Medicine. Of course with crippling intelligence comes a price. Once I'd increased their intelligence thirty-seven times the apes detonated my orbiting laboratory, murdered my wife, fashioned capes out of her flesh, and forced me to watch them play a game they invented called "The Justice League, except with capes made of Mrs. Scoresboard".

Dear, precious fellow human, I am your only hope of escaping this talent show alive. Sneak me a loaded gun during tonight's performance, or a shiv. I understand that with some water and papier-mâché available in a common drugstore, the playbill in your hand can be fashioned into a deadly shiv. Please, anything, I would do anything to escape the endless hours I spend attached to the radioactive rectumometer at the bottom of this well, somewhere in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood.

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