My Fellow Earthicans,

I have been to Triangulum. I have scouted a G-type main-sequence star (GV2) that is orbited by a proper Goldilocks zone terrestrial planet with a 40,000 km circumference, and which is itself orbited by a single moon 11,000 km in circumference. All of these very specific conditions are necessary for the long-term maintenance of life that evolved on this Earth, and let me tell you – it wasn’t easy to find. But that almost doesn’t matter, because it’s perfect. Salt oceans but fresh water inland, vast forests, blue skies, big edible animals, gigantic patches of fertile soil, cool temperatures. In short, I have found a new Earth, which I shall call New Earth. The one thing it lacks? People. There are zero monkeys on the whole jaunz (as far as I can tell so far), and as yet only one great ape has touched its surface: me. And now that I have fulfilled the dream that Earthicans have dreamed for millennia – maybe as long as there have been hominids – by finding a distant planet that harbors life, I have a message for all of humanity. And that message is:

Fuck all y’all bitches. Seriously. My people have been chased up into the highest mountains of the Pacific Northwest, down into the deepest jungles of Florida, into the bottomlands of Arkansas, into the utterly unlivable allergen-dense grasslands of Ohio, and finally under the shittiest bridge in Franklin county. Our thermal images have been exploited for the financial gain of dickbags with awful names; our footprints have been examined, cast in plaster, and hoarded like porn DVDs by creepy foot-fetish-having academics; and our women have been made the unwilling subjects of disgusting and VERY poorly shot gonzo-style porn. From time immemorial, we have been hated, hunted, shot at, and exploited. And therefore: I hate you. All of you tiny relatively-hairless wusses can totally just suck it, and when the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl comes back and totally wrecks y’all’s shit up, I hope he takes his time about it, and that being crushed into a singularity hurts like a motherfucker. That’s why I’m out of here without taking any of you with me. That’s why I’m out of here, and NOT giving you people the plans to build your own saucers to get the fuck out as well. That’s why I’m leaving you behind, to be crushed to a density that not even light can escape from. And what’s more is that you deserve it.

Ferocity, the insatiable urge to kill, feed, mate, reproduce, and decimate everything in view – these traits of yours aren’t the only reasons I’m keeping you off my perfect forest planet with the prettiest pale blue moon you could imagine. I’m also keeping you off because of Glenn Beck, fizzy yellow American beer, that TV show Ghost Hunters, that TV show Toddlers in Tiaras, My Chemical Romance, top-40 radio, talk radio, The Disney Store, dubstep, and the sheer number of pictures of cats that are on the internet. All the fucktarded abominations of pop culture and everyday life? You can keep ‘em all here. I’m going to the woods like Wordsworth, without a single picture of a cat, or a single video of some whored-up cunt-in-training screaming at her super-fat mom who lives vicariously (pathetically) through her. And that’s it. See you. I’m out.

The one problem? I’ll miss you guys. I’ve grown kind of fond of some of my hobo pals who live in the woods and stuff, and sometimes it’s even fun talking to (or occasionally LYING to) The Fat Kid. Not for what they themselves are, but for what they provide me with – someone to listen to me talk about things they can barely understand. Someone to make me feel superior in every way. Someone to appreciate the awesomeness of my discursive skills. I’ll miss that.

So, even though I’m not going to bring any of you with me, I honestly feel that I cannot forsake your company entirely until you are all crushed up and stuff . That’s why I promise to write. What I plan to do is string out, between here and New Earth, a series of very small satellites that will transmit my email messages to The Fat Kid, and also allow me to stream Netflix movies, check my email and so on, all the way up til you’re all dead. I’ll write to you about whatever I do and wherever I visit in the galaxy (assuming I do anything or visit anywhere), or even just my reflections on living the life of a Milky Wayean ex-pat.

So, look forward to that, everyone. I have all my supplies, seeds, equipment, & c. already set up on New Earth, and now I’m off for good. See you. Or not.

Peace (seriously, I mean it)