(man) Once upon a time, two East Indian
immigrants had a boy, who they loved dearly,
yet, nevertheless, named Juggernaut Onan Goopta.
Other than the name and the beard, he was a normal boy,
who suffered all the usual humiliations of a normal childhood.
Upon leaving high school, he went to college
with a dream of becoming a neuroscientist.
His goal was to be the first to comprehend how the biology of the brain
gives birth to the greatest mystery of life: self-consciousness.
Unfortunately, his own brain could not comprehend basic biology.
He quickly switched majors to philosophy.
But, alas, while reading Kierkegaard'? "The Sickness unto Death",
he became sick, and nearly died.
During recovery, though still suffering from dementia,
he set forth on a new dream: to become a writer.
His forays into detective fiction were so inept,
they were mistaken for brilliant parodies,
and finding immediate publication in the highbrow literary journal 'The Dark Mask'.
Alongside the work of a group of young writers,
one of whom would go on to become the leading literary light of his generation,
composing profound stories in a style that made Proust seem pallid,
his lovable flamboyancy made him not only a
literary icon, but a cultural one as well.
Why, he even made a cameo appearance in an award-winning film at Cannes.
Nobody ever comes outta there alive!
But we're here to focus on Goopta.
After the demise of the magazine, Goopta could not sell his work,
and he became destitute and suicidal.
Out of pure desperation, he managed, in a single, feverish night,
to crank out a book that changed the course of history:
“How to be Happy Even When You Shouldn't'.
It was followed by the best sellers:
“How to Manipulate People by your Apparent Friendliness'
and “How to Overcome Your Fears by Making Others Fear You'.
Upon the release of his masterpiece, Goopta hit the lecture hall circuit,
always preaching to standing room only, for
he shrewdly refrained from providing chairs.
(Goopta) Every painful moment in your life casts a shadow across your neurobiology.
Until you exterminate these dark memories, you will remain in a negative groove.
Thus, those who cannot forget their past are condemned to repeat it.
(man) Goopta then opened an institute to help teach people to become self-helpful.
Patients, who were called "doctors" as the term "patient" has unhealthy associations,
learned how to shed the darkness of their minds by therapies taught by the staff,
which, to inspire a sense of empirical transmigration,
is modelled after the US Postal Service.
The institute proved so popular, Selfosoplw branched out.
Institutes popped up throughout the nation,
and Goopta announced a new evolution to Selfosoplw.
(Goopta) After wiping its mind of darkness, the self must then wipe its eternal soul.
Since our souls have existed for thousands of years before the advent of Selfosoplw,
we all have a great deal of wiping to do.
(man) The tax-exempt belief system also evolved its own theology.
But I can't tell you what it is. It's a secret.
When learning the theology, Selfosophists undergo a blood oath ritual, also a secret.
So this artist's depiction is purely speculative, and surely way over the top.
In fact, forget you even saw it.
In any case, all this secrecy and profits drew criticism from some quarters.
Bu! These critics were quickly silenced, either by libel suits,
or by what Selfosophists call "knock-knock zoom-zoom affirmations".
There were even internal criticisms.
If a member continues his complaints, he is deemed a “ratfinkovich”,
and is excommunicated from Selfosophy.
In 1979, Onan Goopta moulted his earthly encumbrance
to pursue his Selfosophical research in another dimension.
That means he died of prostate cancer.
But the institution he left has never been
more popular as we head into the millennium.
A happy, upbeat ending, if ever there was one.
That is, it was, until I re-entered the story.
And it's about time!
You see, while conducting this research, [was contacted by a recent 'ratfinkovichfl
who, in one of those coincidences found only in real life and great fiction,
actually was named Ratfinkovich. Joseph P Ratfinkovich.
And he promised to reveal to me the never before disclosed secret behind Selfosoplw.
Goopta... is God.
That's it?
To find out that the ultimate revelation of Selfosophy is that its god
is the guy who invented the damn thing?
There's not really much of a "wow" in that, is there?
Actually, the "wow" can lead you to neurospiritual happiness,
away from despair, depression, and even flippancy.
Please.
I assure you that I regard this subject with the utmost respect and seriousness.
You have my word as a writer.
That's why I chose you to confess to.
You see...
Besides Onan Goopta, of course, you're my favourite writer.
Oh.
I have read everything you've ever written.
Including, obviously, your most recent short story,
which is what got me into all this trouble.
Yes. Now, tell me... Obviously you still believe in Selfosophy.
Do you think it's fair that you were excommunicated just for reading fiction?
Selfosophy has the legal right to cut me off from my beliefs, from my friends...
from everything.
My first novel, it goes without saying, was autobiographical.
Yes, it was about me and my closest friends, all writers.
The book came out to universal praise, except by my friends.
Of all people, they should have understood why I wrote about us.
They felt... betrayed.
None of them ever spoke to me again.
So I'm here to tell you that "so lonesome you could die"
is not a mere phrase.
I imagine you feel somewhat like that right now.
I have never been so happy in all of my life.
Well, at least he died happy.
Yeah, don't let the cadaveric spasm fool
you. Electrocution ain't no pleasure cruise.
Maybe that's the connection with these Playpen magazines.
"Mistress November's turn-ons: guy with a nice smile."
Who buys so many copies of the same issue of the same nudie mag?
A pervert with an obsessive-compulsive disorder, that's who.
So imagine this poor guy. He's down at the local news stand.
He's buying another dozen issues cos he can't help himself.
And who's there to witness this display of indulgence?
An antiporn feminist lesbian.
So, under false pretences, she approaches the
guy, suggests she give him a personal layout.
Once back here, she immediately gets down to business.
Time-out. I thought you said she was an antiporn feminist lesbian.
She's one of those sexy, good-looking kind.
- Yikes. - Exactly.
Cos guess what she's got stashed under her Secrets. A cattle prod.
She starts zapping him. He's screaming "Stop, stop."
But she can't stop. She won't stop.
She'll never stop till every pervert's wiped
off the face of the scum-sucking planet.
What a woman.
To know that profile reveals less about the perp than it does about the prof tier.
- Scares me. - Hey, Frank.
I probably shouldn't have called you, but I got a hunch this case is millenniumistic.
This was done by someone he was familiar with.
He will end up being very similar to the
victim in many ways: age, education, income.
This was a torture session, something to gain information.
Maybe a shady business deal.
(mimics buzzer)
Anyone else care to try "crime scene scenarios" for 500?
Instead of taking pictures of the victim's body,
you should photograph his bookshelves.
A person's death says nothing about their life, but...
the books say it all.
Oh, yeah? Not mine.
I don't got no books.
- Exactly. - Don't disturb the crime scene.
Rocket McGrain. A roving, freelance forensic prof tier.
Of all the absurd nonsense. Written by the same man who created Selfosophy.
I don't care who's on the book. Who the hell are you?
(Frank) Jose Chung.
Back in high school, I read your book, A Lapful of Severed Tongues, about ten times.
Oh.
That's the worst book I ever wrote.
What is your involvement with the victim?
I am responsible for his death.
I have been in town doing research for my new book,
which examines newly-arising belief systems at the end of the millennium.
- What did I tell you? - Playpen is running a segment, page 162.
A short story that offended Selfosophists.
So that's what they put in these back pages.
Unable to halt distribution, they sent their
members out to buy all available copies,
so that this blasphemous story could not be read by unsuspecting masturbators.
He didn't just buy the magazines.
He read the story.
And he liked it.
Confession led to his excommunication,
and he got in touch with you to talk about Selfosophy's hierarchy.
How in the world did you deduce all that?
I'm a roving, freelance, forensic prof tier.
Oh.
I still ain't heard how this guy got fried.
After I left, after arranging the meeting for tonight,
I imagine that Mr Ratfinkovich received another visitor.
Boy, am I glad to see you.
I haven't talked to anybody since they kicked me out.
Uh, d-d-don't you think it would be better if we talked on a more personal level?
- What does he pull out of the case? - An Onan-O-Graph.
Selfosophists claim it's a self-therapeutic device used to modify emotional states.
It's a cassette player used to register a
user's emotional response to questions on tape.
- That's a lie detector. - With a cassette player. Hah.
(man) Do you harbour any bitterness towards Selfosophy?
No. I understand why they had to...
Do you harbour any bitterness towards Selfosoplw?
Yes. But only because...
Take a moment to reflect on your current state.
Are you feeling anxious, confused, nervous?
Very much so.
So, obviously, this bitterness is not making you feel any better.
Now, doesn't it seem wiser to not feel bitter?
Well... Yes. Yes, I guess it does.
Have you shared this misguided bitterness with any non-Selfosophist?
No. That's against the rules.
(Onan-O-Graph beeps)
Have you shared this misguided bitterness with any non-Selfosophist?
Yes.
Was this non-Selfosophist a member of the media?
Roland? You look like you're thinking negative thoughts.
P-please don't be dark.
Was this non-Selfosophist a...
It was Chung. It was Jose Chung. I didn't have anyone...
(Geibelhouse) Why's he do that with his hands?
Whenever he thinks a negative thought,
the gestures remind the Selfosophist to think the complete opposite thought.
So then what'd he do?
I'm sorry. I seriously doubt that this device would malfunction in this way.
I know they can't. I was merely being fanciful.
- Fanciful? - Mm-hm.
You mean you don't have any proof?
Proof? I was making it up as I went along.
Don't these Selfosophists got a headquarters downtown?
- Yeah. You mind if I come along with you? - Gents, be careful.
These Selfosophists can be very evasive.
And persuasive.
Well, we know how to question someone to get what we want out of 'em.
So do they.
That is a very perceptive point, but our
techniques are patented for that very reason.
If an ex-member tries to make them public,
we would sue that person to the fullest extent
of, but in full accordance with, the law.
Furthermore, just because your suspect might coincidentally be a Selfosophist,
I don't think it's fair to place Selfosophy itself under suspicion.
In fact, if you continue to do so, we may have
to regard this harassment as discrimination
and sue you to the fullest extent of, but in full accordance with, the law.
But it won't come to that, since by definition
a Selfosophist is incapable of murder.
Selfosophy teaches how to rid oneself of thoughts concerning others
and focus on what is most important - yourself.
You're familiar with the films of Bobby Wingood.
Bobby used to be an out-of-work actor, high on drugs,
beating up paparazzi who wouldn't take his picture. Then he found Selfosophy.
Learned how to reject rage and anger and focus on more meaningful emotions.
Now he's rich and famous and dating high-priced fashion models.
In fact, many of Hollywood's elite are Selfosophists.
How could a religious order with ties to Hollywood be involved in anything immoral?
But don't worry. I think I have something that will prove useful to you.
Detective, you obviously possess many unique skills,
but I sense that your negativity is holding you back.
Are you aware how often you use negatively associated words?
No, I don't neither.
And Mr Black, your profound solemnity is a sure sign of a noble nature,
but people are reluctant to open up to dark, gloomy brooders.
They are?
I can tell that you'd do almost anything to find this killer of yours,
but what are you willing to do to find yourselves?
(Chung) Every unhappy person is unhappy in their own way.
Happy people are all alike, especially Selfosophists,
whose positive-thinking therapies make every day a beautiful day.
(alarm)
Yes.
This is the 27,466th time I've had to brush my teeth,
and I never get tired of it.
Oh, boy! A traffic jam. And road construction to boot.
Darn. It's not whether my team won or lost, it's how they played the game.
Bu! Even a positive-thinking, goal-orientated
entrepreneur like Napoleon had his Waterloo.
"Every unhappy person is unhappy in their own
way. Happy people are alike, especially...
Selfosophists."
Sometimes it's good to laugh at yourself. Keeps you humble.
(man) Since you can't control others, isn't it
better to control your feelings towards them?
Chung ridiculed all that I hold sacred.
And with Selfosophy so close to respectability...
Since you can't control others, isn't it better to control...
He makes fun of using the Onan-O-Graph.
"(shouts) Neg" -
(calmly) Negative feelings directed at others is never constructive.
Instead of giving out hatred, why not give a gift?
Even if it's unappreciated, you'll feel better about yourself, won't you?
Yeah.
I'll send this writer a gift, just to show him that we can take a joke.
Even if that joke is a sad, spiteful, stupid piece of sh...
(phone rings)
- Frank Black. - Mr Black.
This is Jose Chung.
I hope you don't mind my calling you, but Detective Geibelhouse gave me your number.
No, not at all. In fact, I was just reading your story.
It's amusing. Although I'm not too sure I'm comfortable with the tone.
I'll take that as an unqualified rave.
Mr Black, the reason I'm calling you is,
I received something in the mail that I think you will find of some interest.
Yet another pretty example of life imitating the very alt it condemns.
- You don't seem disturbed by this. - A writer wants his work to affect people.
You'd prefer the effects not be expressed by death threats, but...
beggars cannot be choosers.
Besides, the antagonist in my story sends many such threats before acting upon them.
Just because this person copied one element
doesn't mean he'll follow the whole story.
Well, let's hope he doesn't follow the ending.
You, uh, didn't read the whole story, did you?
- Well... - The Selfosophist psycho
finally confronts the writer, killing him.
The police give chase, but because he keeps a positive attitude -
"I can get away if I think I can get away"...
he gets away.
That's very downbeat.
Life is downbeat, Monsieur Noir.
I've got another case, so all I can really advise is...
You know, your work is utterly fascinating to me.
Do you think it's possible I could... tag along?
I mean, just, you know, as an observer, of course.
Is the only reason you're interested in me because I'm involved with...
The Millennium Group?
I've become aware of your mysterious little group.
But no, I have no plans to include them in my millennium book.
You have my word as a writer.
You can learn about a person from the books on their shelves.
Campus security told me this guy taught comparative religions.
It wasn't until I saw these Nostradamus books
that I realised this case was millenniumistic.
Frank. Thank God you're here.
- It's Amos Randy, the Nostradamus scholar. - I've consulted with him a few times.
So did the Group. The police were thinking disgruntled student. We think otherwise.
It may have been a student, but this is not about grades.
"Blood rains upon the first ignorant tyrant.
Second falls with voice in holy woods."
- "Third antichrist destroyed to serve man."
- Lines from Nostradamus?
Phrases from different quatrains, all jumbled up.
This is from a book somewhere in this room.
Looks like he's targeted victims he considers Nostradamus's antichrists.
The first ignorant tyrant was the professor?
Is this it?
The page fits. This must be the attacker's book.
- Then the killer can't be a student. - How do you know that?
Dog-eared pages. Highlighted passages. Margin notations.
This book has actually been read. It can't be a student's.
Uh, Frank... Can I consult with you for...
Who is that rather peculiar man?
It's the writer Jose Chung. He's here researching a book about the millennium.
- The Group's not interested in publicity. - Not about our Group. Not about us.
He's working on a case that could be of great interest to the Group.
- A Selfosophist was found... - Whoa, whoa.
Selfosophy? No, Frank. No, no, no, no.
What is going on? We've never backed away from anything.
Why, we've even looked at evil incarnate.
Evil incarnate can't sue.
All I'm saying is, be careful what you say around your writer friend.
So, imagine the girlfriend going off to college,
discovering all these new ideas and brilliant professors.
The blue-collar boyfriend tries to read some of her books.
You know, to show that he has an interest in her interests.
So the girl breaks up the relationship.
The boy's world is shattered. His own personal apocalypse.
But, in his madness, he finds...
This is very good.
In his madness, he finds an explanation for his unhappiness.
Nostradamus, you see, wasn't predicting world events.
He was predicting the cataclysmic events of this poor boy's life.
So, fulfilling the prophecies as he interpreted them,
he kills his ex-girlfriend's teacher.
- With a pickaxe. - What the hell's going on here?
- I'm profiling. - Based on what?
The coded message. I cracked it.
You see, the "voice in holy woods" refers to the Hollywood Movie House Theater,
currently showing an Orson Welles film festival.
Orson Welles was the voice-over narrator of the film The Man Who Could See Tomorrow.
A documentary about...
- Nostradamus. - Mr Chung.
Can I have a word with you, just for a moment?
Certainly, yes. Excuse me, please.
- I thought that was very good. - You promised you'd be an observer.
That was before I realised how similar our jobs are.
You see, based on some vague details and notions,
you try to sketch out a person's past, in order to imagine their future actions.
Detection, dramaturgy - it's all the same.
Yeah. You can't erase blood.
(Chung) “Don't be dark, “ say Selfosophists.
Bu! How can you not be, when your job is to...
The agony and humiliation of being a human is in every line I've ever written.
And it's written in every line on the face of Frederick Blork.
God, I love his face. Not in that way. No one could love his face that way.
It's hideous. Bu! Beauty is not always found in the beautiful.
Just as sanity is not always found in the insane.
(Frank) Nothing connects Ratfinkovicifs
assailant with Chung's threatener, and yet...
such a reaction to the story suggests someone unaccustomed to insubordination.
His profession might be dictatorial in nature.
- Complete control over his underlings.
A management executive, or a foreman. Or maybe a writer.
(Roland) Newton: Mr Chong is writing. He's not to be disturbed by anybody.
McGrain: By anybody? I'm Rocket McGrain.
McGrain punches Newton right in the balls, knocking him out.
Boy, my writing?» really improved since I got this new software.
Dissolve to: interior, Rico Chang's office. Night.
In his palatial of lice, the cocky hack cranks out more venomous fiction,
cackling with snotty glee.
(Chung sighs)
This book will be the death of me.
I just can't write any more.
What possessed me to want to be a writer anyway?
What kind of a life is this?
What else can I do now?
With no other skills or abilities.
My life has fizzled away.
Only two options left.
Suicide, or become a television weatherman.
Like television Weathermen,
giving information one could gather simply by looking out the window,
forensic prof tiers provide lime of practical value.
Mr Blork, however, not only intuits specific details,
but, to better comprehend a particular pathology,
he's willing to submit himself to that very madness.
(man) Utilising these copyrighted techniques
will help brighten the darkness of your mind.
Let us now try an easy visualisation therapy. Are you ready?
- Yeah. - (man) Good.
Picture in your mind something you've seen recently that disturbed you.
It can be a stain on your favourite shirt, or a scratch on your new car.
Just close your eyes and try to picture an unpleasant image.
Have you pictured an image? Good.
Now picture a deflated beach ball. Inflate
this beach ball with your disturbing image.
Now push this dark beach ball away from you.
Just push that ball, and watch it float away from your mind.
That's it. Keep pushing that unpleasantness away.
- (phone rings) - Frank Black.
Hey, Frank. It's Geibelhouse.
I don't mean to be too downbeat here, but we got another dead body.
The ushers say it was her ex-boyfriend. They tried to stop him, but he escaped.
- Was she a student of Dr Randy's? - Yeah, but she was an English lit major.
Which is why she was reading Chung's book, I guess. That's the guy.
- They look so happy together. - See, that just goes to show.
Happiness is not a given. You gotta strive to maintain your upbeatness.
Have you been reading Selfosophy books?
It's investigative research.
Don't be so dark.
Well, we've positively lD'd the guy. Now we just have to...
- What's the matter? - It's this Selfosophy thing.
You have to focus on your priorities. We've got to track down this killer.
Before he attacks his third antichrist, as your profile predicted.
No, it was Chung's profile that predicted this murder.
Are you suggesting we recruit Jose Chung to be in the Millennium Group?
I've come up with a new profile. My secret admirer is a writer.
That conforms with mine. How did you come up with that?
Well, he sent me another gift today.
Now, read the inscription.
"Here's what a real writer does - enlightens while he entertains."
"Plus, the murder victim is a famous author, hint hint."
Only the writer would send that.
A writer needs everybody to read and love his work, even people he wants to kill.
This was written by Onan Goopta.
Ghostwritten and ghostbought by Selfosophists.
On a regular basis, they go into stores and buy multiple copies of Goopta's books.
Just so they land on the best seller list. It's so brilliant.
You know, I've been thinking of creating my own army of surplus book buyers.
Frank, come join me.
- The continuation of your threatener's... - Maybe he'll be there tonight.
- Be where tonight? - I'm doing a signing at Baltleby's Books.
You are already courting disaster by staying
here, let alone making a public appearance.
Monsieur Noir, unlike serial killer profiling,
writing is a very depressing and lonely profession.
Any chance I get to make contact with my readers I must take.
It gives me the will to go on.
This is how it will all end.
Not with floods, earthquakes, falling comets,
or gigantic crabs roaming the Earth. No.
Doomsday will start
simply out of indifference.
I'm sorry. I guess I'm bitter because nobody
came for me to sign my freakin' books!
If you don't mind my asking, you're writing a book about the millennium,
yet you don't believe in the prophecies.
At the start of the '90s, they predicted major breakthroughs for the neurosciences.
"The decade of the brain", it was supposed to be.
Instead, it was the decade of...
body piercing.
Now, why should the millennium predictions be any more accurate?
But there's the religious component. Do you not believe in God either?
There are times when I've been, yes, a devout believer.
And other times I have been a staunch atheist.
And sometimes, I've been both.
During the course of the same sexual act.
Don't be dark.
Personally, I think this is a very significant time in mankind's history.
But that's what every man throughout history has said about his time.
Look at all these books. So much significance.
But will they still exist a thousand years from now?
One, maybe two, writers will still be read. Can you name the two?
- Well, Shakespeare, and... - That's one.
Shakespeare and Chung.
No. Thank you. No.
- Shakespeare and Goopta. - Goopta?
Selfosophists have gone to great lengths to safeguard
the eternal circulation of his writing.
They may not be read by the end of the next millennium,
but they still certainly, certainly will literally exist.
How the hell would they preserve these for that long?
If I told you, I would have to kill you.
Oh, I wish that was a joke.
I'm sorry I haven't read more of your books.
I'm sorry I had to cut you and your group out of my new book.
You said you weren't going to write about... You cut us out?
I just didn't feel you were millenniumistic enough.
(Frank) “It was the 37th murder by the same
serial killer, but no one knew who he was.“
“One thing's for sure. He had tons of unresolved personal problems.'
"The victim was a famous writer, but the cops
didn't have a clue why he'd been targeted."
“The mood was very bleak, until...“
Boys, boys, boys, lighten up. This is a homicide, not a funeral.
McGrain. Thank God you're here. We got a real ugly case.
- Want to view the body? - Is there blood?
Of course there's blood.
Then thanks, but no thanks. Whatever goes
into the peepers ends up in the neurobiology.
I only look at things that are pretty.
Would you like to come over to my apartment
and take my portrait? Bring a wide-angle lens.
But you just can't close your eyes to the darkness, the bleak side of life.
I'm Rocket McGrain and I do whatever I want to maintain my upbeatness.
That's all well and good, but we got a murder to solve.
This case is a piece of cake with ice cream on the side.
Are you gonna use your profiling powers?
I don't need to. I know what killed this writer - his bad writing.
He wrote downbeat stories about depressed people doing dark things. Who wants that?
People don't wanna know how rotten mankind is,
they wanna be enlightened while being entertained.
That's what real writers do. To serve man.
Watts.
Peter, call Geibelhouse and meet me at Jose Chung's hotel room. Now.
One of his titles is To Serve Man.
I hope it's not a cookbook.
It is the book the girl in the theatre was
reading. Chung is the killer's third antichrist.
(phone rings)
Oh.
Rocket McGrain, I presume.
Writing more blasphemy about Selfosophy?
I'm trying, but it's awfully noisy in here.
You know, you're exactly howl imagined you.
As are you. Although I didn't expect such a flair for the dramatic.
Cranky, miserable. Sarcastically bitter.
I'm always grouchy when facing a deadline.
Maybe that's because you call them a "deadline".
You might react more positively to them if you called them a "liveline".
Or a "birthline".
If you're here to kill me, fine. But please
refrain from murdering the English language.
I'm pretty handy with the language myself.
In fact, maybe I'll create a new definition for "deadline".
Too late!
I'm done.
As if I'd allow you to publish our secrets, to ridicule all our beliefs.
It's not just your beliefs. I ridicule a whole bunch of other beliefs.
Why? Why bring pain to people trying to wipe
away their pain and find true happiness?
If I used your therapies to wipe away my pain, I'd disappear.
And if my right to choose amusement wherever I want,
- if that were wiped away too, I'd die. - You'll die all right.
You're supposed to say that line more out of
the side of your mouth - "You'll die all right."
This is all just a lark to you, isn't it?
Certainly not.
Humourless people like you scare the hell out of me.
But I've developed a few therapies of my own.
I've learned to appreciate the preposterousness of any profundity.
And, in my distress, I am able to find the smallest, most absurd detail.
Yes. As if God were looking down, winking at me, and letting me in on the joke.
Well, my god doesn't wink.
Don't I know it.
I once knew your god.
He worshipped me.
He thought I was a literary genius.
And I was then.
And then he asked me what I thought of his writing.
And I told him.
"Goopta, you stink."
Because he did.
I never saw a man other than myself, a grown man, cry so hard for so long.
I put my arm around him. I said "It doesn't matter that I don't like your work."
"What matters is that you enjoy doing it. You must do what makes you happy."
But I didn't know that what would make him happy would be to be a deity.
So.
You are here to kill me because I once told God to not be dark.
Isn't that funny?
So feel free to use your Onan-O-Graph and your therapies,
if that's what it takes to make you happy.
And I truly mean this.
Good luck to you, buddy.
But please allow me to wallow in my own misery in peace.
And if I should look up from my downbeat abyss and find you to be a fool,
that's no right for you to commit upon me a foolish act.
No. Wrong is wrong, happy is happy, and death is...
Inevitable. I believe McGrain would call this a diversionary tactic.
- Who the hell's this? - The Selfosophy psycho.
- Are you all right? - Uh-huh.
Die, you dark bastard.
All right! My gun jammed.
Maybe it'll read better all jumbled up like this.
A third antichrist destroyed. To serve man.
Hell's bells.
Hey, don't try it. You'll never make it across.
Not with that negative attitude I won't.
No!
(tyres screech)
Geibelhouse!
- Is that you, Frank? - Yeah.
- Who was this? - The Selfosophy psycho. Tried to get away.
Looking really downbeat.
Hey, Frank, thanks for the tip. The boys just caught the guy coming out the front.
- What guy? - The Nostradamus nutball.
Frank.
Fr-Frank?
What?
Don't you just love that moustache?
Yeah, it's...
(Chung) Well, all's well that ends well.
That's easy for Shakespeare to say. He'll be around for another millennium.
But what of our own millennium? Will it all end well?
No one, of course, can know. That, of course, doesn't stop anyone from guessing.
And the nature of these predictions always revolve around the usual suspects:
salvation, andlor self-satisfaction.
With that in mind, I humbly add my own prophecy
of what the dawn of the new millennium shall bring forth.
One thousand more years of the same old crap.
Visiontext Subtitles: Paul Burns
(child) I made this!
ENGLISH SDH