The Royal Tombs Fax
Look into my native eyes, K.B.... you, too, are under my spell.
Know that though my people have been assimilated or destroyed by your conquering caucasians and your in-born foreign diseases centuries ago, you K.B. are one of those within my power now.
Know well that the gods demand a sacrifice for past transgressions.
The gods demand that one of your fellow guilty caucasians, stained with your ancestors' curse, must go to the DIA and be marveled by the works created by my people. Hear now my demands of you K.B., who through the advances in the fields of electronics and waves and other arcane segments of science, you K.B., who reaches the ignorant masses, you must send forth a pilgrim to honor these artifacts with many an "ooh!" and "aaah!" and "holy shit, how in the hell did they make that?!?"
Yes you, K.B., must choose that pilgrim.
And since you are under my power, which is enhanced by this fax paper and ink in a way that your childish science can never comprehend or hope to duplicate, the person you will choose is S. Klender. He and his wife will make the sojourn into Detroit and "holy shit" at my people's works. You need not concern yourself with him directly - I am already preparing him, for he is in my power also.
But, you must help. In order for him to get the most out of his experience in witnessing these archaeological treasures, he must be at ease with himself. He must achieve a state of nirvana. Therefore, K.B., you will be the tool to prep him; the gods demand that you play Nirvana's "Verse, Chorus, Verse." It will make him happy. It will keep him in a job. It will prepare him for his descent through the centuries to view the labors of my people.
And think not, K.B., that you are exempt from witnessing the treasures of the Royal Tombs. No, your "holy shits" are requested at the DIA in the near future. I have spoken.
© sklender, 1996 - Until My Death, and then three weeks beyond that.