All language subtitles for S02 E09

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 Kierkegaards
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 were 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 Shouldnt.

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.

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.

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,
Selfosophy branched out.

Institutes popped up throughout
the nation,

and Goopta announced
a new evolution to Selfosophy.

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 Selfosophy,

we all have a great deal of wiping to do.

The tax-exempt belief system
also evolved its own theology.

But I cant tell you what it is.
Its a secret.

When learning the theology, Selfosophists
undergo a blood oath ritual, also a secret.

So this artists 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.

But 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 its about time!

You see, while conducting this research,
I was contacted by a recent ratfinkovich,

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 Selfosophy.

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 newsstand.

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 profiler.

- 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.

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 profiler.

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?

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'tjust 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 profiler.

- 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.

Do you harbour
any bitterness towards Selfosophy?

No. I understand why they had to...

Do you harbour any bitterness
towards Selfosophy?

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, doesnt 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.

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...

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?

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.

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.

But even a positive-thinking, goal-oriented
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.

Since you cant control others, isnt it
better to control your feelings towards them?

Chung ridiculed all that I hold sacred.

And with Selfosophy so close
to respectability...

Since you cant control others,
isnt it better to control...

He makes fun of using the Onan-O-Graph.

Neg...

Negative feelings directed
at others is never constructive.

Instead of giving out hatred,
why not give a gift?

Even if its unappreciated,
youll feel better about yourself, wont you?

Yeah.

I'll send this writer a gift,
just to show him that we can take ajoke.

Even if thatjoke is a sad,
spiteful, stupid piece of sh...

- 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 art 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 ourjobs 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.

Dont be dark, say Selfosophists.

But how can you not be,
when your job is to...

The agony and humiliation of being a human
is in every line Ive ever written.

And its 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.

Its hideous. But beauty
is not always found in the beautiful.

Just as sanity
is not always found in the insane.

Nothing connects Ratfinkovichs
assailant with Chungs 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.

Newton: Mr Chong is writing.
Hes not to be disturbed by anybody.

McGrain: By anybody? Im Rocket McGrain.

McGrain punches Newton right in the balls,
knocking him out.

Boy, my writings really improved
since I got this new software.

Dissolve to:
interior, Rico Chongs office. Night.

In his palatial office, the cocky hack
cranks out more venomous fiction,

cackling with snotty glee.

This book will be the death of me.

I just cant 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 profilers provide
little of practical value.

Mr Blork, however,
not only intuits specific details,

but, to better comprehend
a particular pathology,

hes willing to submit himself
to that very madness.

Utilising these copyrighted techniques
will help brighten the darkness of your mind.

Let us now try an easy visualisation therapy.
Are you ready?

- Yeah.
- Good.

Picture in your mind something
youve 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.

Thats it.
Keep pushing that unpleasantness away.

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, thatjust 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 ID'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 Bartleby'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 ajoke.

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.

It was the 37th murder by the same
serial killer, but no one knew who he was.

One things for sure. He had tons
of unresolved personal problems.

The victim was a famous writer, but the cops
didnt have a clue why hed 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 its not a cookbook.

It is the book the girl in the theatre was
reading. Chung is the killer's third antichrist.

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 how I 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 notjust 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!

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...

Well, alls well that ends well.

Thats easy for Shakespeare to say.
Hell 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,
doesnt stop anyone from guessing.

And the nature of these predictions always
revolve around the usual suspects:

salvation, and/or 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.

I made this!