The Strangers Don’t Like To Be Disappointed

I found out. It came to me. Out of the blue. Maybe I listen to too much late radio. Too much Art Bell. That brain tumor I talked about some time ago. I realize now that it was no brain tumor. More sinister than that. It’s an implant. There were dozens of us implanted with special beacons. So the strangers could find us. We were picked. Individually. The strangers expected us to become leaders in industry, commerce, politics. My problem. I think I’m going to disappoint them. The strangers don’t like to be disappointed. I’m going to tell them that I’m the leader of a secret organization that controls everything. Its a company. A good front. We produce toilet paper.

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