I haven't made a video for a while. This is my excuse.  Four months ago I quit smoking. This made me sad, sad, sad, and edgy and lethargic and completely uninspired to do anything to the point where, if I did anything, it was going to be crap. So, surprise, surprise, I did some things and they were crap. The trolls started getting to me and I was ready to commit suicide. Poor me. But someone was watching out for me, up there. Yes, it's true. I have become a Christian, because I have to thank someone bigger than me for keeping me alive.

What happened was, when I quit smoking, my immune system held a party and everyone got wasted. Unfortunately, this was the night before the first plague of swine flu swept the country. I would have contracted it myself, but aliens in flying saucers abducted me and did naughty things to my rectum. They stuck something in my head too. I shaved the other side to even it out from the surgery. The aliens caught a few swine influenzas crashing the party, trying to act like one of the guys. In fact, the aliens said that the nanocells they injected to cure me reported hearing one of the swine influenzas saying, “I love you man,” just before vaporizing.

The aliens all looked like Michael Jackson. A highly advanced, super technological, hyper-intelligent race of alien Michael Jacksons. Don't put much stock in his death. Even if they couldn't cure that one, there are plenty of Michael Jacksons in the sea.

The alien Michael Jacksons took me to a secret military compound in Peoria, Illinois. Peoria the real Area 51. The one in New Mexico was just a decoy for Star Trek fans. Leonard Nimoy vacations there in the winter. Peoria, on the other hand, is where people from across the galaxy convene to plot how they're going to take over the world. I asked why, with a whole galaxy at their disposal, they would want this little planet. “Copyright laws,” they said. “Ours aren't as strict, and we want to get rich from the movie rights to the invasion.”

“You're taking over the world just to get into the movies?” I asked.

“Why? Is there a better reason to bother with this planet.”

A lot of strange-looking people in Peoria. I got to go because the Michael Jackson aliens couldn't find a babysitter Friday night on such a short notice.

It was there that I interrupted a hot debate on whether feet could somehow be incorporated into human transportation to announce I was writing two books. I said I would reveal all the goings-on that were going on if they didn't give me a cigarette right then and there. “Nobody is going to believe you,” they said, and gave me a cigarette anyway. “Maybe,” I said. “I guess the part where I become a christian is a little over the top.” So here I am now, happy, healthy, and smoking.