Heed my words, oh miniscule and pulchritudinous ones.  Hear and heed, you
  who do not fellatiate, and you who know not the meaning of the great and
  high remex.  The end is near.  You must heed and follow the things I will
  speak unto you, the words of the great gods, the god of the windowshade,
  the god of the distributor cap, the god of the blue bikini underwear and
  most importantly the god of the dead japanese beetle somewhere on the
  campus of rutgers university.  By heeding these words, you will improve
  the gas mileage of your car, enter into a new age of harmony, peace,
  happiness, and belgian waffles.  Bring things home each day and not pay
  for them until next september, and make sure that your live is sanctioned
  and guarded by the great race of aliens which will land any day now in
  Starkville Mississippi and revolutionise the way you wash dishes.  Be sure
  to not be left out when all human males become obsolete as females flock
  to the alien males and their new, improved, user-friendly genitalia mark
  five systems!  You must make your genitalia blue, anointing it with
  indigo. Anoint also your ears, your nose, the back of your neck, and the
  fourth toe of each foot, the most holy of all toes.

  I speak to you of the coming of the greater race.  You shall know them by
  their stature, by their countenance, by their language, unlike any that
  man has ever heard, and by their sexual prowess.  Behold, they shall land
  in a small town, Starkille, and shall walk the earth among the children,
  and you shall not know them.  Many will say in those days, "The gods are
  walking the earth, the gods are walking the earth," but they shall be
  scoffed upon and spit upon and fucked hard by prostitutes in cheap motels
  then bankrupted by the media.  But you will pay them no attention and
  merely stop sending your donations.  But then, the greater race will
  reveal themselves in all their glory for all mankind to see.  The truth
  will be known, and the truth will be that mankind has not paid their lease
  and is being evicted, a new race takes over the planet, please move the
  furniture out and clean the carpeting before you leave.  Behold a wonder:
  your children and their children shall mate, producing a better race yet,
  but you, the unbelievers, shall be sentenced to 40 time units of wandering
  in the outer dust clouds of the andromeda sector aboard a tiny spaceship
  called the minnow.
   
  So, lo, woe, yo, repent while you still are young on an archaelogic scale.
  The world must be saved by the horrors that are low-density disks, AM
  radio, and non-FOX television.  You must learn to live without processed
  spinach products, to wean your children on their father's milk,. and to
  accept that power strips and LSD are things of the past.  Synthesise your
  offspring carefully so that when the time of the great choosing comes,
  your sons and daughters may be chosen by the greater race to participate
  in furthering their race, in the strange ritual of the cosmic fuck, the
  antithesis of the hells of knowledge, riches, and power, the fulfillment
  of the postmodern dream of red lights, t-squares, and paint blotches.
  Prepare yourselves for the day of the final inkblot judgement, wherein all
  shall be tested for blot and blood type.  In that day, some will say,
  "verily, it is an aston-martin, in O positive."  To those, the coming one
  will say, "farewell, you were never a phlebotomist, just a prick, depart
  from here into an eternity of dimness and cheap paperback novels and
  genuine IBM computers."  But in that fateful day, some will say, "truly,
  it is two schnauzers chasing a naked woman, in AB negative."  To those,
  the coming one will say, "come, join me at the cosmic sock hop, you are
  one of my own, you will live an eternity of free drinks and beautiful
  tragically hip waifs."
   
  For I have been spoken these things by the angels of light, hermetic
  seals, and the small purple man painted on my wall, who read them from the
  great platinum plates upon which they were inscribed from the supernatural
  force of the great god of the cunny, who swallows all things for the
  better of his followers.  I have seen the light, I have been enlightened,
  I speak the truth to you, heed it and save your lives and those of your
  fellow neighbour's wife and your neighbour's ass, or do not hear my words,
  and turn a deaf ear to them, and forever suffer in this meaningless
  existance.  The gods have spoken, I have written, and the pen, having
  writ, runs out of ink, on this, the next to the last of the last days...
   
			  
			  -The Book of Shag-