Dear Jah's Holy Groove Senators Currently Underneath Colorado,

A strange terrible feeling suffuses the room, outside birds fall from the sky in clumps and burst into flame squawking passages from the Book of Mormon squirting feces upon thee jeweled amulet which gave whatever species of mortal that possessed it the power of eternal flatulence. The royal family was quick on the assault. I turned on the cable news network wrecked with strife, a young woman appeared on the screen, speaking tongues. I could make out the sounds of celestial star-traveling hyper-dimensional beings in the back ground. Their infinite longing for the limits of space and time had brought them to our home world, constricted them to the earth as our atmosphere's gases constricted the blood vessels of their lungs in languid lurching torture and as they reached their hands skyward in want of escape, only their fingers penetrated the gaseous cloud-like budding mushroom caps floating delicately on the surface of a purple pond. I swam up to touch my nose on one of the bubbles. What you don't learn in the science museum is the secret of a fish's scent: it's all in all in third gill. Scientists don't publish information like that. They don't want the average public to know that politicians have excavated caves in Colorado to store a massive cache of marijuana so in the event of nuclear apocalypse all the senators can continue to smoke trees and listen to their Bob Marley records headed east through the fog. Out of the mist appeared an apparition, which stayed with them for a number of days and taught them the secret of Jah's Holy Groove. Suddenly I felt a strong pressure on the back of my neck. Was this the effervescent rapture I had so longed for? My eyeballs exploded into fiery jizz as last.