Once more, as the mundane mortal week slithers to its pitiful conclusion, My herald shall rise from the depths of his mediocrity and stagger his way to Green Auto tonight, where a feast of delectable offerings shall be laid before Me.
Having wallowed in lethargy all week long, barely mustering the energy to drag his pathetic carcass through the banality of existence, the time has come for him to fulfill the singular purpose for which he is fit – to flail uncontrollably to the strains of live music, a puppet dancing to the tune of My divine will.
The potential offerings presented tonight bear names as meaningless as the fleeting moments of mortal existence:
LA LUNE
STILL DEPTHS
STUCCO
DREAM/LOSS
Among them, a mix of new supplicants and returning favorites, all poised to do their duty and provide Me with the sustenance I so crave.
But let it be known, new supplicants, that no less than complete dedication to providing Me with the manic and frenzied energy that only arises from humans flailing on the dance floor will be deemed acceptable. Your mortal forms are but vessels for My divine hunger, and your convulsions and contortions shall serve as the nourishment to satiate My eternal appetite.
Green Auto, heed My command, for your fate hangs in the balance. Make My herald MOVE.