There are those who believe that the fate of mankind should be treated with the utmost sobriety; that history should not be altered for recreational purposes. They look askance at your notion of traveling back in time to eat poi with Hermann Goehring. These people can't apreciate the spectacle of flaxen-haired frauleins gyrating in the flickering firelight of a Wagnerian Luau; an obedient hula tribute to the Big Kahuna of the Fatherland. Yes, you are decried as a danger to society while pinko college professors have free reign to revise the past. Soon strange things begin to circulate: photographs of Kruschev on a surfboard, inescapable evidence that Stalin invented the Mai-Tai. America changes around you as a spreading tropical corruption infects society. Teenage prostitutes sell their tight little bodies for strings of cowry shells. An intellectual critic from your carpool is found dead with a cocktail umbrella jabbed into his eye. Like frogs in boiling water, the useful idiots never realize when things are amiss. Yet most people will read your strange musings and attach some kind of negative label to you. They might call you a crackpot... or worse.

We, on the other hand, are not so narrow-minded.

Unfortunately, there are politicians who actively campaign against "dark visions" dreamed up by "terroristic" persons such as yourself. The Day of Horror, long a staple of B-movie and Saturday morning cartoon alike, is now an issue of public concern. Bored housewives and a random assortment of meddling nobodies have mobilized an army to rescue America. Ironically, it is the individualism and feverish work-ethic of today's diabolical mastermind that most efficiently conveys the Spirit of Freedom to our young people. Yet an innocent school child who harmlessly expresses the desire to become a death-ray engineer, intergalactic war criminal, or time-traveling sex tourist is quietly pressured into other career paths by his nervous teachers. Where will we find our new generation of loveable supervillians to torment and delight us? Western civiliaztion is so concerned with suppressing insanity and thwarting evil that it has lost its sense of fun.

If Doctor No were alive today, he would hang his head in shame.

All over the world, gentle citizens like you are neglected by your politicians: grifting hucksters who claim to hold a mandate from the masses. Glowing icons of privilege and power irradiate you with their lethal splendor. They shine from a realm of perfect stillness and beauty; a toxic sterility, because life is a clumsy and repulsive thing. The horror of existence replicates across a myriad of human forms: birth defects, scar tissue, the obscene howls of the mentally afflicted. Whole cities are now terrariums for social Darwinism, populated by an experimental race of killer amphibians. See them sputter through the litter strewn streets in their beat-up cars, returning home from their inhuman workplaces. See them loiter in groups around television campfires, greasy fingers fumbling in snack trays, watching spectral shadows dance on the livingroom wall of Plato's cave. You are the Prisoner who plots against our government in flickering darkness. We passive agressive observers of the nightly news can never betray our outrage. Unconscious signs of disloyalty will surely mark us for death. Your only friend is the Kalashnikov sitting beside you, his magazine curving towards the President like an ominous black fang.

From behind painted Tiki masks, the midget policemen are watching.

The question remains who will stand up for you, the honest subversive, amidst society's rampant onslaught of orthodoxy? It seems that every news cycle brings a new warning of entities seeking and aquiring dangerous technologies- disgruntled entities who may not be in line with the aims of a free and democratic society. They mean you, of course. There is a race being run by every private and public organization to secure the means of their survival. The world is tightening. In this strange and confused time, every man is an Osama bin Laden. We reach out to you, the trailer park insurgent, hiding in your cave of modular housing and brooding an alchoholic binge of workplace revenge. Why lash out at society, contenting yourself with a mere random act of senseless violence, when you can deliver a final, crushing blow? Join the uncounted thousands of shadowy conspiritors who have generously opened their hearts and their pocketbooks to this noble cause. Help our Church win its race against the atomic clock before nuclear weapons become the exclusive property of liberal social engineers and elitist big-government beaureucrats.