10 to 2 AM, X, Yogi DMT, and a box of Krispy Kremes, in my "need to know" pose, just outside of Area 51. Contemplating the whole "chosen people" thingy when just then, a flaming stealth banana split the sky like one would hope but never really expect to see in a place like this.
Cutting right angle donuts on a dime and stopping right at my Birkenstocks, and me yelping...
Holy ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥!

Then the X-Files being, looking like some kind of blue-green Jackie Chan with Isabella Rossellini lips and breath that reeked of vanilla Chig Champa, did a slow-mo Matrix descent out of the butt end of the banana vessel and hovered above my bug-eyes, my gaping jaw, and my sweaty L. Ron Hubbard upper lip and all I could think was:
"I hope Uncle Martin here doesn't notice that I pissed my ♥♥♥♥♥♥' pants."

So light in his way, like an apparition, He had me crying out,
"♥♥♥♥ me, It's gotta be the Deadhead Chemistry. Blotter got right on top of me,
Got me seein' E. motha ♥♥♥♥♥♥' T!"

And after calming me down with some orange slices and some fetal spooning, E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose; he said, "You are the Chosen One, the One who will deliver the message. A message of hope for those who choose to hear it and a WARNING for those who do not."

Me!
The Chosen One!
They chose me!!!
And I didn't even graduate from ♥♥♥♥♥♥' high school.