The very words you are about to read have been sent to you by me, a special agent working for a political activist group known as Z.A.P.P.A. - Zarconians All for Perfect Philosophies and Attitudes.
This particular moment of my consciousness exists roughly one thousand years into your future, in a place I’m quite confident that you can’t even imagine. Let’s just say it’s extremely far from the only planet you’ve ever had the good fortune to call home. You call it Earth.
As I am really only chronicling the life of a deity known as Stan and those he touches, I feel it only fair to call him the author, as he is the master of his own destiny. From now on I will refer to myself simply as “Editor”.
For all intended purposes it is my goal to remain anonymous, as what I’m doing has its inherent dangers for those of us still living in the future, and therefore is extremely illegal.
Why have I done this? A momentary lapse of reason… perhaps.
Let’s just say that “your” Earth… as you refer to it as… is scheduled to be turned into a park. That’s right—you recent upstarts in the universal race for advanced sentiency have not proven to be worthy keepers of such a small, delicate planet. So! It has been decided by the powers that be, that you have forfeited your right to stay any longer. Due to your inexperience in universal society, you and everyone you’ve ever met will be sold as pets and dispersed throughout infinity, but you’re not to worry, because as messed up as you think you are… you will survive.