“Good morning sinners.

I regret to inform you—it is not morning. It never was. Morning died sometime during the third molting of April, and we have yet to bury it properly.

Today is… what they call… Tuesday. But I must warn you, Tuesday has become unstable. It has begun speaking to the Moon. It has threatened the goats.

Forecast for Today: Expect temperatures to rise to 900 trillion degrees around 1:03 PM. That is not a metaphor. You will ignite if you have sinned recently. If you haven’t… well… your pets will take your place. Be grateful.

Mold levels are beautifully high. I recommend kneeling in the pantry and thanking expired bread for its sacrifice. Do not consume anything made today—unless you wish to be cast into food hell, where sandwiches gnaw on souls.

The Sun has entered a period of mourning. It cried yesterday. The oceans listened. Expect violent tidal grief around 4 PM. Fish will scream. Forgive them.

At 3 AM, something will ascend. I do not know what. It may be your dog. It may be your couch. If you hear furniture humming, remain calm. Offer it a prayer. Light a candle.

Do not mow your lawn. Do not blink too fast. Do not open your refrigerator without first whispering your regrets. These are acts of violent sin. You will be judged.

If you have cut your fingernails this week, I mourn for you. They were holy blades. Heaven weeps for your betrayal.

The Rapture may begin in 6 to 700 seconds, depending on humidity. You will know it has begun when you see three shadows but only one light. Or if the cat barks.

Thank your doorknob. Forgive your trash. And please…

Do not sit.

I love all things. But I will send you to Hell if you continue this disgusting sinning.

Today is not today. Monday has devoured itself, and the sky is molting with regret.

The grass beneath your feet weeps with every step. Your fingernails remember what you did.

A sandwich sinned at dawn—do not ask what it did. I’ve sent it to hell.

“Today is not Wednesday. I don’t care what your calendars say. The hour betrayed the day. The day betrayed the sky. And now? Now we molt.”

“Temperatures will reach a spiritual 9,000,000,000 degrees in Sinlight. That’s my own scale. It’s real. I believe in it, and therefore it exists.”

“Pets may begin ascending without warning. If your parrot starts crying blood and chanting Psalm 666, stay calm. It’s only the second stage of bark-evangelism.”

[He pulls a moldy pear from his pocket, strokes it.]

“This one is nearly ready. She weeps. I will cradle her soon.”

“You may think it’s Thursday. But if it were Thursday… why is the moon bleeding from its elbows?”

“I heard a sandwich cry this morning. It told me about your sins. I forgave it. You, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Sit on a chair today and you will answer to me. The wood remembers pain.”

“I do not blink. Because if I do, seventeen alternate Earths collapse.”

“The wind told me your dog meowed. Prepare your home for angelic visitation. And please… clean your doorknob. It is suffering.”

“The rain today will be acidic. Not from pollution. From divine rage.”

“Your fingernails are holy. If you clip them, I will send you to hell myself.”

“Do not trust Tuesday. He’s a liar. A worm in a tie. He made the sky cry again.”

“The clouds are pregnant with screaming. Don’t look up.”

“Forgive your vacuum. It swallows filth, yet receives no thanks.”

“My sandwich barked at me. I took that as a threat and a blessing. I am conflicted. But I am resolute.”

“If you sin during a wind advisory, the goats rise faster. That is meteorological law.”

Cassius (closing words): “Tonight’s low will be zero. Zero forgiveness. Zero redemption. The air will whisper your crimes.”

“If you must walk… apologize with every step.”

“Good luck. And remember… if your moth dies today, bury it gently. Or you’ll burn with it.”

[He slowly stares into the camera. Dead silence. Then: ]

“Hell is warm this time of year. I hope you like heat.”