I sit in my dungeon below the city of Baguette, France. I am crowned as a very prestigious knight here in the great year of 1945. However, you are reading this in the future, and I am here to warn you of an inexplicable evil. An evil I'm not going to ever directly name because being original is way too much fucking work.
You may be asking, "Sir Chevalier Ambrose Poppycock Shire III, how do you have accessing to a typing device in 1945 and speak English?" To which I answer "Fuck you, smoke some weed and get used to it."