Hail, weak and irrelevant wetlanders! It is I, Vrokthar the Skull-feaster, come to taunt you at your darkest hour, just as was foretold by the casting of the bones!

None of Vrokthar’s gloats, long composed and rehearsed, seem relevant now.

I must say that I have been waiting a long time for this. Long has Vrokthar anticipated the collapse of your decadent and corrupt civilization – such a thing was inevitable, just as the sun sets and the coming of the winter frost. And yet, despite this, Vrokthar is…underwhelmed.

Your civilization is on the brink of destruction and all I get is…Tiger King?

Where…where are the hordes of zombies? Where is the rain of fire from your distant adversaries? Where are the howling wolves and the roaming packs of lunatics on dirt bikes? WHERE ARE THEY?

Because that is the apocalypse Vrokthar demands! If I am to descend into the chaos of your doom and chain thee to the wheels of my battle-wagon, I want there to be a decent fight, first. I wish to cast down your meager guardians, clad in their football pads and armed with crude aluminum clubs, with the strength of my mighty weapons and the sight of my invincible immensity! Not…not crash into some losers apartment and slay him in his pajamas while he binges on Picard!

And, for another thing, if you think I’m even going to raid down there this year, you’re nuts.

Vrokthar does not truck with germs. Why else wouldst he dwell here, in the frozen north, well beyond the breeding ground of any tropical plague? Because, well…

Because Vrokthar fears disease, okay? There, it has been spoken. Getting sick is scary, especially when your health plan is just some magic talismans way past their expiration date and some dentist you kidnapped back in 2012 that you’ve been keeping in a cage for just this occasion. And, it is now that Vrokthar learns the awful truth – dentists know NOTHING of plagues! Just plaque! PLAQUE!

WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS PLAQUE?!

But no matter. What is important here is that you – yonder slackbrained imbeciles and limp-limbed toadies – have managed to find a way to have an apocalypse that is just NO FUN AT ALL! All you idiots need to do to survive is sit on your needlessly over-cushioned settees and watch infinite hours of brainless, juvenile entertainment, and for some reason you can’t even manage it! You miss your friends? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG THE WINTERS ARE UP HERE? I live in a tiny cave that stinks of dead animals and dentist piss for seven fucking months a year, and you assholes can’t give up going to the bar for a few weeks? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

I think this is all a ploy, yes. All of you are just trying to cheat Vrokthar of his long-imagined revenge! You’re going to get yourselves killed in this, the most terrifying and least violent of ways, just so I won’t come down there and force you to build a pyramid in my honor in some post-apocalyptic wasteland. Ah, yes – you thought you had duped the mighty Vrokthar, but no, his keen intellect hath pierced your tattered ruse! HA!

Of course, I am not going to come down there and do anything about it. Not yet. You filthy creeps could all be sick, and Barry and I are not about to get any kind of illness here in our cozy little cave.

(Barry is the dentist, by the way. He bids greetings to his family, who doubtless gave him up for dead long ago and have found a new father to serve, as I remind him of daily.)

But I digress.

The point is, I’m angry with all of you and deeply disappointed. I thought, at the least, you might have managed an entertaining demise. But no matter. I will see you in July or something and oh, then you will pay! You will pay mightily!