Praise Platanoir

Begin Transmission.

I.A. Space Log. 1515 hours.

Greetings Earthlings.

By now I hope you have assimilated the information presented to you in my last transmission, and accepted your fate as the newest members of the Interspacial Alliance. As promised, this transmission will deal with the religion the I.A. forces it's citizens to follow, on pain of death. This religion is called "Platanoirian", and worships the Deity Platanoir, the Great Black Platypus of the Swamplands of Eternity.

Platanoir is the Master of Creation, who saw the nothingness of existence and decided to do something about it. Slapping his mighty flipper down upon the nothingness, Platanoir created the Multiverse as we know it. His holy number is Three, his holy food the pretzel, and we worship him every afternoon at 3:33 (Earth Standard Time).

The followers of Platanoir come under several categories: The High Priestesses (advisors to Platanoir), the High Moluscs (equivalent to bishops), the Molusc (equivalent to priests), and the Pond Scum (everyone else). I, as Platanoir supreme representative on this mortal plane, am High Priestess of the Order of Platanoir, one of the reasons why I am considered the most loved and feared creature in the multiverse (along with my fellow Grand Admiral Alaylia, but that is niether here nor there).

Every week we observe the Day of Floating, in which we abandon all work and surround ourselves with joy and festivity. The flipside of this is the Day of Wedging, in which we imitate our splendiforous Creator by wedging ourselves under rocks and praying to Platanoir from dawn till dusk. The other major holiday we observe is taking our newborn children and dunking them in swamp water for thirty three seconds. Should they survive, they are welcomed to our society with open arms. Should they perish, their pathetic bodies are burned on the Wedging stone in an underground temple/cave of Platanoir.

You may find these practices strange, even barbaric. I might remind you that these customs were set in place long before you collectively thought it a wise idea to nail your saviour to a wooden cross and stick a thorn crown on his head. Deal with it. You are now members of the I.A., and as such you will observe our customs, or suffer in the Slave Pits of Daldgh 6 for eternity.

Grand Admiral Chelli Out.

End Transmission.

The State of the Multiverse

Begin Transmission.

I.A. Space Log. 1144 hours.

Greetings Earthlings.

You once believed in your collective entirety that you were alone in the universe, some entertaining the laughable notion that you were the most intelligent beings in existence. As you now know, this is not so. In order to awaken you to the world around you, and prevent you from drawing idiotic conclusions about the Interspacial Alliance, or even myself, I have decided to favor you with a rudimentary Guide to the Multiverse.

Your solar system, as you know, is comprised of twelve planets, although I.A. intelligence indicates you've only discovered ten of them. This system is part of a larger galaxy you call the Milky Way, which, along with thousands of other galaxies, comprises the universe. What you have not yet discovered is that this is only one of millions of the parallel universes, alternate dimensions, and subatomic worlds that make up the "Multiverse".

The seat of power in the Multiverse originates on Planet Zorag, named after our esteemed Emperor, may he one day awaken from his eternal slumber. Our Emperor ruled the Multiverse since before the creation of time itself, but several centuries ago he contracted a destructive virus (which I suspect Grand Admiral Alaylia created, but would never say so in print) and was put in cryogenic sleep. The plug was actually pulled to his cryogenic tube three decades ago by accident, but the I.A. in general is not aware of this (which I also believe had something to do with my co-ruler). Luckily you are privy to this sensitive information because you, as Earthlings, do not have the collective brains of a platypus, and thus there is little danger of the secret leaking out to the rest of the Multiverse.

It has come to my attention that the above reference to a "platypus" is considered an insult, or at least derogatory, among your race. This is a delusion that must be purged from your puny minds immediately. You may not be aware, but platypi are not native to Earth - I cringe just in entertaining the notion. They were the original race living on Planet Zorag, before the Emperor settled in their homeland, and are hailed as the highest state of existence, and are revered throughout the Multiverse.

This may all seem a tad strange to your simple minds. In actuality, I don't care. I am here to integrate you into the I.A., and force you to become useful members of the Multiversal society. My next transmission will deal with the religion we make our subjects, on pain of death, follow. Should you choose to continue reading these transmissions, know only that it will not affect your life in any way, except for making you smarter, stronger, faster, more attractive, and ultimately lead a better and more fulfilling life.

Grand Admiral Chelli Out.

End Transmission.

Memoirs of a Grand Admiral

Begin Transmission.

I.A. Space Log. 1524 hours.

Greetings Earthlings.

You are no doubt wondering who I am, and why I am contacting you at this time. There are many truths in this world that you cannot imagine, and it is time you are made aware of the many things you are too ignorant to understand. I am the Grand Admiral of the Interspacial Alliance, serving under the guidance and wisdom of Emperor Zorag, may he one day awaken from his eternal slumber. The Interspacial Alliance is a fascist government that controls the multiverse, including your puny planet of "Earth". We call it Z889G, but that is beside the point.

Along with my co-ruler, Grand Admiral Alaylia, we control every aspect of your lives, even if you are unaware we even exist. Certain of our operatives are stationed on Earth to make sure things are running smoothly. You may have seen them, standing on street corners talking into their coffee cups. These are not lunatics. These are our operatives. Some even have integrated themselves into the school system and government. Should you meet an operative, they are to be treated with the respect they are due. After all, they carry the latest Photon Boom Rifles, and are instructed to fire if necessary.

This communication is not meant to scare you, as you tend to stampede around like mindless sheep when frightened. This is meant to open your eyes to the truth around you, and force you to finally accept what we have been hiding from you for so long. You are not alone in the multiverse. You are not in control of your lives, your destinies. Even your sports games are rigged. We control everything, and we control you. Welcome to a brave new world, Earthlings. We hope you can cope with it. And if not, we'll just destroy you.

Grand Admiral Chelli Out.

End Transmission.