And now, a public service announcement from the Night Vale medical community.
Being in the desert, we get a lot of sun, and doctors are encouraging Night Vale citizens to do regular skin checks. You may think that freckle or mole is harmless, but you never know when it will grow into something much worse.
Surgeons at Night Vale General Hospital are noting an uptick in dermatological growths related to sun exposure. Doctors describe these growths as “fifteen-inch spiraled horns.” The horns mostly protrude from the lower back or knees. Unchecked, these horns can develop a glistening shine, small leather saddles, and bright red lips on the very tip. So check your skin at least once a week in the mirror.
Dermatologists recommend a three-step process. One: search meticulously for fifteen-inch horns protruding from your body. Don’t overlook anything. Two: if you find any suspicious growths, mark them with a chalk pentagon. Three: gently remove the affected skin area with a sterilized razor blade, or similarly clean crafting blade. If you are not one of the 53% of our community that was born without pain-sensing nerves, you should first consult your primary care electrolysist for tips on how to numb yourself to the nigh-unbearable pain of existence.
Update on the pyramid situation. Flaky-Os’ board of directors are vigorously denying— some of them at gunpoint— that they had any part in the pyramid that is stubbornly continuing to exist in our town. They are sneaky ones. I hope the new line of cereal turns out to be worth the hype. Meanwhile, the pyramid itself has altered its broadcast, sending out a second message, which is as follows:
Everything you do matters except your life. Death will be the last action you’ll undertake. I do not live, but I exist. What is my purpose? I will not tell you. One day you will discover your purpose, and then you will tell no one. And then you will die.
Now, I’m not too good at this viral marketing thing, so I can’t see all the codes and hidden web addresses that I’m sure are all through that message. I’ll leave that to all the dedicated amateurs out there in the listening world.
The Sheriff’s Secret Police are now attempting to charge the pyramid with resisting arrest, on the grounds that they couldn’t figure out how to arrest it. More as the story develops.
And now, traffic. All roads lead to somewhere, and all roads come from somewhere. And in between they are a snarl and curve, a twist and a bend. Where are we going? I mean, metaphorically? Where are we coming from? I mean, literally. Is it possible to stop, or turn around, and if not, what does that mean for the latest polls and economic reports? Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, Route 800 is looking clear in both directions. The old dirt road to the small wooden shack is backed up at least thirty minutes. There. Now you know. Has that filled an emptiness for you? Are you any happier now? I hope so. This has been, and will always be, traffic.
Before we go, intern Stacy just handed me this. The Sheriff’s Secret Police would like to issue a correction to their earlier special alert. In their warning, they stated that memorizing a very specific list would keep you safe. This is incorrect. According to the new statement, quote, ‘We are not safe. We are all being hunted by time and our own deceitful bodies. Memorizing the list will merely prevent additional external pain beyond that which you experience daily just by being alive. The Sheriff’s Secret Police regret the error.’ End quote.
That’s it for our news. Stay tuned next for a community-wide frisson of cosmic fright. Thank you again, Night Vale! May you too find love in this dark desert. May it be as permanent as the blinking lights, and as comforting as the dull roar of space. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.