Hi, ya'll.

Please don't confuse me with that tinhorn phony the "Galactic Overlord". What a wuss! No wonder those freds are so screwed up, workin' for that dimbulb.

Now, listen! I'm gonna put it to you people straight. You screwed up. You had your chance and you blew it. What am I talking about? Ralphs, that's what. Ralphs are gone, bye-bye, adios, outta here, Elvis. "So?" you ask, "Good riddance to bad rubbish. Hope they didn't let the door hit 'em in the ass." Yeh, yeh, yeh. Wrong!

Pay attention! Ralphs work for me, the Cosmic Honcho, the Big Dog of the Universe, the Head Hoodoo, whatever you wanna call me. I send Ralphs out when I sense that a planetary civilization is ready to make the jump. Yeh, I said, "the jump". As in ready to leave the nest, fly on their own, boldly go where no man etc. Ralphs were supposed to give you morons that last little shove that you needed to get your asses movin' toward the stars.

But, no! You nitwits are immune to annoyance because you annoy your own selves damn near to death practically all the time. You sit and watch those damned television sets and bitch about how annoying they are and keep on watching them anyway. Why don't you just try hittin' yourselves in the heads with ball-peen hammers instead? That'll annoy the shit out of ya and might have the side effect of knockin' some sense into ya.   

If Ralphs had succeeded you jagoffs would have probably had a working star-drive within a couple of years. But I has wrong. You people aren't ready for the stars yet. You're still too busy annoying each other to work together on a project of that scale.

Well, bye. Maybe I'll send Ralphs back around in a coupla hundred years and see if you shitbirds have got it together by then. But, maybe I won't.