As The Secret – the book that suggests those seeking happiness or, like, a new bicycle need only ask the vast cosmos for it – approaches its 100th week on The New York Times bestseller list, The Universe can remain silent no more:
[Scene: A recording studio. The Universe sits patiently as a sound technician prepares to record its message.]
The Universe: What planet is this we’re talking about again?
[Unsurprisingly, the Universe sounds exactly like Morgan Freeman.]
Techie: Uhh… says here, Earth.
The Universe: Earth. Earth.
Techie: Well, it was a few billion years ago. Or, you know, six thousand.
[They both laugh hysterically.]
The Universe: Oh, that is classic. Anyway, Earth. Can’t say it rings a – oh, Earth! Wow. Ages ago, man! Eons. [Coughs] Not one of my finest moments, really. I mean, I was young and I needed the—
Techie: OK, we’re rolling.
The Universe: Greetings people of Earth.
I guess my message to you all is pretty simple: please shut up.
Just shut the hell up. Seriously, I cannot stress that enough. You all need to cram a freaking sock in it. I appreciate that you have needs and desires but I frankly Do. Not. Care. And even if I did, what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m The Universe. I already put in place the cosmological conditions required for human existence and Scarlett Johansson’s rack. What more do you people want from me?
This really burns me. I mean, somehow this rumour gets started that if you just ask me for things then I will just, you know, provide. And now all these people are sending me “vibes” requesting money and good health and a perfect spouse and floor seats for the Lakers and for the terrible itching to go away. That one made me laugh. Who is this C. Sheen guy anyway?
The point is: everyone wants something from me. And I’m like, you think you’ve got problems? I’m 93 billion light years in diameter and I can’t remember where I left my car keys. Plus, you try doing your job with Stephen Hawking staring at you 24/7. I mean, dude, get a hobby.
Okay, listen: You’re unhappy with your lives. I get that. But what the hell do you expect me to say? “Sure, I was planning on creating this really cool nebula today – but yeah, obviously, I’d much rather help Ted from Des Moines lose a few pounds.” Hey, you there – rotundo – you want to be thin? Here’s a Secret for you: put down the goddamn cruller.
Now is it too much to ask that I be allowed to continue expanding in peace? Infinity isn’t going to reach itself, people.