Perhaps dumping nanomachines on the entire population on the say-so of some weird blue guy you found out in the woods is not such a hot idea?

He runs in place for a bit while menaced by this giant swinging cross, and eventually he comes across a child version of himself watching a film strip of himself playing kickball with some woman.

He is talking to some dude in a terrifying helmet about the -TIME- of the -GOSPEL-!

You mean if you were a little dog in the street, you’d bark at me?

I imagine him spending many, many hours in the basements of old British churches, carefully turning through brittle yellow pages to determine the birth rate among, say, medieval British landowners and early-industrial-era textile-plant owners.

We shall not reach the destination, even if that destination is the Last Judgment, since we are henceforth separated from it by a variable refraction hypersurface.

The enormous hordes of bacteria that begin to infiltrate the body’s innards cannot be halted.

It is the rigidity of the male organ that counts, not its complicity in fluid flow.

He is also interested in disintegration, fission, explosion, catastrophes, etc.

A sexy woman with a giant throbbing cranium would be cool.