Oh, happy day! I have such a big announcement, Listeners! You're not going to believe it, I can hardly believe it myself. I--

[He pauses in the age-old tradition of giving drama to the moment. An excited and pleased drama, not the drama of failed marriages and disappointing children.]

--am the new official radio host for Norfinbury. Isn't that exciting? I mean, I knew I was qualified, but you always have that niggling nervousness every time you go for a new job. The jelly legs, the massive tongue, the blood sweats. But I must have nailed the interview that I hadn't even realised I was having, and our mysterious overlords must have been super impressed, because I was hired by a carnivorous plastic bag.

I know, Listeners!

You know what they say; kill me once, watch my corpse turn bloated and rotten in the ground, kill me twice, sign on the line for a great pension plan and benefit package. But of course, I know what you're thinking-- we all know what you're thinking, it's been whispered to us in the night. Hushed voices that tell strangers your innermost thoughts and fears, your soul bared for everyone to hear. But what you're thinking right now is: 'But Cecil, as pleased as I am for you, how can you be a radio host when there's no official news or information to impart? Well, well, I have exciting news on that front too, Listeners.

Last night, I dreamed.

[And that's it. No further explanation, but surely no further explanation is needed.]

So we're all ready to go! And without further ado, we shall begin.

The first piece of news I have for you today is the arrival of a whole bunch of new people. Strangers. Who even knows if they're safe to be around or not? Who even knows how they got here? I don't, do you? It's probably not safe to talk to them, and definitely not safe to think about them. My advice if you meet any of the new people is to follow standard Stranger Safety Procedure, point at them, shout Interloper! and then run away hooting as loudly as possible. Try to run in a zig-zag pattern if you can. It won't stop the pursuers, but it will leave a nice pattern in the snow. And if you are one of these mysterious newcomers to our involuntary incarceration, then welcome! Welcome, and be afraid. Feel the fear fill you up like so much bile, feel it touch the back of your throat like regrets long unvoiced, feel it fill your airways until you suffocate.

Next, Valentine's Day!

It's still not too late to tell the object of your affections how you feel about them. Who's to say the day has passed, anyway? Who has that kind of authority over you that you'd let them dictate your own personal flow of time? Have some more respect for yourself, Listeners, don't get pushed around that way.

Why don't you share a romantic date night to celebrate your relationship? You could build a fire and huddle together to escape the crushing cold that constantly threatens to kill us all. Or how about flipping that on its head and going out into the snow to make adorable snow representations of yourselves holding hands? They'll stand as a lasting tribute to your relationship until they slowly crumble, erode, and melt away into nothingness. Much like your own real existence!

Good luck on your dates, Listeners, make sure to let me know how they go.

[He pauses, and when he continues his voice has dropped. A low and sonorous croon.]

A word from our sponsors. Robert Miller, how old is he? Does he age? Was he even born at all? Yes. Throw him a birthday party, throw him one every day, you're bound to get the right day eventually. Robert Miller. And that was a word from our sponsors.

I-- I am sorry, Listeners, but I don't have a weather report lined up for you today. Intern Angel, if you could look into what's going on with our station meterologist, Charlie, that would be great. But until then, I guess all I can leave you with is the hope that the weather, when it comes, will be what you want it to be.

Goodnight, Norfinbury. Goodnight.