This is from Carlos' journal.
I missed a week in Night Vale, as I was at a scientific conference. Maybe something happened in that week, because on the weekend I saw some flickering lights in Radon Canyon. I'm concerned for Night Vale now, but I will get to that after this.
The conference was one my scientists and I scheduled to speak to an audience about this strange town. We were dismissed as fakes and raving crackpots, as was expected. Despite this, we got a five thousand dollar grant from an anonymous donor, along with a note saying "Stay vigilant. Night Vale is not all it seems." I'm not sure what that means-is it not a terrifying government controlled dystopia with temporal management problems? Because that's what it seems like to me. I don't understand.
Anyway, back to Radon Canyon. I visited Cecil Palmer, who speaks on the radio, and I asked for him to ask his Listeners-sorry, listeners, about the problems. Cecil is the strange humanoid I wrote about earlier in this journal, if whoever has been secretly reading this has forgotten. Anyway, I left immediately.
The Glow Cloud that passed over Night Vale has now joined the school board. It claims that it only passed over the town because it was looking for a good neighbourhood to raise a child. Yep. That is it. That is all I have to say. I mean, either than asking what the hell Cecil has against Steve Carlsburg. Like, this had nothing to do with Steve, but Cecil just brought him into it, saying that he needed to do more for his child. I wonder if there's something between them, because Cecil seems to really be obsessed in a really hate-filled way.
I'm not even going to talk about the Traffic segment. Nope. Not doing it.
A billboard with a picture of a turkey sandwich appeared in Mitzie's home. The Department of Health and Human Services claimed responsibility for them. Apparently these billboards once said things about sacrifices to lost gods. I honestly don't know what they have to do with long-dead gods, but whatever. I think I'm past the point of asking.
Cecil called me to tell me that the flickering lights were part of a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular. He sounded so nervous on the phone, so I jokingly said that it was worse than i had imagined. I think he thinks I was being serious. At least, that's what it sounds like on his broadcast.
Now onto sports. Apparently Desert Bluffs is complaining that Michael Sandero's second head is cheating because it counts as a twelfth man on the field. No-one thinks that the quarterback's now superhuman speed and agility is cheating. And they are questioning if appealing to Angels (which do not exist, evidently) counts as cheating.
A friend of mine, Vithya, used witchcraft to get me into Subway to try the new mashed potato sub. It was actually surprisingly good, but of course in Night Vale, even Subway couldn't be normal. There were several exits, each with a sign stating "This exit is a lie. Ignore it." And everyone was! There was one person, a Simone Rigado, who told me she had been trapped in there for weeks. I pushed her through the exit, even though she screamed and struggled against me. Once we were out, she gasped, thanked me, an ran off. I don't understand what happened there.
Apparently there wasn't a Pink Floyd Multimedia Laser Spectacular. In fact, the council stated in unison that Pink Floyd isn't a thing, they are not fans who used taxpayer funds to hold a laser powered séance to talk to Pink Floyd's frontman. I am taking this to mean that yes, this is what happened. I don't know why these people put up with this crap and ignore things like this. Like damn, they just told you they did something illegal! Whatever. We're not allowed to discuss it anymore, so I should stop writing about it before the Secret Policeman staring through my window sends me in for re-education.
The city under lane five is now brightly lit and it sounds like the underground people are on thier way up. Cecil then philisophically compared life to a basket of wings. Just another typical day in Night Vale. Goodnight, readers.
HMM, I WONDER WHO'S READING CARLOS' JOURNAL