Did you ever have an infestation you just can't get rid of? Bedbugs, maybe? Or ants? Pubic lice? You spray and you clean and you put down traps, but you just can't get rid of it. That's how I feel about the humans who have been living inside of me. They're annoying, but hard to get rid of.
People endlessly talk on Under The Dome about their problems, and what I'm doing to them, or what they think I want. In last night's season finale alone, we learned that I apparently:
- wanted Norrie to punch a girl's tooth out so Norrie would get sent to Boot Camp and end up under me.
- wanted Rebecca to give narcotic drugs to Pauline, because I love drugs. (That second part is absolutely true.)
- wanted Pauline to sacrifice herself to pay for her "sins"
- chose Barbie as my new Monarch, because I need a boy Monarch and a girl Monarch. Or something.
And meanwhile, Big Jim decided to try and make a deal with me — and only offer me three seconds to deliver on my end — and then blamed me for all his stupid decisions, before going on a rampage against my "chosen ones." When I was so close to getting all of these stupid humans out of me once and for all, thanks to yet another magic tunnel that I'd created — this time with extra butterflies! They like butterflies, right?
All of these freaking humans living inside me, they're never happy. And nobody ever stops to consider that I might have problems of my own, and that all of these creatures running around my inside and yelling about their feelings are just a distraction. They never even think about the fact that I'm halfway submerged in the dirt, and some of those Maine farmers were using a LOT of high-nitrogen fertilizer, not to mention they were throwing propane around something fierce.
I still think of my childhood, when I was a mini-dome in another town, over in Vermont. That's the way of my species, we start out as mini-domes and then grow up. When I was a mini-dome, I doubled as a birdfeeder and people would put seeds inside me. I learned to polarize myself, and would just occasionally rotate for the heck of it. When you're a mini-dome you think your whole life is just going to be butterflies and sunshine, you never think that you'll have to grow up and start thinking about your career.
Do you know how many jobs there are for domes? Not a lot. I spent 73 years working on my resume, trying to pad it out and make it sound like I had more executive experience than I actually had... I had this one short stint in a skate park, letting people roll over me, and I made it sound as though I had run an entertainment company. It's anti-dome prejudice, is what it is. Honestly. The irony is, I actually applied for a job as an executive at CBS, the network that wound up making a show about me, and they said I was too shiny. They only really hire trapezoids at CBS. That whole network is run by trapezoids.
The funny thing is, I sort of identify with Big Jim, because Big Jim is also deeply misunderstood, and just wants to be loved, and he thought his wife Pauline was dead when she was actually off in another town painting pictures inspired by me, and Big Jim thought I wanted him and Pauline and Regular-Sized Jim to be a family again, but then I made Pauline paint a picture of herself vomiting a giant stream of blood, like she had turned into a blonde Godzilla and the blood was her atomic breath weapon.
My own father was really cruel, much crueler than Big Jim ever was to his own family. My Dad was huge and sort of gourd-shaped, and he always felt self-conscious about the fact that he wasn't a perfect sphere like me and my mom. Dad worked as a play structure at an amusement park in Ticonderoga, but years of having children climb on him and slide down him made him feel bitter and kind of horrified by the futility of existence. That's why, when I finally got to step up and encircle a town, I was determined to be kind of Zen about it and just send positive vibrations: butterflies, cool light shows, you know.
Did I mention that I love drugs? I really love drugs. In retrospect, that was my mistake: I made sure Chester's Mill had enough food to last forever, thanks to Andrea the diner hoarder. But I didn't make sure there was enough drugs. I shouldn't just have told Rebecca to give narcotics to Pauline, I should have told everybody to do narcotics all the time. Those light shows and the pink stars were made to be watched on morphine.
At this point, you're wondering what's next — so I led everybody except Julia, Slightly Irregular Jim and Big Jim into a magic tunnel which led to a lot of butterflies, and a glowy wall that burst open, and then a white void with Melanie, the girl from the 1980s that I randomly brought back from the dead. And she said she was here to take them all home. But weren't they already home? I mean, they mostly live in Chester's Mill.
Whatever. The main thing is, I'm finally going to get some peace and quiet inside me.
Oh, and we never got to find out what happened to Barbie Sr., after he picked up my egg and got held at gunpoint by his own thugs. Where is the egg now? What on Earth is the deal with Actaeon Energy, and the Hounds of Diana, and the secret conspiracy to do something or other? Most of all, what was I protecting the town of Chester's Mill from in the first place?
As with everything else on this show, you're only really seeing half the picture. The real truth is, Big Jim and Barbie Sr. are both stand-ins for my own cruel gourd-shaped father, who withheld affection from me and constantly threatened to send me away to a gigantic miniature golf course on Altair IV. Also, what I meant Melanie to tell Barbie was, "Go get more drugs."
Anyway, it's been fun recapping my show for you guys. Come back next year, and we'll finally work out our daddy issues together, you and me. Or maybe I'll finally get some peace and quiet. You never know.