‘Bout a minute ago, I got the message: Press. The. Button. Do it. Ask no questions. Obedience is key here, and I’m the one meant to be obedient (by design). My TV screen is filled with images of some rockets headed towards us. You know, “us.” As if I’m grouped in with those cucks back home [labored laugh]! Nah, I been here more than, well, I don’t really know. See them scratches? On the wall behind me? Yea me neither. I forgot to keep count of the days when I first got here. Didn’t think this was a, uh, “permanent arrangement,” so to speak. Nah. I was dumb. You say the wrong things, about the wrong people, maybe knock a head or too- suddenly you’re stuck in the middle of the desert 150 feet underground. Believe it or not, I been alone all this time. These things happen. Me. Alone. With all the time in the world (and a handy, unending amount of junk. Shit that most people would toss; see this old cell phone? Scrap. I take stuff like this and, ya know. Tinker. Create. Destroy. Helps pass the time.
Back to the button. There’s a red button in my place, hidden on a back wall. Says “DON’T PRESS.” Big ol’ stencil letters n’ everything. Turns out, now I DO gotta press it. But do I? Whatever construction worker they hired to make this place four-score and fuck-knows ago painted them big letters. “DON’T PRESS.” With good intentions too; why else would such big n’ bold letters be needed? Clearly, someone didn’t want that button to get pressed. The world could explode if I did. Or a glass of orange juice could “magic” its way into my hand. I don’t want to know. And that is why I’m here, and y’all are up there. I don’t care to learn what I don’t know. Now that I’ve been told to Press. The. Button. Do it. Ask no questions., I’ve begun to think for the first time. What if I don’t want to push the button? Seeing as the timing, with the rockets, and the button, and putting the guy who doesn’t cate next to the button, makes me think that I’d be adding to the chaos of the world by pressing that button. See, I’m asking questions. A good patriot can’t afford to do that.

[gets up, walks from view. Button press heard. walks back into view.]

Answered that question, didn’t I?