"Not you again."
The room glowed with an unearthly light as the winged visitor hovered. "Rise, John."
"Why the hell are you bothering me? I'm not even Catholic."
"You are the Chosen One."
"Look, I'm tired of being your 'Chosen One.' Nobody ever listens and all my co-workers mock me."
"A prophet's life is not easy, John."
"Well, find someone else."
"Are you sure, John? For I have something about aliens and the KGB you would call, what is your Earth word, 'juicy.'"
"Ooh, the KGB? Spill." Munch eagerly gazed up at the Angel Paranoia, Patron Saint of Conspiracy Theories.