I know it might seem a tad hypocritical of me but I really don't think you should open that interdimensional gateway.

I’m not quite sure how to begin but I know too well how it ends: with tendrily monsters eating your loved ones. Been there, done that, and the only reason I’m not in some top secret government facility right now is that I’m distantly related to a foreign dignitary.

Science is full of endless possibilities but it’s also full of endlessly long space worms that like to affix themselves to the eyeball and suck out your ocular matter. This patch is no mere affectation.

The thrill of pseudoscientific exploration is undeniably intoxicating but so is OxyContin and I got hooked on that stuff once.

I’m flattered you’ve read my autobiography slash confession three times but I fear you may have taken the wrong lesson from it, or else skipped the epilogue entirely. Did you catch the part where I’m haunted nightly by visions of a fiery netherworld?

I once had a hunchbacked assistant, as well. He grew to resent me after ectoplasm splattered across his big toe and set off a series of exponentially varying mutations that ultimately forced us to amputate at the cankle.

Your setup here is very impressive. How many high school science labs have you accidentally burned down? …But I had funding from a venture capitalist and my state-of-the-art facility floats in an alternate universe upon a sea of red tape. My pet boa constrictor Bruno is still stuck there.

The thrill of pseudoscientific exploration is undeniably intoxicating but so is OxyContin and I got hooked on that stuff once my bones were shattered by that talking amoeba. Plus my favorite lab coat fused to my skin. (The plastic surgery costs have been extensive.)

There are plenty more ethical discoveries yet to be made. Why not attempt to cure cancer instead of potentially causing cancerous growths to spawn on your torso like mushrooms and explode in radioactive spores? That has been the ruin of many a third date.

Of course, the gateway you open could be far more benevolent than mine. Then again, that whispering shadow did mention something about the apocalypse, and these things tend to run in trilogies.

I knew a Russian emigre named Dolstovoy who had his pinkie chopped off by a dark matter papercut. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him. He had no relatives with diplomatic immunity.

I strongly suspect that my tampering with the space-time continuum is why there are no people whose last names start with the letter A living in Maine anymore. God knows what state you could de-letter.

Rest assured that no matter your ultimate decision I am not one to go to the authorities. There are too many rogue FBI agents out for revenge against me because I inadvertently caused everyone in Quantico to grow catfish whiskers.

Yet another reminder that these things tend to spiral out of hand. Also, you can see through my hand!

Fine. I don’t wish to be a nuisance. I’ll show myself the exit (while escape is still a remote possibility). By the way, you might want to tie yourself to something solid in case it gets vortexian. The hunchback, too.

Assuming the planet isn’t consumed by some hyper-sentient rot cloud, I hope to see you at the next super scientist convention.

One last warning: Beware men without faces. You probably would have anyway but still. They were not, as they claim, in some unfortunate microbrewery incident. On this plane of existence, anyway.