Our faith in Faith Massey has been betrayed with yet another very public fracas—and we tried so hard to get over ourselves, our distaste for her atrocious plastic surgery and her disappointing career after the run of Starship Uprising. There was supposed to be a spin-off focused on Commander Dinara Gorun! There was supposed to be a dark and edgy Oscar-bait movie where we could ogle her tits! Instead, there were occasional spots on lawyer procedurals, cameos as herself on sitcoms, and, of course, Skinny Friend. After her moving tell-all on The Alcove, which garnered considerable clicks and advertising revenue, we reached out to Faith and expressed our sympathy. We risked our dignity and our privacy as we related our own paths through rehab when we craved the sweet relief of fermentation, the self-loathing when we were laid off, the despair of existing alone in this world when our mothers died. Some of the messages we composed using pen and paper, which we then sent in the mail using postage we bought with money! For our online shops, we crafted Commander Dinara Gorun tote bags and pins. Who will buy this unwanted stock? No one is who, not since one of us has courageously come forth, an erstwhile personal assistant who must unfortunately remain anonymous due to strict nondisclosure agreements, to reveal that everything Faith Massey divulged in that interview was a total fabrication. The Voydals gloat as though there is no tomorrow. Their leader, the merciless Chokut Sar, doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not—he’s a bigoted and genocidal giant bug, that’s who he is.

To begin, the personal assistant had to make it clear that Faith Massey was by no means sober. She was still a pill-popping drunkard, though the substance of choice during the assistant’s tenure was weed. The assistant wasn’t concerned about the weed, not as much as the opioids anyway, so she became the contact for the weed dealer. The weed dealer was friendly, almost overeager to help, which made sense because Faith consumed enough weed weekly to satisfy the needs of a minor campus fraternity. He had the assistant examine a mole on his back, right above the band of his underwear, to see if she thought he “should be worried.” His underwear was a pair of Calvin Klein lime-green boxer briefs. So that was a fact the assistant would never be able to forget—she knew the brand of underwear worn by Faith Massey’s weed dealer. Secondly, the assistant had held back our beloved celebrity’s hair while she vomited an eclectic combo of benzos and tequila, and in between her gagging, Faith let it slip that her daughter probably was her daughter with Jake Knight. And Jake, by the way, was quite the douchebag. Both Faith and Jake were invited to be panelists at a futuristic film festival in Miami, where they debated inspiring activism via outer space allegory. When the panel was finished, as they were chauffeured to the hotel in a limo, he hung his torso through a window and shouted at ladies in the street, “I’m Captain John Augustus Flint from Starship Uprising! Don’t you want to fuck me?” At the hotel, the assistant was relaxing in the sauna when he walked in and urged her to suck his cock. That’s why she was fired—full disclosure: Faith was not happy that Jake Knight was more into the assistant than her, even though the assistant didn’t want anything to do with his decrepit sci-fi herpes dick.