Yesterday, Flat Earther, Conrad Slater, 39, disappeared off the face of the earth, after he encountered a directional traffic sign at the end of the world.  The only thing left at the scene was a journal filled with notes of his adventures.  What follows is Conrad’s last recorded entry.

               At last, I have arrived at the end of the world, which proves that the earth is flat.  However, my elation is only temporary, because there is a sign here that has me perplexed like six motherfuckers riding a paraplegic bull.   This sign seems foreign to me.  Its symbols are ancient.  It may have been left here by the Gods of some long ago culture.  Below me, I can make out the remnants of a what might have been a bodega.  The remnant smell of microwaved burritos hover stubbornly in this isolated place.  The faint sound of a lottery ticket machine chattering out inevitable failure, echoes up from sullen depts.  But this sign is calling me to action.  For what I do not know, or care to know.   But all I can do is stare at it and await further instructions.  I stare.  And now the circular arrows are spinning.  Around and around, like a movie reel.  I go closer.  And now the further instructions that I was waiting for have manifested.  Directions.  The sign is telling me to go forward through a roundabout, and then take a left on Lucille Ball Avenue, and the turn right down Richard Roundtree Circle.  After that