There's internet on the moon, so I'm having my assistant hook it up and send my messages.
I'm on the moon, by the way (obviously, hmm?). There's no air here, so the assistants that were human now happen to be deceased. Luckily, my assistant HAL does not need to breath, so we still have one left. (There was another, but let's just say he had...an accident).
Fact one: The moon is not quilted. We are in the process of quilting it. We have shovels and such. We'll get Chanel store assistants to do it; they're a very special breed of human that's so dull that even the air is bored by them. It will have a large Chanel logo engraved into the surface of it, right in the middle.
Fact two: I am now convinced that 90% of the world is brain damaged; judging by the messages I mostly receive on facebook. You people want to be my friends, hmm? I don't want to be your friend! I don't even remember you, from that brief time we allegedly met in Le Sept. I don't even want you to message me! I have lots of friends; and they're not stupid like you, hmm? I'm not in need of human sacrifices, so you're useless to me. Useless!
Fact three: Ziggy Stardust-era David Bowie lingers on the moon. He is good at poker.
Fact four: On the moon, leggings simply fly off.
We're going to be flying back to Earth shortly, and we shall land with the moon. Then I will be able to talk to the moonlight again, hmm?