I want to report a monolith.

It appeared in my office, just a few inches from my laptop — the very laptop from which I write this column!

A couple days ago, I noticed the monolith appeared to have moved: at least a couple inches to the right, I’d estimate. As if it were moving away from the globe. There was no sign of disturbance on my desk, and J.D. Barkinger is not yet here, so she could not have erected or moved it.

Ok, ok, I admit it. Your questions are just too incisive.

I made it up. I put the monolith closer to my laptop. The subterfuge was even caught on camera, most likely an Instagrammer or FaceBooker. Damn you, social media!

You don’t understand. I just wanted to be like the cool kids in Utah, who found a monolith. Or the ones in Romania, who also found a metal obelisk. A few days after that, a THIRD monolith was discovered in Atascadero, Calif.

And I stand by the hoax. Look at the wonderful mystery surrounding the monoliths. Where did they come from? Who built them? Who brought them down? Are aliens trying to tell us to quit touching our faces?

Not only do I stand by the prank, I promise you this: I’m going to pull more of them. After all, what is the harm in this conspiracy theory?

We’ve seen how the belief in other conspiracy theories can corrode. The elections were rigged. COVID is a hoax. The earth is flat. Science is an ideology.

Enough. Time for a conspiracy theory that has us looking at possibilities, not peril.

In fact, start your own monolith conspiracy. Stack a few rocks in front of your mailbox. Stick a branch in the ground and place a penny at its altar. Make a passerby think: What is that? Make a passing dog think: That would look good with urine on it.

And if it is aliens: Hi! We’ll take you to our leader. Just give us a few weeks.