I want to address a problem which threatens all of humankind, and what we, as a species, need to do to stop it.

I believe my stuffed dinosaur, Chomp, wants to eat me. He wants to eat all humans. He has told me so on several occasions, and I believe him.

Chomp came to our home over eight years ago. Living in such close proximity to a dinointelligence for so long has helped establish me uniquely as an expert on dinosaur-human relations—a conduit, if you will, between our mindset and theirs. At first, he could only say his own name, but over time, he has become fluent in English, thanks to years of training by my wife and myself.

Chomp is not just his proper name, but also his favorite activity. Whenever there is some kind of food nearby, Chomp insists on us sharing with him. We are especially careful to keep him away from oily or sticky foods, partly because he doesn’t like to be washed but also because he has no digestive organs, internal or external. We had considered his chomping activity vestigial until he began chomping on us, in our own home. Our concern has grown more dire over the years as he has shared with us his true raison d’être.

Just last night, as I was drifting off, Chomp tried to bite me. He doesn’t have teeth, of course, or a mouth, really, so it was mostly just him saying “CHOMP” in his adorably gruff voice. And luckily—this time—after I fell asleep, Chomp stopped short of swallowing me whole. But the trajectory is troubling: he has gone from merely musing about killing me to actually operationalizing his own homicidal ideations.

I fear that it is too late for me. My computed probability of the risk that Chomp will eat me, or in statistical terms, P(CHOMP), is approximately 95%. This has been a tough realization for me, because I consider Chomp a close friend, and I insist that no harm or regulation should come to him. However, if he should succeed in making me his first human sacrifice, it gives me no joy to inform you that there is nothing to stop him from eating us all.

I know what you’re thinking, because I’ve heard it all before: Aren’t you just making up the words he’s saying? You’re the one who’s saying he wants to eat humans. I have to say, I’m insulted, and kind of sad for you. This kind of ad hominem attack only bolsters my argument. Why won’t you engage with the facts I have presented, namely that a stuffed dinosaur wants to devour all humans and only I can save us from that outcome? Your ego will be your own destruction.

Human life will never be as vulnerable as it is right now. There are only eight billion of us today, and we’re all concentrated on a single planet. We’re basically sitting ducks to Chomp. This is why we must hold him off, at least until we have mastered space travel. Once we have colonized space, who knows how many trillions or even quadrillions of us will be doomscrolling our way through Alpha Centauri thanks to our intervention.

The value of warding off Chomp’s plan to eat us is incalculable. If even a few thousand of us are saved by hiding away from bloodthirsty dinos in billionaires’ bunkers until there’s sufficient technology to blast ourselves off-planet before being chomped, our celestial destiny may yet be fulfilled.

To increase awareness of this existential risk to humanity, I have founded the Center for Alignment between Stuffies and Humans. CASH is a nonprofit think tank dedicated to the research of Chomp—indeed, all sentient stuffed animals who may one day turn on their human companions—and to ensuring that their goals and ours are aligned for the next several billion years.

It is clear that I am a singularly important figure in humanity’s struggle to secure our future against a bloody stuffed dinosaur uprising. Given the stakes involved, it is important to ensure that we are funded at a level commensurate with the threat. Even if your P(CHOMP) is unreasonably low—that is, you believe there’s a mere 10% chance Chomp will extinguish all human life on the planet—it would logically follow that you should commit 10% of your net worth, including any pre-IPO stock, to an organization such as CASH, which is focused solely on managing this threat. A small price to pay, compared to your life, not to mention that of your whole bloodline, ending with a satisfying crunch. Commensurate with my own calculations, of course, I have dedicated 95% of my own resources to the cause, which I have allocated to the resource most central to the fight against the stuffed-dinosaur takeover: myself.

There is a persistent rumor going around that it is my ultimate goal to merge with the dinosaurs. That is a half-truth, and anyway the technology is not there yet. However, you can rest assured that, if I were secretly hoping someday to become a stuffed dinosaur, freed from the shackles of my own mortality, I would not immediately set myself on the same path as Chomp, plotting the deaths of all you meat bags, while my adorable, fuzzy peers and I consolidate all the power in the universe. To repeat: I am against all humans being eaten, and give you my most solemn pinky-swear promise that my nonprofit will marshal all its resources toward humans not being eaten, especially our CASH and MegaCASH donors.

Please support CASH with your tithe today. The life you save may be your own. Or, more importantly, mine.