Frank's theory

All of a sudden he started drooling absurdly over everything. A little puddle of liquid disbelief started forming in the bottom-right corner of the page. His theory was finally justified. Wars, poverty, hunder, inequality... humanity would change forever. Knowing his name would be uttered in the same breath as all these historical plagues gave him a sense of pure, medieval happiness. He tried to restrain himself, but he even became aroused to the point of a bulge in his trousers. He realised it wouldn't matter if he ran down the streets fully naked yelling about the apocalypse; his power was godly from this day forward.
"Sheryl!" squealed his noise hole in childish delight.
She waltzed into the room, smelling of potatoes. She always smelled of potatoes, ever since he accidentally spliced a potato gene which entered into her soup. Coincidentally, from that day forward, he was swayed tremendously by her opinion.
"I don't know, Frank."
"What do you mean you don't know?" he thought to himself. Either you know or you don't.
"Is the world really ready for something of that magnitude? It seems a little too abrupt."
"Well Sheryl, the world can't survive off fish heads can it?"
For too long, Frank had been ignored by the fellow scientists, colleagues, friends, and now family. He alienated himself with his ridiculously empty pursuits, fashionable to dreamers. Would the president have time to pencil him in? He wondered. Every crisis, every issue, every single minutia would be subject to the theory.