On his first day back from Halloween, New Jersey, Kyle insisted on doing things his way. No one else could persuade him to try conventional methods or apply standard practices. He chose his path and it was the path of indignation over the lack of deference to his real and perceived greatness. The greatness that was real was real. The greatness that was perceived may or may not have been real. It's not known with certainty, but it's widely believed Kyle is prone to self-deception so most have operated, for good or bad, as if Kyle's perceptions are not real.
This was a real quandary, not just for Kyle, but for all those who knew him. Well, for those that loved him or liked him or felt he had a basic sense of human decency. But for those who did not know him at all, had never met him, had only heard rumors that became increasingly far-fetched and pert-near unbelievable by any person who had an above-Trump IQ. Unfortunately, most of the town had a sub-Trump IQ which led to belief in the most absurd gossip.
Nevertheless, for his friends and family, it was difficult to know how to properly respond to his very real and extraordinarily well-respected greatness while also dealing with what may or may not have been other great achievements. There was no way to know whether he could taste a woman's perineum when he savored a single bite of ranch-flavored Doritos. Still, this was the man who had invented the Ceaseless Orgasm Stick For Men, Women, and They, an accomplishment that was unquestionably considered the greatest technological achievement in human history. So if he said he could taste a woman's perineum when eating ranch-flavored Doritos, those who knew him felt themselves wondering if he really could.
The thing that almost calmed his family and friends occurred during a weekly Black Mass when Uncle Daugherty finally couldn't take it and threw out the goat's blood as he exclaimed, "What fucking difference could it possibly make for anyone other than Kyle whether or not he does or doesn't taste perineum when he eats ranch-flavored Doritos?!" He had a point. They all admitted it to one another. Still, he had thrown out the goat's blood before it had been used to purify the virgin so they flayed his skin from him while he was still alive before finally beheading him and sending his entrails to a second grade classroom at a local elementary school.
Somehow, Kyle got blamed for this stunt and a posse formed in town as, well, they had disbanded the police and deputized each other to shoot on sight anyone who seemed vaguely weird or even just irritating. So now Kyle had to deal with the majority of town escalating their distrust, suspicion, and disgust of him to irrationally homicidal.
Fortunately for Kyle, he had access to true greatness, a greatness that spanned much wider and deeper than a mere orgasm machine (*I say "mere" strictly as an emotionally uninvolved narrator. My non-narrator self would really like to see this particular sex toy developed for the good of all people). He had also solved the problem of insomnia and that ended sleeplessness. Kyle, however, was deeply pissed at himself for not thinking of a way to profit more from his discovery.
As it now stands, Kyle is living in a safe house in rural Arkansas. In the basement. Of a barn. That had recently burned to the ground. He's thinking of burrowing to live with the Mole People thousands of miles below the planet's surface.
No one else is thinking about much of anything. His friends and family are still too shook up about Uncle Daugherty dumping out that goat blood. "What was he thinking?" was the question second on their minds. First on their minds was when the Devil was going to come to make them eat their own shit continuously every moment as if it was the first time ... eternally.
As for the locals with murderous intentions, the entire town was nearly wiped out as everyone simultaneously adopted an "every man for himself" attitude and each person started shooting at anyone and everyone near or far. Most of the town was dead by dawn.
The only exceptions were Kyle's family and friends who were spared because they slept in coffins on nights when they feared Satan might come for them. Which was quite often. Not that Satan came for them often; no, Satan never came for them because of the absence of Satan's existence. However, Kyle's family and friends often believed that Satan was coming for them. Strange group of people. Hard to believe they had trouble with Kyle's claims about tasting perineums when he ate Doritos.