This is the first of a series of stories about a time traveler who often, well, flops. Stories will be released once every week, but Season finales will take two weeks after the last regular episode of the season. Here we Go!
Confessions of a Mad Time and Space Traveler(s)
I have no idea where to begin this story. Should I start with when I developed a rowdy group of pals that seem to be bent on goofing up every major historical event? Or should I start when I got a time machine? Or a spaceship? Or when Jim got the great idea to weld the time machine to the spaceship?
You know, I really don’t care. This is my story. If you want to choose how I start, write your own book! And steal a time machine from a crazy 73-year-old psychopathic baker (long story). And create a port-a-potty spaceship that is over 900 feet long.
It all started in January of 1997. I was a college student getting a major in philosophy (philosophy!). I met a crazy physics professor who was convinced that aliens had stolen his lunchbox as a child (an even long story that I will not cover) and that time travel was possible. I was, of course, more interested in his second claim instead of Doctor von Hinklyberg’s traumatic loss of a PB&J at the hands of green men from Orion.
Hinklyberg said if you multiply pi by any base number, you will open a portal to whatever year the base number was. Of course, that didn’t work due to the insanity of the theory and due to the fact that time is relative. I disproved him in about 93 seconds, but I changed my major!
I graduated with a degree in experimental quantum physics with a stress on the effects of time travel on gerbils. After von Hinklyberg retired, he became a baker. Hence the “stealing from a baker bit.” Hinklyberg abandoned his theory and switched to baking baguettes and creating a new theory based on cat hair, poetry, and special relativity.
Well, Hinklyberg developed a time machine that actually worked. He went back to the day when we met and tried to kill me. I really don’t want to explain it, as it turns into one heck of a headache. When he returned, I had the memory of that day and was waiting in the bakery. I killed him and threw the body off a bridge. Not really. I shoved several baguettes into his face and tied him to a stool.
I met Jim, a mechanic with a habit of creating outrageous devices, at a pub in London over a game of pool. I accidentally let go of the cue and it poked him in the eye. He screamed out, yelling about his views on selected works of poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. Apparently, he is not a fan of American poetry.
My first encounter with Joe was in the office where I worked. It was a very bland job. My schedule was similar to this. Work, Coffee, Work, Lunch, Energy Drink,Work,Work,Home. I was copying a sheet of paper when the ink cartridge ran out. Huh, I thought. I ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed a cartridge. I bumped into him and spilled all the ink into his coffee and on his shirt.
We all met at my place to have a drink and watch some soccer. Joe walked into the closet and happened upon the time machine stolen from Hinklyberg. It looks like a small conduit box with a keyboard and screen. If you see it, just look the other way. Anyway, he randomly typed in 1972 and ran at Jim and I. I think that you know what happens next. God, time machines are loud.
Written by Jack Little