A while back there was a post regarding time travel. It ended on a little dialogue of what it would be like if I visited myself in the past. Today that ol’ rascal Past Me has come to visit the future. Enjoy!
Present Me: Oh great, so you’ve decided to visit me? You are really persistent about getting a cigarette from me aren’t you?
Past Me: Well you still haven’t taken the time to quit yet, have you?
Present Me: Look, I could easily just go back inside and not talk to you. Don’t come here, throwing your judgements out.
Past Me: Look, I just wanted a chance to come ask questions. About the future and shit. Your visit riled up my curiousity.
Present Me: Whoa now, cool your jets. Where’s the fire at Callohan?
Past Me: Callohan? What the hell does that mean?
Present Me: Never mind, you’ll figure it out on your own. I have faith. So what could the almighty, young know-it-all, crust punk Jon want to know?
Past Me: God I am such a dick in the future. We already had the hygiene argument, but just know that your fancy button up shirts can’t cover up your dirt at heart, buddy. You’re not as great as you think.
Present Me: Look pal, I know a helluva lot more about hygiene than you do now. Just ask your damn question.
Past Me: Did you ever build that robot out of PBR cans? Remember? The Pabst Robot?
Present Me: I’m glad you ask about that. You gotta let that one go. This is what happens: You end up just collecting all your empty cans, you don’t clean ’em out well enough, and then your whole apartment stinks. Just forget about the robot.
Past Me: No way, pops. That’s the best idea we’ve had.
Present Me: I’m serious. Your going to get lazy about it and end up with a bad habit of leaving your beer cans laying around. Here, let me open the door to your current apartment. Just look around in there, do you see a robot?
Past Me: Ah man. I guess I don’t. I see some Hamm’s cans. Wait. Wait a minute. What is this? Why do you have a bike?
Present Me: What does that matter?
Past Me: What are you 12? Be sure to ride back home before it gets dark out.
Present Me: That’s how I get around. I don’t have a car. Besides, I have lights on it so I can ride when it’s dark.
Past Me: Uh-huh. Whatever you say ya dork. I guess I am better than you in one way: I have a car.
Present Me: You judgmental ass. Get in your time machine and get the fuck outta here.
Past Me: No more questions? I can’t ask if we ever figured out a way to convince people we are Dom Deluise’s son?
Present Me: We did for about a week but it got pretty awkward. Now, seriously, get outta here. I got better things to do than this.
Past Me: Like pet your cat or take a shower? Whatever. Fine, I’ll got get in my time machine now. Which, by the way, is way better than your dumb bike.
Present Me: Oh really? Why’s that? Because it’s covered in shitty band stickers? Go on. Get!
[Past Me leaves, Present Me still sits on the porch.]
Present Me: Ah, he’ll be fine. I know he will. He’s a good kid at heart.