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ExamForce :: Article Archive :: Newsletter Article
 The Cert Times: IT Edition Article Archive
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| Please Take Your Seats, Ladies and Gentlemen: the Third Act is About to Begin (B1N@RY N@T10N (A.J. Axline)) |
When it comes right down to it, the most expensive part of building a time machine isn't the components, or even the fuel; no, it's buying the monkeys to use as test subjects while you're calibrating the damn thing. Go ahead, price out a monkey some time. Those smelly poop machines are friggin' expensive. And, as calibrating a time machine is a long, imprecise process, well, you can imagine the monkey bill.
"All right," Vector said. "I've got it set for just the right period. We're good to go."
"Why couldn't you have said that a few monkeys ago?" I groused. "Do you know that PETA has put a hit out on us?"
"Shut up, and suit up," Vector snapped.
Sterile suits, masks, gloves, boots. The two of us looked like Howard Hughes wannabes.
"Okay," I said. "All we have to do is go into the time machine, push the button, take five paces forward, stomp on the butterfly, turn around, walk back into the time machine, push the button, and return back to this moment in time. Just like we planned."
"Yes," Vector agreed. "This should be incredibly easy and straight forward. Nothing could possibly go wrong."
"I'm going to punch you," I said happily. "I'm going to break your nose for saying what you just said."
"And, here we go," Vector said, hastily stepping forward into the time machine. I stepped beside him, and he pushed the button.
It was like going through a car wash, except without a car, and there was no water or soap, and both of us were screaming when usually it's only Vector who screams when we go through the car wash, because he's incredibly hydrophobic.
Then, we were in a prehistoric forest. The colors were bright and garish enough to hurt my head. I looked down at my feet, and put one hand on Vector's shoulder. We stepped forward out of the time machine.
"One," I counted.
"Two. Three," Vector and I counted.
"F--" I started to count, and then fell over backwards after running into something that felt suspiciously like a strange person wearing a sterile suit.
"Oh man, we should have done one more monkey," Vector groaned from the ground next to me.
"I'm not even going to begin to tell you what's wrong with that sentence," I growled.
"Oh crap, I KNEW this was going to happen," the other Vector said.
"If you KNEW, then why didn't you say something before we left?" the other me shouted.
"Wait a minute! Nobody move, or say anything that could prove to be confusing!" I said.
"Too late," the other me said. One of the Vectors started laughing.
"Okay, what year are you guys from?" one of me asked.
"2012," a Vector replied.
"We're trying to stop President McCain from getting re-elected," a Vector explained.
"Well, we're trying to stop McCain from becoming President McCain," I think it was me said.
"Well, you can't be doing a bang-up job, because he's already President," some Vector snapped.
"Well, that's because we just got here," I or someone else who was me argued.
"The butterfly's GETTING AWAY!" some Vector shouted.
And indeed, a beautiful prehistoric monarch butterfly was fluttering by.
The two Vectors and the two Is scrambled to our feet and started chasing the insect. It quickly turned into a nasty donnybrook as it became apparent that everyone wanted to be the one to bring the poor butterfly to an untimely demise. Elbows were thrown. Eyes were gouged. Groins were kneed. Knees were groined.
The butterfly was sentient enough to sense that something was terribly wrong. It fluttered up into the trees, and disappeared from sight. The four of us stopped our exertions, and cursed at each other for several minutes.
"Well, that's that," I said. "We've trampled god knows what while chasing after the butterfly. Both of our futures are likely doomed."
One of the Vectors was about to snap something back, when there was a whirring sound from the middle of the glade we'd originally beamed into. The four of us limped back to the glade to take a look.
A third time machine sat in the middle of the glade. A group of well-armored, and well-armed monkeys peered around until they spotted our beaten and bruised quartet.
"That's them! The murderers! AFTER THEM!" one of the monkeys shouted in perfect Esperanto.
I'm not going to tell you how we got back. It's not a tale I'm particularly proud of, and Vector and I have agreed that the story shall die with us. Again. Nor am I going to tell you what's going to happen on Election Day, although there are going to be some surprises.
I'll say this: contrary to what the "experts" are telling you, now would be a good time to sell your stocks. All of them. Maybe convert your cash into something portable and easy to exchange, like gold and precious stones. It also wouldn't hurt to learn at least a little Esperanto.
Happy Halloween,
A.J. Axline
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Posted by
nam on 29/10/2008 15:56 |
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