Time Machine

2

Yoshida, the Japanese firm currently in the business of producing time-machines, is preparing a blockbuster announcement for the combined peoples of Earth. They’ve nearly perfected this astounding vehicle and because of the relative low cost involved ( 7,95 each or two fer 15 dollars ) their product will be affordable to any consumer who might desire one. Within a year everybody and his uncle, even people on welfare, can own one of the infernal things. That is, if’n the stock-market don’t come crashing down.
The Japanese expect to be swamped with orders from around the world. Assembly lines might find it impossible to keep up with the demand (already Yoshida has visions of expanding into Tennessee. Parts for these gadgets will be machined in Japan, then shipped to Pigeon Forge for final assembly.
My informant says Yoshida is more than a little concerned because of the malfunction in that RETURN TO 1987 button. For 6 months they’ve been carrying out experiments to fix the stubborn thing, with Japanese convicts serving as guinea-pigs. So far 30 jailbirds have found themselves forcibly put aboard these machines and swooshed off into the FUTURE. A like number have zoomed back across eons of time to the PAST. None have come back!!
I’m not convinced this is a good method for testing. You know, “lifers” just might be using this as a convenient escape route. They’d rather spend the rest of their days living with a Neanderthal family than rotting away behind bars!!
The young Yoshida scientists finally wised up, realized they’d been made to look like chumps by 60 convicts. Said one among them: “Seems we’ll hafta’ do the testing ourselves.”
This they did, and after only a week the company had hired 115 scientists to fill the vacancies. Not a single one of their employees either!
This convinced management that indeed a slight problem did exist with that RETURN TO 1987 button. All machines are prone to “acting up.” The kind that makes time-travel possible are no exception. Evidently Yoshida executives are unaware of two very reliable techniques often used when a machine goes on the blink. First, ya’ take a hammer and give it a real good pounding. If this procedure doesn’t give satisfactory results, kick the durn thing.
Yeah, tryin’ to perfect the machine for marketing has been a real hassle. A total of 60 convicts are runnin’ on the loose, never to be recaptured. A dumb plan, doomed from the outset.
Japan has lost 115 of her brightest “up and coming” young inventors. Those whiz-kids couldn’t solve the problem either, and are wandering out there now, lost somewhere on the eternal sea of time.Never again will they know the familiar sights and sounds of the twentieth-century ( maybe a loose wire is causing that button to “short out.” )
Yoshida must recoup at least part of the investment poured into the development of their time-machine. Or else find themselves being marched down to bankruptcy court.
A plan is even now being formulated. These people have decided a “third phase” of testing. To begin very soon…

3

My informant, just before leaving Japan, learned of the so-called “third phase” testing as planned by the Nippon business firm, Yoshida. That irksome RETURN TO 1987 button won’t work, has caused many headaches and sleepless nights. Potential customers might find such a flaw highly objectionable and express deep concerns about it. One thing fer certain, huge losses will surely result if’n the dang thing ain’t fixed, and pronto!
For instance, some riders of time-machines might choose to go back to those bygone days of the caveman, have a look around, decide such harsh living wasn’t for them, and want to return to this modern period of history.
When the RETURN button failed to produce the desired result you’d hear ‘em mutter: “Uh-oh, I’v e got myself a lemon. Them thar consarned crooks have saddled me with a seriously flawed machine” ( personally, I’d like to whoosh back millions of years and check out Mr. Darwin’s theory. I ain’t never believed my ancestors belonged to a troop of chatterin’ monkeys. Maybe his kinfolk dangled by prehensile tails from jungle treetops. His brothers might’ve spent their lives peelin’ bananas and bustin’ coconuts. But mine didn’t!! My relatives were formed from a mound of earth in a place called the Garden of Eden. I wish Mr. Darwin and his followers would speak of their own cousins, and quit spreadin’ these absurd rumors about mine. Evidently the gentleman was nuttier than a fruitcake ).
Evolutionists, scientologists, Yuppies, the ACLU…these nitwits oughta’ meet in a central part of the nation, form a column of fours, march to Niagara Falls…and jump!
Yoshida needs to make certain that at least part of their customers enjoy a successful roundtrip. Actually, the only way to prove the reliability of their machine. I mean, it would be difficult to explain away thousands of disappearances. That many folks don’t just pack up and say “be seein’ you,” then vanish without a trace into thin air, never again to be seen or heard from. Ours is a universe where a “natural order” prevails…things just don’t work that way.
Sooner or later someone is gonna’ get wise and commence runnin’ off at the mouth: “Yoshida is sellin’ machines that offer the adventurer an exhilirating ride, but not without hazard. It’s one-way only! Such news might cause a drastic reduction in sales. And would surely bring
That much ballyhooed “third phase” is about to get underway. It calls for 25 time-machines to be given (at no cost ) to volunteers in strategic locations around the globe. On learning this I immediately dialed the Japanese ambassador in Washington. We briefly discussed the matter, I promised not to say a word about the faulty product being manufactured in his native land. Through his influence my name was entered on the list of 25.
Yesterday I received some good news…

4

A couple of days ago a registered letter came in the mail. It was notification my time-machine has been shipped and is even now somewhere on the high seas aboard an ocean-going freighter.
This contraption, so I’ve been told, will arrive in one cardboard container, but the machine itself will be in four different parts. Seems the customer must put ‘em together ( I was afraid of that ). However an instruction sheet was in the letter I’ve received , a clearly illustrated page of simple instructions to aid people who ain’t mechanically inclined. Looks like about a dozen or so bolts and nuts in the right place will have ‘er ready to go.
I expect to hear a United Parcel Service deliveryman rapping on my door in about two weeks ( Time-machines are made entirely of aluminum. Shipping weight of each unit is slightly under 18 pounds ). Yoshida, may the Good Lord bless ‘em, is paying all transportation fees. All these freebies have, of course, hit me like an earthquake measuring a 7 on the Richter scale. In 58 years no one has ever gave me anything, so really the immobilizing shock should’ve been expected.
Tell ya’ somethin’ though. I’m sending Yoshida a money-order for 30 dollars to cover all costs. This will prevent one of their factory representatives approaching me at a later date and saying: "strings were attached!” Now listen Bub, I ain’t havin’ none of that. Best not to be indebted to anyone.
Only when the old slate is clean ( meaning you owe these dudes not one red cent ) can one be blunt with this crowd. Otherwise you’re forced to say: “Please don’t garnishee my wages. I’m trying desperately to make arrangements ( poor folks never, never have “business to take care of.” Poor people spend lifetimes “makin’ arrangements.” ).
Time travel! We’ve watched the “idiot-box” 35 years as cartoons depicted what it might be like. Until recently it’s been thought of as the wild imaginations of science-fiction writers H.G. Wells and Jules Verne ( the memorable journey of Sylvester the cat going back to those never-to-be-forgotten days of Attila The Hun. The lisping feline got real dang excited in that one ).
You’ll soon be able to duplicate that feat, selecting either PAST or FUTURE as your destination. If that RETURN button can be fixed, time-travel in both directions can be yours. If not and you insist on climbing aboard one of these things…well, it’s been nice knowing you!
Using these last 20 years as an………………………………………….. indicator, I won’t have one bit of trouble deciding which way to go. Unlike these futurists who paint rosy pictures by saying they, and their gadgets, are creating Utopia for future generations, I think the present trend is plunging humanity toward somethin’ God-awful ( preachers and religion taking the flak for our problems! A sure sign we’re goin’ completely mad. Tell ya’ right now boys, the Anti-Christ is gonna’ have easy pickins’ when he arrives on the scene. Sit down and read the last chapter in the Good Book. If that doesn’t give you a case of uncontrolable jitters, nothing will ).
I’ve sorta’ conjured up an image of what the FUTURE might be like. It’s a terrifying sight and I have no desire to go there.
My finger is gonna’ push that PAST button…

5

Several misconceptions have somehow arisen in this factual account about time-machines. Listen here pal, I’m not acquiring one of these gadgets for the purpose of leaving this world ( any idiot should realize you’d need one of those “leave this world machine” to accomplish that feat ). All things considered, our globe is in pretty good shape.
The thing I wish to escape from is this particular time-frame of history. I want to skedaddle away from these modern days of insanity. We live in a mad, mad age with entire populations shuffling aimlessly about in zombie-like trances and saying: “We don’t know how to cop with life!”
What about that? Sounds real ridiculous in this age of IBM, MacIntosh, Con-Tel, GTE and a whole host of others doing business in the field of electronics monstrosities.
About 10 more years of non-use of the human brain will reduce us to a nation of babbling, drooling-at-the-mouth imbeciles. Hellsbells man, we’ll need machines to tie our shoes!
This idea of replacing humans with robots is an insult, degrading, and also dangerous. It doesn’t require a lotta’ insight to see where this twisting trail, full of unimaginable horrors, might possibly lead. Sooner than you dare think the “wheels” will begin meeting in secluded places, and those pow-wows could be whether or not you and I, as plain old common peons, are any longer needed to further their devious schemes. I mean, poor people could go the route of the passenger pigeon…extinction! You’d better believe it ( my time-machine will soon arrive. I’ll git outta’ here in over-drive!).
Yeah, we’re using laser beams to measure the vast distances in outer-space, while at the same time everybody and his uncle are seeing their psychoanalysts on a regular schedule. Sessions with head-shrinks are like tape recordings. Ye olde quack doctor begins with the standard interrogation: “What’s the problem today?”
And the chief honcho of launch operations at NASA answers: “ Dang it Doc. I’m having trouble coping with life.” Well I’ll be durned…cut off my legs and call me Shorty.”
Once upon a time not so very long ago every person born into this world came equipped with two outstanding, really vital qualities. First and foremost “human instinct” was a part of every infant.. They also possessed a teensy-weensy bit of “plain old horse sense.”
Now ladies and gentlemen, please listen. Somewhere along the line our reproductive genes have gotten fouled up…really gone awry. I don’t know if that pair of traits can be regained, but until such time people will go right on scratchin’ their heads and pleading: “Won’t someone please tell me how to cope with life!”
Listen podnuh, I ain’t one of them thar goody-goody people who have never, not even once, been guilty of wrongdoing. Nonetheless a lotta’ trash is goin’ on today that I don’t wanna’ be associated with. A partial list of such crap includes drugs, abortionists, television that’s no longer entertaining, Charles Darwin and his hordes of horrendous evolutionists, AIDS and the ACLU, L. Ron Hubbard and his scientologists, robots, pac-man, serial killers, futurists, and a bunch of nuts who are now tinkering with the DNA process ( no tellin’ what kind of monsters these kooks will unleash on a defenseless population ).
Our once orderly world now belongs to these cuckoos, and until this present point in time we simple folks have been forced to watch helplessly from the sidelines as the zaniness unfolded. But at long last good news is here. It’s not the U.S. Cavalry charging to the rescue, but these good people at Yoshida and their time-machines.
The exact implement to enable a headlong flight from a disturbing twentieth-century technology. You kooks out there can have the whole dang package, and more than welcome to it.
Me…I’m gittin’ the hellfire outta’ here…

6

I’ve already decided on a course of action to pursue once that time-machine is delivered to my door. An easy decision really, reached without hesitation. Required no pondering whatever.
You see, here’s the existing situation as I see it. Our world is a jigsaw puzzle, a riddle with not one nook nor cranny I can fit into ( all the while realizing that absolutely no person…you, I or anyone else, can change this old world. This orb is on a preordained collision course, heading hellbent toward it’s rendezvous with destiny. Each of us is merely a passenger, willingly or unwillingly aboard for the ride. Lately I’m thinking somethin’ is drastically wrong with the braking-system on our vehicle. ). I ain’t got too much in common with this modern world populated by millions of “enlightened gurus” and a vast assortment of other “beautiful people.”
Now another breed of freak has joined ‘em. These new strangers on the block are called “channelers.” They have direct lines of communication with the greatest Archangels in Heaven, and can also put ya’ in touch with the most grotesque demons in Hell. A Richmond-born movie star, Miss Shirley MacLaine, is a “channeler.
I’ll bet my last shirt that her brother, Warren Beatty, is one of ‘em too. I’ve always thought that lad was a peculiar duck.
Things like transcendental meditation . Quite a number of fresh-out-of-college students are involved here. Coming mainly from white-collar families, these learned scholars are embarking upon “personal crusades for humanity.”
To state it briefly, they’re gonna’ straighten everything up and cure the ailments of an aching world. The very best way to accomplish this noble cause is to devote a lifetime sitting cross-legged, hands clasped neatly under the chin, eyes closed tightly and immersing one’s self in deep thought, both psychedelic and hallucinogenic. That’s the only way to get things done!
Modern-day yoyo heads speak in vague, fuzzy terms: “We yuppies have supplied the know-how for this highly advanced technology you see round about.”
Being a modest lot, the incoherent ravings ramble on and on: “Thanks to us, progress marches relentlessly onward.”
Yessir, we’re sho’ nuff’ with it alright. But I’m having a mite of a problem here. Why are the offices of psychoanalysts and other quacks packed to capacity? Many, many questions...why are we going to see head-shrinks in ever-increasing numbers?
Why goodness gracious pal…get with it! We go there seeking advice on “how to cope with life.” May the Good Lord have mercy and take a liking to us…

7

Time-travelers returning to the murky ages of PAST history can enjoy great advantages over their ancestors who actually were born, lived and died in those ancient times.
We’re not talking about subtle advantages, but real obvious ones. You might choose 800 A. D. to visit Charlemagne, or go all the way back to 30,000B.C. and “chew the fat” with your Cro-Magnon aunts and uncles.The point is simply this…regardless of which historical period one might wish to snoop around in, he can do no wrong ( cause ya’ already know what happened ). I’m tellin’ ya,’ all the right moves are yours to make!
For instance, let’s consider the California gold-rush way back yonder in 1849. Git yerself a good history book, a decent set of maps, climb aboard a time-machine, set the button on 1848…and push!! Note carefully please…we’ll be there one year before all them other greedy pigs arrive on the scene.
Friend, you wouldn’t even need to search. Fortunes in precious metals are yours for the taking. I’d dig up all that glistening yellow ore, pack it outta’ them thar hills on 1500 burros, bury the stuff in Fargo, North Dakota , stick around for another year and look on with glee at agonized faces as greedy Forty-Niners wasted energy in fruitless searches. I wouldn’t leave an ounce fer ‘em to lay their greasy paws on.
But before we get completely carried away, wait…this scenario isn’t without stumbling blocks. We’d better pay heed to what the “experts” are saying about time-travel. As with any other topic one might care to name, the “know it alls” spring quickly forward too.
They’re giving strong warnings, saying we’d best not zoom back through the centuries for the purpose of manipulating or “altering past history.” Even a slight interference in “the way things were” is taboo, a big old no-no.
Don’t ask me why this is so. I’ve been aware of these “teachings” fer more’n 50 years, but haven’t as yet determined the logic behind such advice. I’m merely passing along what these Perfessers are saying…”Leave things be when ya’ get back there.”
A few time-travelers will heed such good advice, but an overwhelming majority will totally disregard it. Quick as a flash they’ll commence lookin’ fer gold, thereby “altering history.”
This hands-off policy where past history is concerned is gonna’ make for some sticky moments, and tough decisions too. Suppose a time-traveler returns to ancient Egypt during the reign of Cleopatra. Gazing upon the irresistable beauty of the femme-fatale, I’d feel compelled to speak to her: “Cleo, you’d better quit handlin’ them dang snakes. The bite of an asp presents serious medical problems, and recovery is very rare for any person smitten thusly!”
That’d be the natural reaction of any compassionate person…he’d blurt it out without even thinking. But neighbor, ya’ ain’t supposed to do it.
One can only stand and watch helplessly with a zipped lip as her predestined fate comes to pass…the poor girl was doomed from the word go ( surely at least one time-traveler will become enamored of her many charms, draw this lass aside and whisper in her ear: “Cleo, I’ve got bad vibes about this place. Let’s you and I git outta’ here before Anthony arrives.”)
Time-travel! A whole new form of entertainment will soon beckon. .Once Yoshida gets these things on store shelves of America, our options for adventure are limitless as the vast skies above…

8

Man went to the moon 19 years ago, has been splittin’ atoms for 5 decades, he’s deep into transplanting hearts and other vital organs, and now laboratories all across this broad land are messin’ around with the DNA thinguhmujig ( mark my word, these dolts will unleash somethin’ awful on us poor ‘uns. ) Drat it, we just not satisfied with the human body turned out by Omnipotent Creator back there in the Garden of Eden.
Now pal, all this stuff is actually happening and you’re right smack-dab in the middle of the whole mess. One would think our “illuminated age” is the ideal time to be alive and kicking on planet Earth. Then why, pray tell me, does one so often hear: “We’re facing dangerous times. I’m gittin’ outta’ this rat-race.” And why is he getting out? Well neighbor, seems a lotta’ these gurus are chiming in with the now familiar: “I can’t cope with life!” Podnuh, somethin’ ain’t adding up here…two and two, in this instance, is six!
Before proceeding onward, a word of caution about prayer. A fella’ must be very, very careful here. If you think your friends are in need of spiritual help, just remember…there are rules, regulations and procedures one must abide by.
For Pete’s sake don’t pray on school property or in government-owned building. Such an atrocious act, kneeling to pray, will bring on scandalous lawsuits and blemish your otherwise spotless record. I certainly don’t want to be held responsible for bringing about yer downfall.
Just follow these simple steps when you feel prayer is needed. Head for the nearest clump of bushes. Or maybe the closed confines of your basement can offer a safe haven.
Whatever, don’t let the ACLU or other bleeding-heart organizations get wind of it. Senators Kennedy and Metzenbaum would have a cryin’ fit, become hysterical, rush to the nearest rooftop and shout: “Americans are sneakin’ around and prayin’ behind our backs! We gotta’ do somethin’ about bushes and basements!”
I predict that, within a month, the United States Supreme Court will declare brushy places of concealment and every cellar off-limits to all citizens!
A sudden switcheroo here , back to coping with life. Get a load of what millions of Moms and Dads are saying: “Our Junior and little Mary are finding it impossible to cope with life. Where did we go wrong?” Easy to answer…when the paddle went out of use!!
Maybe they erred about 10 years ago by giving Jr. and Mary heavy doses of this: “Mommy and Daddy are workin’ 16 hours per day so our little one’s can enjoy the nice things we didn’t have. We’re hoping ours won’t hafta’ debase themselves by getting their delicate little hands dirty with work.”
Now I gotta’ admit to somethin’ before all them thar “counselors” ( America today has more counselors than stickweeds ) out there commence hollerin’ their fool heads off.
I ain’t had no lot of experience in child-rearing. But this “you won’t hafta’ work” crap is the goofiest advice ever offered anyone, youngster or adult. Even a moron such as I can figure this is the wrong route. Better be tellin’ ‘em : “You young ‘uns better git outta’ here and find yerself a job.” That way Junior and Mary can leave the nest and stand alone in life without props or crutches.
Actually, I fail to see what’s so difficult about “coping with life.” A fella’ merely needs to realize he’s born into this world a transient…just passing through a staging area. We’re alloted 75 years to decide in which of two places we’d like to spend eternity, then
Kick the bucket and go to one of ‘em. That’s all…no great mystery.
I ain’t no preacher, this ain’t no sermon. It’s an opposing view to what madcap evolutionists and silly scientologists are tellin’ us. You’ve heard these lame-brains spoutin’off: “ At death we’re meat for the worms.”
Corruption, computer, plot and scheme,
Where oh where is my time-machine!!

9

Just like everything else in this incompetent world, delivery systems are all messed up too. Earth has known it’s Stone, Ice and Iron Ages. Millions of idiots actually believe we’re now living in the “Efficiency Age.” What an outlandish claim!
For more than a week I’ve watched anxiously as a United Parcel Service truck enters my neighborhood, fully expecting my time-machine might be aboard. It has, until this point in time, been a fruitless vigil, a complete waste of time.
All households on my block are receiving cartons of junk,packages, boxes, satchels, paper bags of stuff, burlap sacks full of somethin,’ loads of firewood and lump coal. I get nothin’, and simply cannot understand the prolonged delay. Oh well…perhaps tomorrow.
I’ve poured a goodly amount of time into the study of past history. No great benefits have been reaped, but profit was never the intended goal in my
half-century hobby of reading everything from Darwin to Disney ( Donald Duck makes more sense than the monkeys espoused by the Darwin crowd ).
Charlie can take his chimpanzees and go fly a kite. Or cram ‘em you know where ( obviously the man was obsessed with primates ). No doubt about it, that old codger was one of those false prophets mentioned so frequently in the Bible…they of false teaching fame. Or maybe notoriety is the word.
That scallowag Darwin steered lotsa’ folks on a bum course, pointed them in the wrong direction. His illuminated disciples are carrying on that honored tradition , saying man evolved from monkeys. Let’s listen as two of these dim-witted creeps engage in sidewalk conversation:
“I’m from a long line of illustrious gorillas. And you?”
“Oh, I finished my family tree just yesterday. I’m descended from a long line of distinguished baboons.”
And so it goes. I avoid these nuts, give ‘em wide berth. Shucks man, that feral blood coursing thru their veins might take control of their actions, they’ll start drumming on chests and giving out with blood-curdling yells. Most assuredly I’d be attacked right on the spot by a mob of insane humans who believed themselves a troop of bull gorillas.
In effect, fans of Darwin’s theory are denying that long-ago event when a supernatural Creator breathed into a mound of dust, it took on the shape of a fully developed man, arose, walked and was called Adam.
Now listen here, I’m not claiming this fella’ Darwin is currently residing in that terrifying abode where Satan and his hordes of horrendous demons rule. I’m merely saying that’s where I believe his mail might reach him. Darwin had his beliefs, you have yours…and I have mine.
Sure hope my time-machine comes soon. I wanna’ distance myself from the Darwin crowd and all their moronic kindred…

10

I haven’t laid eyes on that infernal time-machine yet. At first the delay caused considerable agitation, but after having second thoughts I’ve concluded this ineptness is probably a blessing in disguise. It allows for additional hours and days to ponder my impending trip back to the PAST. Such an excursion requires meticulous and detailed planning, this to ensure a smooth ride devoid of snafus and bumps.
I’ve never, not even for one moment, considered zooming off into the FUTURE. Intuition tells me great dangers lie in that direction. Old-timers refer to such instincts somewhat differently by saying: “I can feel it in my bones.”
And let me tell ya’ friend, if you can’t sniff trouble in the air, then your instincts aren’t in good working order. Better hustle on down to Doc’s place and have ‘em checked out.
Time-travelers who choose the uncharted FUTURE as their destination are certain to encounter hordes of barbaric savages who exist in a barren, desolate wasteland. One guess, folks, as to what caused that frightening scene.
The answer is quite simple. As the incomparable English sleuth Mr. Sherlock Holmes would so eloquently state it: “Elementary, Watson old boy…elementary.”
This age of greed and ambition is the culprit. Ambition makes people very, very greedy. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it works both ways. Greedy folks have a nasty habit of looking over into the other man’s pasture field, decides it’s greener than his own and starts climbing the fence. The action is underway! Firecrackers caused that arid FUTURE, firecrackers with a slightly greater detonating force than cherry-bombs.
Speed, speed, speed. Get everything ya’ can lay yer greasy paws on ASAP. WE’re heading down the wrong road, but there’s no turning back. Slow, slow, slow would be a much safer speed. But come on man…such wouldn’t allow retirement at age 35.
What’s that, you ask? Why this gloomy outlook, these chilling thoughts? Shucks pal, guess you haven’t read that final chapter in the Good Book. It’s all right in there, shown in a chronology of pictures. And these photographs in Revelation are cause for chill. That is, if you’re a fearing person. Almost without exception the photos are colored in red…war and fire! Read it, and know for certain old headstrong mankind is about to get it’s “come-uppance!”
The terrifying events foretold in Revelation won’t be a problem for atheists though, no cause for fret or worry for them. Those indestructable one’s made this universe, are in complete control, therefore nothing bad can possibly come their way ( or so they think ). Atheists of the world, sleep peacefully tonight…you dudes probably won’t ever die!
I’ve spent many long years wondering what “the fates” might have in store for scoffers, and have finally decided these “superiors” don’t believe in the fates either. The only other thing I’ve decided about atheists can be stated in this manner…believing in nothing and never faced with any challenge, their’s have been drab lifetimes filled to the brim with monotony, frustration, and heaping measures of misery.
So then podnuh, we’d better forget those rosy pictures being painted by government officials, bleeding-heart TV commentators and a whole raft of other idiotic prognosticators. These knuckleheads never, but never, tell it like it really is.
If you’ve ever entertained the stupid notion that maybe someday in the far, far future one of ‘em will actually tell the truth…well, any person who really believes that needs to visit his head-shrink. Let the quack shine a light in there, and probe around a spell. Something is bad, bad wrong with the working mechanisms inside yer cranium.
Office-holders tell things in a manner to cast their best profiles in the glaring, all-seeing eye of public opinion. But really, I suppose such is in keeping with our modern-day society where nobody, not one solitary soul on earth, wants to hear the truth ( the truth, you see, brings us down from our imagined 8 foot height, to the mere 6 feet where we all stand. And man, we have trouble handling that! ).
This has resulted in our becoming a nation of “buck-passers.” No one will admit to mistakes ( Hey bossman, I didn’t commit that goof. It was my co-worker right down there. And we’ve thrown another life-long friend to a pack of ravenous wolves ). That, ladies and gentlemen, is known as “puttin’ the knife in yer back.” It’s a surgical procedure widely used in modern-day America.
A hidden clue here. If indeed faults and shortcomings are no more, then only one logical conclusion can be reached…we’ve all become perfect!! Well I’ll be durned!
An admittance. I’m still hampered with vast numbers of limitations, make several boners every day. Which means I must be ghastly abnormal! But even so I recognize the fact that we peons don’t blend in well here in these modern days. The mixture just doesn’t work well. I’ve strived mightedly to overcome the weakness, but still I feel vastly inferior in company with blue-bloods.
Our world is science-fiction come true. Just look around. Computers, robots, androids, clones, test-tube babies…monsters unlimited! Doggone, we’ve lost confidence in the human-being We’ve entered a dream-world where individualism and free-thinking are greatly frowned upon. Me thinks that dream is about to change into a nightmare. Me thinks “the cows are coming home.” At a fast lope.
Which is exactly why I’m chompin’ at the bit waitin’ for my time-machine…

11

It was 1900 years ago when a man named John walked through the countryside of Asia Minor and commited a series of terrible crimes. Everywhere the spunky fella’ went he told huge mobs of natives about a Supernatural Creator who made the Earth, moon, the sun above and all it’s companion stars across an endless universe.
The authorities of that day voiced strong disapproval of his actions and became downright irate. Right then and there the “wheels” violated John’s constitutional right of free speech by tellin’ him: “John, keep yer big mouth shut.”
But John was a stubborn man, hard-headed, full of rascality too. He wouldn’t listen, could not keep his lip zipped and went right on tellin’ folks
about “The One” who was responsible for their existence on Earth ( monkeys weren’t mentioned though, not even once. John told people of olden times that they were all directly descended from Adam and Eve. A bit of conflict here with Mr. Darwin and his cohorts. ).
The big-wigs further expressed their anger by saying: “Keep it up and we’re gonna’ git ya.”
And John replied: “You’ll git (get ) me then, cause I’m gonna’ keep right on tellin’ the people.” John kept on talkin’…they nabbed him. He found himself locked in the hoosegow for a few days, then was tried in a Kangaroo Court and found guilty on all charges.
The judge, ignorant of the impending pre-destined plan that could not be altered, passed sentence: “John, I’m exiling you to Patmos for the remainder of your natural life. Out there you can tell that ridiculous story to the gulls and fish. That’s the end of the matter. Next case.”
And so, because of his belief in an Omnipotent Creator, John was banished to that lonely rock jutting from the Aegean Sea.
But you know, the judge wasn’t too smart. Something other than gulls and fishes and boredom awaited John’s arrival on Patmos. The Creator who made that isle stood on it’s rocky shores, probably making a few billion more swimming and flying creatures while biding His time.
While on that small island John was, by Divine intervention, shown the whole FUTURE. Literally! He looked at visions that showed it all, right up to the second when a nuclear holocaust brings the roof down for all eternity ( I’ve always imagined those visions were a series of giant celestial images stretched across the entire sky. ).
More than 19 centuries ago John looked on as an interested spectator at your birth…he watched as you grew feeble with age and died. Saint John knew the lives of your great-great-grandparents, and your great-great- grandchildren as yet unborn ( if we last that long. Personally, I don’t believe it’s possible for the human race to become any more vicious. We’ve reached the “zenith of meaness”. Don’t believe I’ll make any long-range plans. ).
It was 1900 years ago when John heard Colonel Oliver North speak about patriotism, and looked on as a fella’ named Gary Hart sailed the Caribbean with a pretty girl who wasn’t his wife. John saw the sneaky little thing you and I did this morning.
Tell ya’ right now pal, you wouldn’t want to match wits with John. Nostradamus was pretty good telling the future, but the Frenchman was bush-league when compared to John of Patmos. Nostradamus predicted the coming of Adolph Hitler 400 years before anyone ever heard of the German dictator, but couldn’t quite spell his name right ( drat it, missed by one letter…Hisler instead of Hitler ). Amateurish! Nineteen centuries ago John had it spelled just exactly right! And had watched Adolph since birth till suicide.
The FUTURE as seen by that Saint of old would scare seeress Jean Dixon outta’ her wits, turn her hair white in a micro-second, cause her heart to stop pumping ( you or I would be affected in a like manner ).
If right at this very minute we could have a talk with John he’d probably offer this advice: “Y’all better heed what I’m saying and quit listening to these modern-day gurus.”
More’n likely he’d advise in that manner. Saint John the Divine wrote that final chapter in the Bible (circa 76-91 AD ), scrawled it down just exactly the way she’s gonna’ happen. Mr. Rambo, sumo-wrestlers, pro-footballers and all other machos…when the roof starts comin’ down these he-men will sprint for the rocks along with us poor inferior souls. Being top-notch physical specimens, they’ll flatten us like so many panccakes.
You and I are gonna’ witness that terrifying day in the near FUTURE…we’ve got a “date.” The weather won’t be good, but even so there’ll not be 10,000 no-shows. Everyone will attend!!
But hear this. I’m not goin’ there via time-machine for a sneak preview. I’m headin’ back in the opposite direction to the PAST.
Hmm. A United Parcel Service truck just pulled up out front. The driver is unloading a box and lookin’ my way. The carton has funny lookin’ Japanese lettering all over it…

12

Good news…my time-machine has finally arrived. The final countdown to blastoff is underway; in a few minutes I’ll be departing from this kooky time-frame of history.
Just finished assembling the durn thing, a step-by-step procedure I’ve long been dreading. However, to my great delight and surprise such apprehension was totally unwarranted. Even a moron such as I needed only 4 minutes to get the cotton pickin’ gadget ready and rarin’ to go!
Even so those weeks of worry were completely justified, easily understandable. Just like you and everyone else I have, over these past 20 tears, been indoctrinated to expect sophistication, to watch helplessly as the simple changed into the complicated, to cry oceans of tears while witnessing the sensible revert to non-sensical, to see all reason disappear and be replaced with absolute absurdity ( two prime examples…cars and courtrooms ).
Electric car windows, electric car seats ( huff and puff while running 10 miles under a blazing sun, but for heavens sake don’t exert yourself by manually adjusting that seat. Tell ya’ what old buddy, it’s time for us to halt and take a long hard look at ourselves. We’d better all commence giving serious thought that maybe, just maybe, everyone has suddenly gone insane).
Home trash compactors, home garbage disposals, electric tooth brushes, getting seated neath a steering-wheel and hearing a computerized voice give out with: “Your door is slightly ajar.” Neighbor, it’s sickening and I’m more than a little resentful. Those elite Detroit engineers assume we’re all so dumb we don’t know when a dang door is open or shut!!
Actually only 3 accessories are needed to ensure the smooth operation of an automobile. First and foremost, ya’ gotta’ have 4 wheels, preferably rounded in shape. Secondly, a good heater comes in mighty handy when winter arrives. Thirdly, a pair of windshield wipers are an absolute must during the monsoon season. All that other crap is for the birds, or a junk collector.
Congress needs to get workin’ on this national crisis. They oughta’ enact legislation to “outlaw” junk on junkheaps. Each and every violator would face a mandatory 60 year sentence in a federal penitentiary ( oops, sorry. House of Corrections I meant to say. Gotta’ be “sensitive” in this age of sensitivity ) with no possibility of parole, or being assigned to a work-release program. Any person too lazy to crank down a window or manually brush his teeth ain’t gonna’ work anyhow!!
Now friend, I’ve got this compelling hunch about what’s goin’ on today. Shucks man, anyone who thinks this idiocy just “happened” is crazier than a gaggle of geese, with 40 loony ostriches throw in for good measure.
The strong aroma of a giant conspiracy fills the air, and only the blind can fail to see a cleverly disguised plan to once again “use” and take advantage of poor people. Yeah…once again.
This thinly veiled ruse was designed by “bureaucratic wheels”, futurists, IBM, Donald Trump and Ted Kennedy ( well upon my word and honor. A Republican in cahoots with a Democrat. That forces me to join a rejuvenated Whig Party ).
The plot works in this manner: “Let’s overwhelm them with sophistication. The dummies won’t suspect what’s happening, we can drive ‘em like a herd of cattle and get all their dough.” A question…has their plan met with success? You dang better believe it!!
I was born exactly 100 years too late and consider anything preferable to this imbecilic twentieth –century. The PAST button on my time-machine is set to read 1829. I’m headin’ back to America’s frontier days of the old Wild West…

The End

M.L. Wilkinson

April, 1992