Nothing too fancy. Just something to
get me back to June 28th, 2010.
I have no interest in killing Hitler or
preventing the Twin Towers from falling. As for dinosaurs, I can
wait until I die to get a good look at them. I just need a plain, no
frills time machine. I don't even need a radio. All it needs to have
is the capacity to travel back to June 28th, 2010. I'd
like to arrive in the early evening. I would skip out on my night
class and instead plan a surprise dinner date—complete with dessert
and complimentary blow job for my cuddle foot. His June 28th self
would really appreciate it.
Dear God,
Please have someone invent a time
machine. Let it be invented preferably by next month. Also, please
let the inventor be a close friend of mine so that I can use it.
Amen.
This blows.
I am still mad you're not here. I'm
mad that we are now the tragic examples of love lost to our mutual
friends. I'm mad that we are the reason people we know hold their
lovers just a little bit tighter at night. I'm mad about all of
this. Why couldn't we have kept our original positions as the power
couple everyone had already gotten used to?
I know this anger will pass, and like
the gas in my stomach that turns into farts I will be relieved. Yes,
I just wrote that. What else am I to compare my anger to? This isn't
rage. This isn't violent. This anger is like a bloated stomach filled
with lots of undigested things.
