A time machine accidentally showed up in the mail today.
I knew it was an accident, because it was addressed to someone else. I knew it was a time machine because after tearing into the package I found a note that read “Time Machine: DO NOT USE”
“A time machine!” I said, ‘Thanks John Doe!”
But where would I go? What would I do? My mind flooded with possibilities.
Dinosaur times? No–it would probably smell bad, and if there were cavemen around, it could be dangerous too.
The future? No–everyone would probably have a time machine, and I would look like an idiot with my old one.
I finally decided to take a gun back to George Washington times.
“Everyone will look awful silly throwing their swords down and cowering before The Great Wizard,” I thought, grinning with satisfaction. All that was left to do was to find a gun!
I checked the front porch for another package–nothing. I looked under the bed and in the closet–also nothing. I was about to give up and order a replica of The Constitution, so I could get it signed by George Washington, when I remembered where a gun was!
I ran to the living room, and there before me on the mantelpiece was my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandfather’s gun with the knife on the end of it, back from some long forgotten war.
“It’s perfect!” I shouted.
I grabbed the gun, and dialed the time machine to 1776. There was a buzzing sound, and a bright flash. I found myself in the middle of a muddy field; a wall of soldiers facing me from each direction.
“Hey everybody,” I shouted, ”check out my gun!”
I felt a sharp pain in my neck, and the sudden urge to take a nap.
When I came to, there was a nurse standing over me.
“The box…the funny looking box,” I groaned, “where is it?”
“Shh,” she whispered, “you’ve been shot in the neck, and trampled. Quite gravely I’m afraid.”
“It’s a time machine,” I sputtered, “don’t use it!”
I told her to package the time machine up and send it to my address, post-dated for the future.
“Whom should I address it to?” she asked.