Kicking Evil’s nuts throughout history, or Greetings from the future!

The trouble with time travel is that it’s so constraining. You can’t do anything fun when you go back, or it screws up the future.

“Yikes, stepped on a butterfly in the Mesozoic. Oh, no, now Richard Simmons is king of Idaho. And a woman.”

Besides, time travelers only ever want to go back and meet the same four people over and over:

(1) Jesus

(2) Einstein

(3) Tarzan

(4) Your mother (Oh, snap!)

If I had a time machine, I would go back to my elementary school in 1980. Back when as a little fourth-grader I wandered the playground alone and friendless. Until some punk fifth-graders snuck up behind me and slugged me in the stomach.

FOR NO REASON.

I crawled into a tube in the playground and wheezed for 10 minutes till I caught my breath, while my 7-year-old mind tried to make sense of the cold, heartless universe, and then burned with a rage that would be my intimate companion for years to come.

“But, Vampos,” you say, “you wouldn’t go back in time just to beat up little kids, would you?”

Uhm…

Not at all, I would merely rattle them around till they told me their names. Then I’d go forward in time till they were teenagers. I’d walk up to them, a complete stranger, and say “Greetings from the future!”

And I’d kick them in the nuts.

No temporal paradox to deal with, no affecting the course of history. Just a good swift kick to the pebbles and I’m gone. And that’s just the beginning:

Mussolini—Atsa crunchy meatballs!

Stalin—Nuts to you, comrade!

Hitler—A goose-step to the Gerbils!

The Wonder Twins—Form of: an icicle (to your groin!) Shape of: an antelope (on your crotch!)

Maybe I can’t change history. Maybe these bastards would still do their evil deeds, but at least all these guys would spend their lives in a constant panic, wondering if their jewels are getting new cracks that day from the mystery nut-kicker.

For wherever evil lurks, it better wear a cup.