Hi there fellow AOLers,
it is me, your sex in the sity friend Randall. You know when I am not thinking about grandpa's corpse shooting out of the ground and grabbing my ankles, I often wonder what the future will be like for me. I sometimes sit in a dark porta-potty, close my eyes, and imagine that the smell encompassing my wadded up clothing is actually the residual odor as a result of the chemical exchange that powers the flux capacitor. The porta-potty starts it slow delayed rumble, the air becomes heavy. I cant stop sweating. A fan kicks on from somewhere behind me as air starts to circulate in a whooshing noise. BLAM, at first. A violent rumble ensues. SPARK, BUZZZZZZ EYERYWHERE! Lights are flashing and blinking all around me. I take a deep gulp of my big gulp and wipe my forehead with a McDonalds moist towelette. The countdown begins. I am not alone. Michael J Fox and Doc, sitting on each side of me, look deeply into my eyes and triple kiss me, "randall, where we're going, there are no roads".
2185 here we come! By now the lingering words of those two is almost obscured by the noise generated from the time-potty. BLAM, BOOSH, WIZZO. Doc looks over and shouts, "Randall, DO IT! YOU HAVE TO HIT THE...".
The what? Hit the what?
Damn it, all those years of training for this event and now I cant remember what I learned in class (7-11 parking lot).
WHAT THE HELL COULD HE MEAN?
I look around the room, what the hell is Doc referring to? WHAT COULD IT BE?
Urinal?
No...
Urinal Cake?
No...
Weird pole that exhausts potty gas that build up?
NO!
Out of the corner of my eye, I see it.
OF CORSE! The the transvaporational purell thyme machine button!!!!
I am fighting horrific forces pinning me to my seat. Somehow, for some reason I manage to stand up and slam my open palm onto the Purell Dispencer, shooting Purell K-Y jelly all down my leg. BAMMMMMMMMM!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzooooozzzzzzo...................
The room goes silent. We're here, we're here! WE'RE HERE!
I kick the door open and scream, "I HAVE DONE IT! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!".
...but as I pull up my pants, the only future voice I hear is the present day man in a hard hat waiting in line. He raises an eyebrow and says to me, "yeah buddy, we all shit... I'm just glad yer finally off the fucking pot." He pushes me aside as he lets out a gigantic fart as if inching out a grill cheese sandwich. As the man swings a lumbering arm to open my thyme machine, I peer inside a closing door to see no Doc... No Michael J. Fox...
I am alone, my thoughts of occupancy, now vacant.
Where am I in this cold cruel world? What can I of today tell future me?
This is main topic of today's post. What if there is a way for me to tell future me something? Well my AOL friends, I have found a way. There is a website called futureme.org in which you can write your future self an email and specify the date in which it will be sent.
What follows is the letter to myself, to be delivered in 2185.
"thank you for getting to know me over this media" -randall tuhchie
it is me, past randall tuhchie. If you are getting this email, then the home cryogenic machine (deep freezer) that you and acorn built has worked. If everything has gone right, then at this point I will pause and allow you to drink from your genitals. The future is great isn't it?
How is the future treating you? Did the lunchables you buried in the backyard go bad? Hopefully not cause if the future is anything like Ashton Kutchers "butterfly effect", then you know that that movie IS SO WRONG WHEN IT COMES TO THYME TRAVEL. YOU JUST GOT PUNKED(dont know what that means).
Did you learn how to reanimate your kitty peppercorn (named after pepper and acorn)? Hopefully so, cause if the cops found a corpse in a freezer with a shit ton of dead kitties piled on top of it, someone has got some splainin to DO! (acorn arrested).
What advice gan I give to a man (me) that already knows so much.
Well, remember when you was a kid and got would hump ping-pong balls in the closet when mom(dead) was away? That's not what I want to tell you about. BUT IT SURE IS FUNNY!
What I want to tell you is that I secretly buried 90,000 ketchup packets, and if all goes as according to planets, they are still burried in the your back yard... or as it is known in the future, an ancient and sacred cat burial ground. (see map)
this is important because the ketchup packets should be worth millions of billions of dollars, since there will be a ketchup shortage in the future. You can thank me for that one later.
Well. I suppose thats all for now future me. I hope you have learned your fucking lesson.
One last thing future me. what's it like? are they're flying cars? robotic prostitues? Dogs that lick your anus clean after you potty? Trying to work the kinks out of the last one. Please find a way of contacting me... please.
I await your reply. You are our only pope.
"thank you for getting to know me over this media" -randall tuhchie
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