Dear Future Past Me

Dear Future Past Me,

It just dawned on me/you/us that time travel notes probably arrive out of order depending on when these drawings, cave paintings, letters, telepathic postcards, or whatever are found and sent on their way.  Funny stuff.  I can move through the goo of space time with ease, but can’t deliver the mail on time.

Depending on when you find this, the whole Egypt thing totally worked out.  We’re saved by a Senet player on a bender, take a chariot to the ancient equivalent of Vegas and…well, I let you find that one out for yourself.  There’s a some real HST stuff for a moment.

This note is coming to you from the seat of power in the old Roman Empire!  How cool is that? I am trying to only move at night as I’m gooey (time travel is slimy, you’ll remember) and have absolutely no idea what any one is saying. Not a clue.  I heard one guy say, “victus es bonus” which I think I remember from a Gauntlet game.

There’s the thing no one tells you about time travel.  The Whoniverse writes everything off as being traslated by the big blue box.  Bill and Ted just ignores the communication barrier.  You know what being stuck in a world that only speaks Latin sounds like? It sounds like everybody around you is reading an ingredients list from a bag of frozen chicken nuggets while sneezing.  I honestly have no idea what to do while the time machine recharges.

Remember that trip we took to Venice during our gap year? Yeah. Venice doesn’t exist right now.  Tomatoes won’t be utilized anywhere outside South America for a little over another thousand years still.  History is fun and all, but you know what’s even better than history? Spaghetti.

I made us a friend for our Roman vacation.  There is a weird gourd like vegetable that grows around here and I carved a face into it.  Take credit for creating the jack-o-lantern if you want to.  I know I will!  Ha. I love that joke.  I think I’ll name the gourd friend Gourdian of the Galaxy.

Good golly time travel is a lonely endeavor.

See you soon,



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Dear Future Past Me

Dear, Future Past Me,

Good news! Your time travel device first thought up during that table tennis game in middle school works! You’ll be 37 years old and nursing a hang over because a college buddy named Tankard showed up and suggested doing shots the night before you create the machine, but your idea is valid.  Be proud of yourself/me/us(?)!

Bad news! Time travel is weird.  First up, you’ll get covered in a strange goop as if the Nickelodeon slime of our youth is actually what holds space-time together.  I can’t explain it. Perhaps Mark Summers simply wanted to grant children power over time. Perhaps cosmic forces like pranks.  Know this though; you will be gooey when you arrive any where.

Also, it is nothing like Sliders. Nothing at all.  Sure, yeah, they were moving through dimensions.  I thought time travel would do the same stuff, as you probably know because you are me and I am you, but that’s not the point.  Turns out, you step on a butterfly in the past and another butterfly just takes its place.  There are literally millions of butterflies.  Time travel is super depressing by making you realize that nothing is special or unique.  It’s just gooey.

Next up. You’re gooey and stepping on butterflies all the time. That’s a given at this point.  Turns out, the past is incredibly boring.  I’m writing this note while sitting in Cleopatra’s court.  Marc Antony is due to arrive in a few months and I know how things are going to play out, but they don’t.  Dramatic irony is super fun in a prime time drama, but when it plays out in real time and you don’t have popcorn at the ready, life is just one big Dilbert cartoon. Kinda’ boring and feels like there should be a joke, but it never comes up.  You know how we feel about Dilbert though.

More bad news, home-me (ha! just thought of that one. Homie, but we’re the same person), we’re not going to get out of Cleopatra’s court.  The time machine is busted up, war is coming, and things are looking bleak.  I’m hoping some archaeologist recovers this scroll written in 2010s English and resists the urge to throw it away.  Don’t throw this out, bruh! I have my doubts though.  I’m pretty sure this piece of strange fabric won’t survive any of the stuff it is going to see over a couple millennia.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if “Don’t throw this out, bruh!” is the only surviving piece? Good golly that would be amazing.

Obviously my warning goes unheeded since I still end up here.  Maybe I can prevent one little problem though; never travel with a fully grown pig.

No, no, you know what, Me? Do.  It was pretty funny the first time.


Safe time travels, me!


Me. You.





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Captain Redding and the Journey of Eagle Seven

“Captain, there’s something approaching.”

Those words hit Captain Redding in like a sack of potatoes to the back.  A situation she had encountered previously and does not recommend at all.  Decades in space, flying toward a distant rock that would one day be home, and nothing had ever happened.  Redding was sure she once saw an asteroid shaped like a Bugles corn chip, but could not prove it.

Now, “something” was approaching.  Not a rock, not a comet, not a weird clump of hydrogen.  Something meant there was no immediate explanation.

“Let’s see it,” the Captain ordered.  She took her seat on the bridge and drones deployed from the ship to get a closer look at the incoming object.   As the camera feeds flickered to life, the command crew gasped in unison.

“Is that…?” started the radar operator, too confused to finish his sentence.

“Audio. Get me audio,” The Captain ordered.  All the sci-fi writers, all the astrophysicists, any one who ever looked up from Earth and wondered if we were alone in the universe was about to proved right; life was present beyond our big blue wet sphere.

“Greetings,” the Captain said, pulse racing as her voice became the first encounter between human and alien, “I am Captain Redding of the human vessel Eagle Seven.  We are peaceful. We are curious. We are excited to meet you.”  She hoped her words would be looked upon kindly by history.

A brief moment of silence followed.  On the screen they saw a creature, humanoid in appearance, but possessing far more arms and much less hair, move around a small spaceship and tap a button on what could only be described as a tablet computer.  The crew of Eagle Seven waited and watched, wondering what the creature was doing.

“Okay, okay.  Y’all hear me?” The creature replied.

“Yes,” Redding answered, fighting back tears, “we hear you and understand you!”

“Good, good. Sure thing. I dig it. Yo, any one on that ship order a pizza? I have a delivery to make and the address makes no sense.  That’ll teach corporate to expand the delivery area to unknown markets, eh? Ha! Listen, you guys have been great, but you want these pizzas or not?” The alien spoke rapidly.

Redding looked around to her crew, unsure of the proper response.

“We thank you, friend, for your hospitality and offering and would welcome trade with you and your civilization,” Redding answered.

The alien responded with an amused chuckle. “Oh, you folks are a-okay.  I’ve gotta go though.  You ever need some pizza though, be sure to come over to Uncle Toi’Diwo Grrrr’s Place.”

The alien ship zipped away and the Eagle Seven team suddenly felt the pain of not blinking for four minutes straight.

“First contact went a little weird,” one crew member said.

“I thought for sure aliens would just be super smart computers,” another muttered.

“How awesome is it that there’s pizza in space?” Another pointed out.

Captain Redding took her seat and ordered the Eagle Seven to continue its voyage to a new home, hoping history would write the story of first contact a little differently.



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No Go

“That’s the place, huh?” Wel asked.  It was his first visit to Fort Wayland.

“That the place,” Cacee confirmed as the car sped by a site only called “No Go.”

No Go was a six acre patch of earth surrounded by a barbed wire fence.  A regular patrol duty walked the perimeter.  The patrol was present for the expressed purpose of keeping people out of No Go, but every one knew the real reason was to keep whatever it was at the center of No Go in No Go.

Thankfully, that was an incredibly easy job.

“Why don’t they just blow the creature up and be done with it?” Wel pondered.

“That’s a ballot issue every single year.  The cult that brought it here from wherever it was now has it classified as an endangered species.  They did an environmental study and everything.  Thank goodness those laws exists, don’t get me wrong, but for the reals.  Protecting an Kaiju beast from another dimension is so far from the intent.  So issue never actually gets to be voted on.” Cacee said, unable to hide his annoyance with the annual tradition.

“It still can’t move?” Wel had read that somewhere.  He claimed to have read it in a newspaper, but no one believed him.

“Still trapped in our oxygen rich air like it’s a grape in those weird jello molds full of fruit,” Cacee answered.

“Those poor cultists must have been so upset.” Wel kept his gaze on No Go.

“Yes and no.  Certainly had to be vindicating to be right.  The end goal was the end of the world though.  Now they spend their days in court rooms swimming in litigation.  Which is about the worst end of the world possible.” Cacee said.



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The Late Shift

“I am of the night. I am the night,” Dallin said to his reflection.

“Dallin, get out of the bathroom!” a friend shouted from the other side of the door.

Dallin huffed and lowered his head.  “I’ll just be a minute,” he called out.  With one last look in the mirror, one final affirmation, he was ready. Continue reading

Mission Failure


The voyage was to be one of teamwork, companionship.  For years her team trained to take humanity to new worlds.

Being alone was never even a contingency plan.

She ran to the spaceship’s command module.  Her leg aching in pain from the most recent encounter with…whatever they had met our in the black.  She could hear it still; dozens of legs tapping against the floor of the craft.

Her crew mates fell long ago.  She was the last hope to message earth; stop the mission.

Alone she saw a dozen legs in her path.

No message would be sent.

You’ve Earned a Badge

“You’ve earned a badge!” the robot’s voice chirps from inside a just stopped alarm clock.  “That’s five days in a row without hitting snooze.  Say ‘sure’ to share the accomplishment with your social feeds!”

“Sure,” says the ever so groggy Embry, prying covers off of himself and stepping to what he hopes is a pile of clean laundry.  Work started in a mere hour.  He had to move.

“You’ve earned a badge!” the robot’s voice called from his smart-watch, “you’ve shared your last five badge accomplishments! Sharing your accomplishments is good!  Say, ‘sure’ to share the news with your friends.” Continue reading