Partly Cloudy, 64°
Ah, crud. Here we go again. You bring three temporal-spanners and fifteen techno-rivets with you and still have to go through the ringer. This time machine sure ain’t workin’ like it should, mac. Sheesh. Criminy. No way, no how this thing’s going anywhere without some major repairs. I mean, heck, what’s a guy gotta do to get a hunk of metal sent 90 years into the future around here?
Too much, apparently.
This chrono-combobulator is all out of whack. It’s toast. P’tooey. Couldn’t even use it to crush a roach if you had to. Where’d you get this thing anyhow, the trash dump? The garbage heap? Thing looks like it was put together by a blind WWIII vet with hyperthyroidism. First off, we’re gonna need 50 of those watch-sprockets over there. No, no, the watch-sprockets not the watch sockets. Thank you. Anybody here ever even fix a temporal transmitter before? Anyone?
I suppose not.
Well it takes a sec okay, hotshot? Now what’s going on over here with this ol’ trans-dimensional cross-inhibitor, eh? Wha—oh, no, a broken metastitizer! Ah, criminy, ah, heck. Better bring in the reserves—if we had any, that is. Criminy. Better get that oversaturated chrono-configuration drive. Ever heard of it? No, no! That’s the undersentient chrono-configurator. Two completely different things. What the heck is this, chronotechnician service camp all over again? What gives?
I mean, heck, I’m here with my third transistor orbiter and Jack Palance over there is staring thick-eyed like he’s taking a publicity photo. You’re not, Jack! What’s that? How much does it take to fix an extradurable synchrotron storage ring? Two words: extradurable! This things harder to crack than the safe at the World Bank, criminy. That is, if the World Bank hadn’t gone kaput after the Fourth World War. Sheesh. And here I am, with a busted core. Can you believe it?
Unbelievable.
And wouldn’t you know it, the triple-bypass undulator has shot its rocket. Goody me! The whole gosh-darn contraption has blown its lid. And I’m the one who’s gotta fix it. Who else? The amount of work it takes to keep a stinkin’ phase-manipulator running would make you lose your head. I swear to god. Just one little phase-manipulator? WithOUT dipolar magnets? You kiddin’? I’ll bet 50 scrams Mickey Rooney over here couldn’t save a stint-duration lever with a chrono-wrench, could he? No chance. Ha. Ha ha.
Look here, folks. I’m doing the best I can, and I want nothing more than to get you back to the year 2017 when water-shortages forced the world into several hundred superpower proxy-wars—that’s what I’m here for. No doubt. But if we don’t keep our cool and stick together with this temporal-transfigurator here, I won’t be able to do my job well enough to—oh, crud, oh criminy, ah heck, a busted duration-interval braid?
Just my luck.
