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.