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October 19, 2006


You can send six words back to any person at any point in time in the past. What words do you send and to whom?

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“keep an eye on Judas, Jesus…”

If you REALLY want to live.

Jesus had to know he wasn’t divine. For proof: I’d say he went to the cross just a little too willingly, knowing that he couldn’t sustain the cult of personality. Just because there was no internet doesn’t mean that word didn’t get around. Almighty Father? Walk (but not sleep) with prostitutes? Water in to wine? Loaves and fishes? That’s just the kind of thing that you can see surviving for thousands of years. People today say that Foreigner rocked then but how can that possibly be true? So… he quit while he was ahead.

Posted by: WJD at October 19, 2006 8:08 AM · Permalink

I looked into the screen transfixed by who I saw on the monitor as if on a webcam.

"Is that really my parents?'

"Yep, through the use of chaos magic you can see and speak to your parents on the day of your birth."

"Neat," I replied.

"You can only use 6 words and do it once." Said my friendly chaos mage.

I thought to myself for a bit. A pressed the mouse button. "Farnsworth is a good name for him!"

I whipped out my licence to see if anything had changed .

"Wtf man?"

"I loathed the bloody name Andrew."

Posted by: Andrew Ian Dodge at October 19, 2006 8:28 AM · Permalink

At first Billy freaked when the vortex opened in his room. Each night it grew smaller though. The night it was just big enough to pop a head in, Billy did.

On the other side, he saw his brother sitting on the couch with a beer in hand. Ed’s wife, Liz, was having another fit of rage in the kitchen. Billy really missed Ed since Liz had murdered him two years ago. She said she just couldn’t take his “bad habits.”

The vortex tightened around Billy. Before pulling his head back, he cried out, “Always put the toilet seat down!”

Posted by: laieanna at October 19, 2006 9:17 AM · Permalink

I can't decide between Lincoln or Kennedy for "Duck, you son of a bitch!" ... or Neil Armstrong.

Posted by: Laurence Simon at October 19, 2006 10:43 AM · Permalink


History does not repeat itself, at least, not in my life. I’m not saying
I’ve always walked the straight and narrow. I bounced around (like a
ping pong ball) for awhile. What I am saying is when I’ve missed an
opportunity, that’s that. Life doesn’t come back around and give me
another chance. And, when I lay my head down at night and release
a final sigh, I have just one pressing regret. I wish I hadn’t ignored
the desperation in my husband’s eyes, or his squeeze of my hand.
I wish I’d yelled “Doctor, please, don’t pull that plug.”

Posted by: Kasac at October 19, 2006 12:26 PM · Permalink

Blimey and Nutters sat quietly in the belly of the Arssnart, on a bench they
had constructed out of undigested kibble bricks.

"Hold on," said Blimey, pulling from his pocket what resembled a swiss
army knife with a speedometer attachad. He had nearly forgotten about
his newest invention. The Time Re-fabulator!

Faster than you could say, How's yer Mother, the Re-fabulator whisked
both men to approximately 6:00 AM earlier that same day. Blimely
tip-toed into his own room, depositing beside his then sleeping body a
note of six words:

Leave the sodding Arssnart alone, Mate.

Nutters shook his head dispairingly.

Posted by: Ben Martini at October 19, 2006 12:32 PM · Permalink

The moment of my inspiration came amid despair. Our convoy was destroyed, I barely survived, and the Portuguese, thinking my calculations incorrect, refused to provision me.

While meditating on my frustrations in my chambers I heard a voice. "Cristoforo," it rumbled, "colloquio al re della Spagna." Spain! Of course – they would be thrilled to beat the Portuguese to the Western Passage! I went to Ferdinand at once.

What a glorious land we reached! As we sailed from San Salvador toward the Indian mainland, I prayed in gratitude and heard a different voice, harsh and mocking:

"Cristoforo, ciò non è l'India, idiot!"

Posted by: Keiran Halcyon at October 19, 2006 12:39 PM · Permalink

Charles Manson has a lot of flaws. We all did and we all do. Something about his presence made people scared of him. I mean really, he was a short guy who was skinny. Nothing about this man was scary. Small man with big mouth. This was a man who terrified the countryside while really doing nothing except killing “the pigs” and scaring homeowners in Los Angeles. Sure he was bad and he was hairy, but really, he was kinda small guy. He needed to know one thing thou. I needed to tell him.

“Punch Geraldo Rivera in the nose.”

Posted by: the turtle at October 19, 2006 4:47 PM · Permalink

“A time machine?”

“More like a time-message machine.”

“But it’s limited to six words?”

“Right. Brilliant isn’t it? You could tell anyone anywhere, at any time, anything you wanted!”

“But only six words.”

“There are some inherent limitations to the technology.”

“For the money spent, it’s kind of weak. Were there other project options?”

“There are always options. Slipstream remote viewing. Phantom tickling. That ‘Change the Text of Famous Works of Literature’ project was interesting.”

“Okay. Dial me up the date of the project decision vote, and give me your ear.”

“Me? What message?”

“Reject time machine. Support phantom tickling.”

Posted by: PB McCoy at October 19, 2006 5:49 PM · Permalink

Check before you post!