Do you know what I mean?


Question: What if the Queen had balls? She’d be the
King, right? What if I sold one of these? Yeah. Right.

It’s pointless, the phrase “What if…” What if
“The King,” AKA Elvis Aaron Presley

lives in a nursing home with J.F.K. and
they’re terrorized by an Egyptian mummy?

What if J.F.K. was black? Sure, Bubba. So…
What if our current future wasn’t really

The Future, but another timeline’s we lived
in another life? Wormholes and all that stuff.

Read Timeline by Michael Crichton sometime. You
might learn something useful. Whatever you do,

don’t watch the movie with Paul Walker. It’s not
awful, and I hate to be a book snob, but

I walked out of the theater an hour
into that bloody shambles of a motion

picture. Good lord! They removed all the cool time
travel theories Crichton put so much effort

into. “Quantum foam … makes me roam … to the place…
I belong.” String theory. “Loopers … you know? Jocks?”

The Dalai Lama. Bill Murray holding a
pitchfork to the punk caddy’s throat and

ad-libbing the funniest goddamned part of
Caddyshack, and this is a movie … I mean…

name the scene – it’s funny. What about Rodney
Dangerfield telling his Asian friend, “I hear

this place is restricted, Wang, so don’t tell ‘em
you’re Jewish, ok?” El-oh-el. That’s funny,

right? It’s not offensive, is it? I can’t tell
the difference anymore. The line is so

blurred it’s unwalkable, and no, that’s not a
real word. So? You know what I mean don’t you? Or…


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