“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he
I didn't know he was out of the closet. Last I remember, he was still denying is preference (not that it's anyone's business) to David Letterman.
ReplyDeleteThis skit nearly made me pee, though.
I haven't laughed that hard in a long long time.
ReplyDeleteThat was *great*.
It is a fantastic show in general, but that sequence was EXTRA good. Man, he got passed around like a... um... passed-around-thing.
ReplyDelete