Ewan, The Deer, and Al walk
along for another mile or so through the woods when they see a small clearing
in the trees up ahead. As they emerge
from the tree line they find themselves in a roughly circular clearing in the
woods that’s about thirty feet in diameter.
In the very center is a small crater about three feet wide and a foot
deep that’s partially filled with ash and old, charred logs. Around that is a ring of bare dirt a couple
feet wide that looks well trodden on.
Past that the grass starts growing again. Where the dirt ends and grass begins are
several old, fallen trees lying on their sides as makeshift benches, arranged
around the campfire in a loose, circular formation. In the left corner just past the log benches
in the shade of the surrounding massive trees is an old, lime green, 1950s
style refrigerator. In the opposite
corner is a sixty inch, high-definition, plasma TV mounted to a tree.
“Wow, this is pretty nice,” says
Ewan.
“Yeah, it ain’t much to look at,
but we have the basics covered,” replies The Deer. “Dvd and blu-ray player,” says The Deer as he
points to two small devices sitting on a shelf mounted to the tree just below
the tv. “Dolby 7.1 surround sound
system,” he continues as he points to some wireless, Bose speakers mounted
overhead around the outside of the circle to the trees along the tree line. “You gotta watch Heat on this
setup. It’s badass.”
“Nice tv. What is it plugged into?”
“Ummm, maybe it’s plugged into
an electric socket?” replies The Deer, rhetorically.
“Does it work?”
“Yeah, of course it works.” The Deer reaches down to one of the log
benches, picks up a remote, and presses the big red button at the top of the
remote. The TV’s display lights up and Sports
Center appears.
Ewan immediately recognizes the
staple of his nights and weekend afternoons, sits down on a log, and starts
watching the highlights. “This is damn
near perfect. It’s just missing one
thing,” says Ewan.
“Say no more,” answers The
Deer. He walks over to the fridge, pulls
open the door, pulls out two cold beers, and tosses one to Ewan. Ewan catches it and pulls the aluminum tab to
open the can. The Deer sits down next to
him a couple feet away on the same log.
Ewan takes a long swig from the
beer, “Ahhhhhhhhhh,” he sighs approvingly after swallowing it down. “Need any help with that?” asks Ewan,
motioning towards The Deer’s unopened beer and non-existent opposable thumbs.
“Nah, I got it,” replies The
Deer. He places the beer on the log,
pulls out his iPhone, points it at the beer, and with a couple deft swipes of the
hoof across the touch screen the tab of the beer punches down and lifts back.
“You use your phone to open your
beer??” exclaims Ewan.
“Of course I do! I use it for everything!”
“How did you do that?”
“It has a beer opening app. It works on bottles, too.”
“Even if it’s not a twist-off
bottle?”
“Yup.”
“What about corked bottles of
wine?”
“Yup, those, too, but it’s a
different app.”
“Pickle jars?”
“Yup. But again, different app.”
“That’s pretty badass.”
“I know, right?”
At the first commercial break Ewan
hits the mute button on the remote and turns to The Deer and says, “So who else
his coming to this bonfire party?”
“All the usual suspects; you,
me, Al, Geoffrey, and Tall will probably come.
The Colonel is a maybe. I have to
go invite him though. He doesn’t have an
iPhone or even a cell phone and so we always have to invite him in person.”
“Who are Geoffrey and Tall?”
“They’re friends of ours from
way back. You’ll meet them tonight. Geoffrey is a giraffe and Tall is—well, Tall
is a very special individual. You’ll see
what I mean.”
“Anyone else?”
“We might get some random deer
and other animals from the forest.
Speaking of random,” says The Deer, looking to the left as he stops
himself in mid sentence.
There is a shimmering light as
some sort of figure materializes in front of them. After about three seconds the light
solidifies, takes on normal color, and a strange looking man seemingly about
Ewan’s age is standing before them. He
is just shy of being six feet tall, has a slender build, and is wearing a
white, futuristic looking robe outfit with a high collar and a long tail like
that on a very formal tuxedo. The robe
is loosely belted around the waist by some sort of white cord, which exposes an
under layer consisting of a shirt and some tights, also white, and made of some
sort of form-fitting, space age material.
The man pulls out a long scroll
from inside his robe, unrolls it, and speaks, “People of Earth, listen
well. You may call me Bridge. Though I come in peace I bring a message of
the utmost importance. I am an emissary
for another civilization from many, many light years away. Their war fleet has crossed the galaxy to
your doorstep and lies in wait in orbit overhead. The warlord of the fleet has commissioned me
to deliver unto you this warning.” The
man clears his throat and begins to read from the scroll:
People of Earth:
You have become a virus.
You are not the just keeper of this host.
We've been watching you with all of our eyes
And what you seem to value most.
"So much potential," or so we used
to say.
Your greed, self-importance and your
arrogance;
You piss it all away
We heard a cry.
We've come to intervene.
You will change your ways and you will
repent.
Or we will wipe this place clean.
Ewan just stands there blinking in disbelief for a few minutes. He turns to The Deer and asks, “Is this guy for real?”
The Deer pauses for a moment to
think. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Let me check; I have an app for this.” The Deer whips out his phone, punches a few
buttons on the touch screen, and points his phone at Bridge. He pauses for about ten seconds before
speaking up, “Yup, this guy is the real deal.
My BS detecting app is reporting negative ten weatherbys. So if this guy says it’s going to snow, you
best believe it’s gonna snow.”
“So what do we do?” aks Ewan,
his anxiety level slowly rising.
“I dunno. Like I’ve said, we do get a lot of alien
visitors in these parts, and about half of them come to give a similar
Armageddon speech. Usually they either have
the wrong planet, or we tell them that they have the wrong planet and they
believe us and leave. This guy seems to
know what planet he’s on.”
“So basically what you’re saying
is that we’re boned.”
“Yup, we’re boned.”
“Oh well. I’ve had a good run,” says Ewan acceptingly as
he takes another swig of his beer.
“Hey Bridge,” says The Deer,
turning towards the new visitor. “Does
this whole eradication of the human race ordeal include deer?”
“Hmmm, let me check,” replies
Bridge. He looks down at the scroll for
a minute, turns it over, and checks the other side. “Nope, it doesn’t say anything about
deer. Just the human race.”
“I’m cool with that,” replies
The Deer. He turns to Ewan, “Well,
Meatbag, it was nice knowing ya. I’m
going to go invite The Colonel to the bonfire party, and tonight we’ll all
drink together to your bones.” The Deer
stands up on his hind legs for a second, gives Ewan a mock salute, and then
scampers off into the tree line.
Ewan watches The Deer leave and
then turn to Bridge, “Well, so now what?”
“What do you mean?” replies
Bridge.
“So what comes next?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know.
I’ve never encountered a civilization that accepts the news of its own
apocalypse so easily. Usually they’re
rebellious in some way, and they try to unite in a global resistance, which
ultimately ends in defeat as they can’t coordinate such massive logistics with
so little time to prepare. That and
their most sophisticated defenses can’t stand up to a blast from a measly child’s
death ray.”
“You give your children death
rays to play with?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”
“Only slightly more dangerous
than giving them a baseball bat or a hockey stick.”
“Touché, salesman. So it always ends in defeat?”
“Pretty much. This one civilization managed to fend off the
invasion, but that was only because rather than uniting behind their armed
forces they rallied along side of what would be the equivalent of your planet’s
UPS or FedEx. They put them in charge of
coordinating the global logistics of the planetary defenses, had a couple
generals sit side saddle, and the rest was history. The invaders couldn’t disrupt their supply
lines and ended up over extending themselves trying to do so. This left the military free to come in and
mop up all the small assault groups.”
“Ha!” Ewan laughs at the outcome of Bridge’s
story. Then in his best TV announcer
voice he says, “What can Brown do for you?
We can defend your planet, bitches!”
“I know, right?” replies
Bridge. “It turns out that people in the
package delivery business know how to hustle at a level akin to your planet’s
Marines and other special forces and are already proficient with small arms
fire. So they gave all the package
delivery guys guns, and they gave all the Marines packages, filled with
explosives, of course, and voila! They
had a fully armed, fully synchronized, highly motivated global protection
force. Whatever though. Even though my employers lost I still got
paid the same.”
“Right on. So like I said before, what comes next?”
“Well like I said before, I
don’t know. I wasn’t expecting the news
to be accepted that quickly, and now I’m not sure what to do with my time as I
didn’t have anything else planned for the day.
All I know is that now I’m boned.
If I get off work early and my girlfriend finds out, she’s going to want
to spend that precious free time with me, which I’m not looking forward
to. To be honest, that’s the real reason
why I got into the business of delivering intergalactic doomsday messages as it’s
my only escape from her constant nagging.”
Ewan sympathetically places one
hand on Bridges shoulder, “My people tell the same story here, brother. I feel your pain. I’ll tell ya what; why don’t we pretend like
it’s going to take all day, that way you don’t have to go home early?”
Bridge’s eyes and ears perk up a
bit, “Go on…”
“How about we hang out and drink
some beer and watch some TV?”
“I don’t know what beer is as we
don’t have it on my home planet, but I love TV.
You’re on.”
Ewan leads Bridge over to one of
the log benches near the TV and motions for Bridge to have a seat. Bridge sits down and Ewan walks over to the
fridge and pulls out two more cold cans from inside. He tosses one to Bridge and then he walks
back over to Bridge and sits down next to him two seats away on the log.
“So how does it work?” says
Bridge, eyeing the can suspiciously from various different angles.
“Find the round, narrow end with
the tab on it and make sure it’s facing up.
Hold the can with one hand and lift up on the tab with your other
hand. Look here, I’ll show you.” Ewan rotates his torso towards Bridge and
holds up his can of beer. He positions
his hands as he described and pulls up on the tab of the beer. Bridge half flinches as if he’s expecting a
grenade to go off, then relaxes when Ewan pushes the tab back down and takes a
swig from the newly formed hole in the top of the can. “Now you try it,” says Ewan to Bridge.
Bridge follow in suit and is
elated when his can opens, “I did it!” he says smiling. “Now what?”
“Drink out of the hole like I
did.”
Bridge nods in acknowledgement,
tilts his head and the can back, and takes a big swig. He gets halfway through swallowing it when he
spits it back out in a big cloud, “Ugggh!
This is disgusting! It tastes
like urine! Are you trying to poison
me?”
“No no no!” says Ewan quickly
and assuringly. “Look,” he holds up his
can so that the label is facing Bridge.
“You and I are drinking the same stuff, and I’m not drinking poison.”
“Well maybe it’s just my glass
that has been poisoned. Or maybe both
glasses have been poisoned. Are you
Sicilian?”
“Give it here,” says Ewan
reaching over for Bridge’s beer. Bridge
hands it to him and Ewan shifts back into his normal sitting position. “Maybe your beer is skunked.” He takes a sniff. “Nope, it smells okay. Let’s try it,” Ewan takes a big swig and swallows. “Yep, it tastes just like my beer,” he says
and starts to hand it back to Bridge.
Just then a voice in Ewan’s head
says to him, “Silence, you fool! His beer
could be yours!”
Ewan stops extending his arm
with the beer in hand towards Bridge and instead retracts it, “You know, I
better have one more taste just to be sure.”
He takes another big swig and then jiggles the now one-third full can of
beer. “One more, just to be safe.” Ewan downs the last four ounces in the can and
lets out a deep, long burp.
“What was that?! You just roared
like a beast!” exclaims Bridge.
“It’s called burping. Everyone can do it.” Ewan gets up and walks over to the fridge and
pulls out another beer. He tosses it to
Bridge, “Here, you try.”
“What do I do?”
“Just drink the whole can really
fast and let nature do the rest.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” Bridge pops the top of the beer, closes his
eyes, and begins to drink. He gets about
three or four swigs into it when he spits out another cloud of beer. “Ugh.
I just can’t do it. It’s
terrible. It’s like drinking cat pee.”
“I don’t think there’s cat pee
in it, but there could be deer pee in it.
It’s a local microbrew that the deer make here up in the mountains and
so I wouldn’t be surprised if they pee in it.
Heck, that’s what I would do if I was a deer and I made beer!” Ewan chuckles at the last part of his
sentence.
“That’s gross! That’s—,” Bridge stops in mid sentence as his
stomach and throat convulse for a minute, “*burp*. I did it!
I did it! I burped! It wasn’t very impressive, but I did it!” he
exclaims.
“Two,” says Ewan.
“Two what?”
“Your burp. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the
best, I give it a two.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t nearly
impressive as yours.”
“Meh, it just takes
practice. Give it a couple years of
training and you’ll be roaring like a lion in Africa; a very drunk, very surly
lion.”
“I don’t know if I can drink pee
for several years just to acquire such a skill.”
“Yeah, beer is an acquired
taste. Most people on this planet learn
how to drink it in college, in the military, or growing up at home.”
“Really? How interesting,” says Bridge, taking a
mental note of that.
“Well if you don’t like beer we
might have something else to drink. Let
me check the fridge real quick.” Ewan
gets up and walks over to the fridge. He
opens the fridge door, bends over slightly to peer inside, and glances through
several bottles of different sizes and colors before shutting the door
again. He stands up straight and opens
the top door to inspect the smaller freezer compartment. “This should do the trick,” he says,
producing a small, brown, square bottle with a black label before shutting the
freezer door.
Ewan walks back over to the log
and sits back down next to Bridge. He
unscrews the black cap and takes a swig from the bottle to show Bridge that
it’s okay. “Ahhhh. That’s the good stuff,” he says as he offers
the bottle to Bridge.
Bridge holds the bottle under
his nose and takes a sniff. The aroma
burns his nostrils, “It smells like rocket fuel,” he says as he quickly pulls
his head away from the bottle. He looks
nervously at Ewan who shoots him back an assuring glance.
Bridge takes a sip from the
bottle, “Ugh! It even tastes like rocket
fuel!” he exclaims in a hoarse voice as his throat burns and face twists in
pain. “What is this stuff?? Rocket fuel?!”
“We call it whiskey,” replies
Ewan with a proud smirk on his face.
“It’s a big hit at parties, and in Ireland. Would you like some more?”
“By the stars, no!”
“Okay, well let’s just skip the
beverages and other related pleasantries and watch some TV.”
“Yes, let’s,” says Bridge, eager
to steer the focus of the situation away from any more possible vile
concoctions.
Ewan hits the big power button
on the remote and the TV springs to life.
Bridge then begins to explain the whole concept of television to Ewan
who listens politely for a few minutes before interrupting him and explaining
that he already know all about it.
“Really? None of this is new to you?” asks a surprised
Bridge.
“Yeah, this is not a major
newsbreak. We’ve had television for at
least about probably fifty or sixty years already.”
“Well that’s quite a shock to
hear. You see, our race is
technologically far more advanced than that of your planet, but TV is a
relatively new concept. We’ve had the
potential to do it for awhile as we’ve been archiving three dimensional,
holographic movie research data thousands of years, but the thought of its
application to entertainment and two dimensional images is only two years old with
the first televisions having been made last year. In fact, the inventor of the television is
considered one of the greatest thinkers of our time. He won what is the equivalent on your planet
of the Nobel Peace Prize for his invention.
He’s probably the most famous person in our race’s history.”
“Hunh. Well ain’t that something. We’ve had it since before I was born. But like your planet we are also very fond of
its inventor. Yep, that’s right, we love
good ol’ Mister—um, I mean, Doctor—um, well whoever that guy was who invented
television. He was awesome, and we all
love him.”
“Well that is surprising news
nonetheless,” replies Bridge as the gears in his head begin to turn. “Maybe invading
these earthlings isn’t such a good idea after all?” he thinks to himself. “Would you please excuse me for a
second? I’ll be right back,” says
Bridge, pardoning himself. He pulls out
his iPhone, presses a few buttons, and is enveloped in another shimmering
light, which he disappears along with.
About thirty seconds later the light returns and he reappears with it.
“How do you do that?” asks Ewan.
“Do what? Teleport?”
“Yeah.”
“I have an app for that on my
iPhone.”
“You use your iPhone to
teleport?”
“Of course! We use our iPhones for everything on my
planet! Isn’t it the same for your
civilization?”
“Nah. We mainly use it for playing games and
watching porn on the subway. Oh, and for
surfing the internet, checking email, shopping online, reading the newspaper, calculating
tips at restaurants, finding your way back to your car, making sure hung
picture frames are level, taking pictures, identifying songs you can’t remember
the name of, writing down a grocery list, as an alarm clock—but that’s it. We don’t use it for everything; just that
stuff.”
Bridge rolls his eyes and shoots
Ewan a nonchalant look, “But that’s all?”
“Yeah, that’s about all. But I digress. So where were we? Ah, yes.
So let me get this straight,” begins Ewan. “On your plant there’s no beer, no whiskey,
and TV was just invented last year. Is
that about right?”
“That more or less sums it up,
yes.”
“That sucks. What do you all do for fun? Or here’s a better question: what did you
guys do before television was invented?”
“Well, before television we
pretty much just sat around and got nagged by our girlfriends and wives all
day.”
“That really sucks.”
“Tell me about it,” says Bridge
widening his eyes sarcastically.
“Well if you have all this other
cool, advanced technology, why can’t you just use it to move to another galaxy
or something and get away from all the nagging?”
“It just can’t be done. Believe me, I tried, and that’s how I ended
up with my current girlfriend. I
searched many galaxies in the far corners of the universe and it’s a universal
problem that no race has figured out a solution to. Yes, I managed to get away from my ex, but
ran into my current girlfriend in the process.”
“Was that just a figure of
speech? Or does the universe really have
corners?”
“It has corners.”
“Really? How many?”
“Three.”
“The universe is a triangle?”
“Yep.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“How come?”
“We’re not sure yet. Our scientists are still working on that
one. The current theory is that it has
something to do with a gigantic game of intergalactic pinball in an irregularly
shaped pinball machine.”
“Are you sure it’s pinball and
not, let’s say, oh, I don’t know, ping pong?”
“Hmmm, maybe I suppose? I’ll pitch the idea when I get back and see
what happens. Anyway. Where were we?”
“You were traveling the three
corners of the universe trying to get away from your girlfriend-at-the-time’s
nagging.”
“Ah, yes. It’s such a problem in fact that many races
have taken the strategy of trying not
to find the cure for cancer and other threats to their existence as it only
prolongs the lives of said nagging girlfriends and wives, thus extending the
death sentence that is their relationship together.”
“And there’s nothing that could
be done about this? You just couldn’t
fire them from a cannon into a nearby sun or something?”
“As a matter of fact you
can. We actually tried that, and it
worked really well for awhile. But we
soon discovered that doing so didn’t actually destroy all that negative, nagging
energy they carried, rather it just transferred it to the sun itself, thus
speeding up the sun’s internal, ticking clock to its supernova.”
“You soon discovered that? How soon?”
“At the rate we were going at
it, it took about two weeks.”
“Then what?”
“Kaboom! We fled our planet the day before the blast
and colonized a new one, which was a terrible experience.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet losing your home
world is pretty traumatizing.”
“We weren’t upset over the loss
of the planet rather all the nagging wives and girlfriends who survived now had
something new and fully justifiable to nag us about. We tried to break the vicious cycle that we
were trapped in, and in doing so we only made it exponentially worse. It was a self fulfilling prophecy that we had
no way of knowing would literally blow up in our faces.”
“Well why didn’t you just leave
the nagging behind as you fled to the next planet?”
“We tried. It didn’t work. A few guys managed to pull it off by giving
their wives or girlfriends a groupon to an all-day spa or an upscale cupcake
boutique.”
“Women do love the groupons.”
“Indeed. But the sales limit on the groupons wasn’t
high enough to accommodate everyone, and so most of the remaining girlfriends
and wives managed to nag their way onto their boyfriend/husband’s spaceship or
an exiting commercial flight. Many of
those commercial pilots, in fact, received what you would call a Purple Heart
for their bravery during the ordeal. But
most of them didn’t survive for very long after they landed their ships.”
“Did the ships crash?”
“Nope. Aneurisms.
It seems that the human mind can’t withstand that level of nagging in
such a confined space for that long of a duration without having a lasting
effect. In essence, they were dead
before they even hit the ground. It was
sheer willpower and brotherhood that kept them alive long enough to land the
ships.”
“Wow, that’s intense.”
“But enough about me. So has your race really had television for
several decades?”
“Yup. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“Well the war fleet has only
been observing your planet for about two weeks now, and all the observation has
been done from space. This means that
they’ve only been able to look straight down and so from that angle it looked
to them like all the earthlings were sitting on their couches staring at walls
and boxes and laughing, which made sense at the time as they had deemed you all
a much inferior race and thus probably more easily amused.”
“I guess that makes sense. So how much more advanced is your race than
ours?”
“Although our species is much
younger than the human race, i.e. we haven’t been in existence as long as the
human race, we are still technologically much further advanced. All of the scientists and great thinkers of
our world have been working together since day one and thus our technology is
light years ahead. But all our daily
efforts have been focused on research and so no one had ever thought of using
technology for fun until two years ago.
In fact, the whole concept of fun didn't even exist until that point
either, hence why the guy who invented television is hailed as our greatest
thinker. He literally taught us how to
laugh and gave us a means to do it.”
“Right on. Well let’s relax and get our laugh on for a
bit then.” Ewan picks up the remote off
the log and hits the mute button to un-mute the television.
Bridge’s head snaps around in
the direction of the TV when he hears the sound come on. “Wow, that’s a really awesome
television. I’ve never seen a TV like
that before.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad. It’s a fifty-five inch, high definition, wide
screen TV,” replies Ewan as he flicks through the channels.
“How are you doing that?” asks
Bridge.
“Doing what?”
“Making the picture on the TV
change?”
“With this remote here in my
hand. I can press either this up arrow
button or this down arrow button and it changes the channel.”
“What’s a channel?”
“Different television signals
are called channels. It lets different
people or companies put on different television shows at the same time. Wait, why do I have to explain that? Don’t you guys have different channels?”
“No, we don’t.”
“So you just turn the TV on and
whatever is on that one channel is what you get?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Wow, that sucks. And you don’t have remotes?”
“Nope. Just a knob on the front of the TV to turn it
on and adjust the volume.”
“Well when you put it that way I
guess you don’t really need a remote,” Ewan pauses for a moment. “What happens if you don’t like what’s on?”
“We just turn it off and find
something else to do. I suppose if we
had a remote and multiple channels we could keep flipping through all the
channels for an undetermined amount of time hoping to find something we want to
watch, but that would probably end up being a search with no positive yield and
big waste of time.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right
about that,” replies Ewan. He finds a
channel he likes, “Okay, this is a good show.
Check it out.”
“What is it called?”
“It’s called The Daily Show
with Jon Stewart. He’s a really funny
guy.”
As they watch for a few minutes
Ewan laughs at all the jokes and Bridge begins to laugh more and more with
Ewan.
“He’s funny, right?” asks Ewan.
“I’m not familiar with everyone
he’s talking about or the events he’s describing,” replies Bridge, “but I love
all the funny faces he makes when he finishes talking.”
“Oh yeah, I love those, too,”
agrees Ewan.
“That last one was really
funny.”
“Which one?”
“The one where he was wiggling
his head a little and waving his hands.”
“Oh, you mean this one?” Ewan presses the rewind button on the remote
until the picture rolls back about ten seconds, then he pauses it.
“Yes… That one,” says Bridge,
completely unable to unfix his gaze from the television and barely able to
talk.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty funny
face,” laughs Ewan. He fast-forwards it
until it catches back up with real time.
The look on Bridge’s face is
that of a man struggling to process what he has just seen. “How… how are you doing that?” he asks as he slowly
points at the still image on the TV.
“Do what? Pause and rewind the show? It’s called TIVO or DVR. It’s a device that goes back and forth
through the show so that you can watch parts over again or skip parts you don’t
like.”
Bridge’s expression goes from
astonishment to thinly masked fear. “I
have to go,” he says hastily.
“But you just got here!” retorts
a surprised Ewan. “And what about your
girlfriend? Don’t you want to hide out
from her a bit longer?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I just remembered that I need to stop by the
office right away and do some more work before I go home, so I’ll hide out
there for a little bit. I really must go
though. Thank-you for your
hospitality.” Bridge quickly gets up to
leave.
“Well hey, at least take a six
pack of beer with you to go.”
Bridge cringes at the thought of
drinking more beer, “Ugh, I mean, no thank-you.”
“Well at least take a bottle of
whiskey with you,” replies Ewan as he extends the bottle towards Bridge to
offer it to him.
“Yes, okay, I’ll take the rocket
fuel with me. Our scientists will want
to study it and see if it has any useful properties. Thank-you for this,” says Bridge as he
accepts the bottle.
“That’s the spirit! Do you guys have replicators?”
“Yes, we have replicators.”
“Well good. Take that bottle back with you, throw it in
the replicator a couple times, invite some friends over, pass it around and see
what happens. It’ll be good times.”
“Thank-you, I will. I must go now.” Bridge pulls out his iPhone, presses a few
buttons, and again is enveloped in glowing light before disappearing with it.
“That was pretty cool,” Ewan
remarks to himself about the teleportation.
“Oh look, Jon Stewart is making a sandwich, but he’s out of peanut
butter! Hilarious!”
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