Stub
Early this morning, still dark, I stagger down the hall to get the crying boy a bottle. The babygate that we have on the door to the kitchen is not permanently attached; this morning it was leaning against the wall in the hallway.
I stubbed the three middle toes of my left foot into that gate so hard that the phone immediately rang.
Jumping on one foot and cursing, I went to answer the phone.
"What?" I snapped.
"Dude," said 1989 Harold, mullet rustling in the breeze, Motley Crue blasting in the background, "what the fuck did you do? My fuckin' foot hurts!"
Teenagers. I hung up.
The phone rang again.
"Listen, you..." I began.
"No, you listen," 2032 Harold barked over the firing of laser rifles and the unearthly screams of dying aliens, "we've got an invasion going on here. What the fuck did you do? I can't walk anymore!"
So, you know, when a toe-stubbing travels through time and affects your past and future, you know it's a pretty good stubbin'.
1 Comments:
I can't believe it, Harold! Future-you held out against The Onslaught as late as '32? I will have heard there was some resistance in the southern US, but I thought that the Carnivale Bombardments of '30 had finished it for good. But no, you're still alive and shooting, and better still, the phones still work.
However, if Future-you should fall because of the toe-stubbing, I fear for humanity's future. Why the hell don't you just watch where you're stepping from now on, okay? Big things at stake!
-Louis
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