The year was 2012, December 21st to be exact. The earth's magnetic field, under constant stress of magnetic compasses, had a panic attack and reversed itself, and in the process untied the shoes of every human being on the planet. During this occurrence a young scientist named Jacob Argo realized how to travel between universes. The first visitor to a parallel universe was a half-eaten ham and cheddar cheese sandwich. As all sight-seeing creatures gave their conscious to televisions all over the world, Jacob Argo threw his half-eaten sandwich into the greatest electronic device known to man; it looked like a washing machine. Twelve minutes later a half-eaten bologna and Swiss cheese sandwich appeared on the desk of a young science fiction author named Theodore Trout. The scientific community went wild as the science fiction community mourned the loss of their factious child. No progress was made in inter-universe travel until forty years later.
December 21st of the year 2052, Nobel Prize Laureate and convicted felon, Jacob Argo walked on stage at a news conference. Glancing at the room of reporters, as if looking for dissidents, Argo spoke with a refined tone: “Ladies, Gentlemen and Hermaphrodites, I come to you today with great news. After revealing my discovery forty years ago, I have reached the next step.” The press began shouting amongst themselves: “What is it?”, “Did you send a drink?”, “Did you receive your sandwich back?”
Jacob Argo raised his arms gently and hushed the crowd, “No, no, no. The next step is the creation of a parallel universe travel agency! I have here my first volunteer. A once young man, and now an old one like myself, Theodore Trout!” Theodore Trout proceeded to walk on stage. Trout looked like a man who had fought wars, fictitious wars that only took place in his head. He was skinny, frail and not in the right condition, but he never was in the right condition to begin with. Trout was the son of a Nobel Prize winner in medicine and of a prince of a washed down, diluted, forgotten royal family.
Theodore Trout had been Jacob Argo's partner in crime. Both were the first humans convicted to the first global prison in Albuquerque. The exact crime was classified information, but common knowledge, Argo and Trout had traveled to a parallel universe whose only difference with ours was that it was set one week in the past. Trout and Argo entered with the sole goal of winning every lottery in every nation for a week, it worked. They were caught by the authorities for littering an ATM receipt in a public park. The criminals were forced to create the same machine that sent them to take them back, taking them ten years. They were immediately arrested upon returning for tax evasion, sentenced for another ten years and the revocation of their right to parallel park. Parallel parking had become a craze.
Theodore Trout proceeded to crawl in the machine. “Observe, as I send my accomplice to a universe in which the word 'beaver' means 'hello'!” The press core 'oohhh'ed and 'aahhh'ed. Jacob Argo proceeded to hit the switch, kick the machine and swear at his mother. A flash of light occurred and Theodore and the machine were replaced with a cloud of smoke, sparks and shouts of amazement from the reporters. Photographers went into a state of nature, cameras flashed nonstop as Jacob grinned with great pride. “I told you so mom, you sonabitch!” he yelled.
The press eventually stopped shouting, it all sank in. Where the fuck was Theodore? Would he return? Jacob stood behind the podium sensing the crowd's confusion and said “Mr. Trout promised to return after fifteen minutes in the other universe. Upon his return you are free to ask him whatever question your insignificant heart desires.”
Time passed.
Journalists broke into the occasional smoking break. Wrinkled, high class reporters from the eastern coast smoked their Pall Malls, southerners rolled their own cigarettes, Asiatic reporters unpacked their cheap cigarettes, European reporters were busy lighting pipes and the one Cuban was enjoying a fine cigar while Americans eyed the man with envy. There was the occasional discussion on whether or not the whole thing was a hoax. Pseudo scientific discussion diffused through the air thicker than the tobacco smoke. A verbal argument only occurred once, it was between Jacob Argo and a Jewish reporter for some Tribune, or Times, or Journal, or Chronicle, maybe it was all four. Jacob Argo said something, the Hebrew misinterpreted it, the Jew responded with a retort worthy of his comedic writing brethren, Argo pointed out his lack for personal style and grace thus delivering a classical blow to a man's appearance, once again 'oohhh's and 'aahhh's procreated in the air, the Hebrew didn't hesitate with his response and brought up Argo's questionable history of cheating people out of their money, a few jaws dropped and a few cigarettes met an early demise as they slipped out of reporters' mouths, Argo was red with fury, he was about to deliver the crushing blow, not a verbal one but of his fist, when all of a sudden a flash of light blinded all eyes.
Argo fell to the floor and proceeded to curl up in fear, the Jewish reporter crouched behind his chair, others did what they had to do.
Laughter filled the air. As reporters and Argo proceeded to gaze at what was happening, laughter danced in the air coaxing the cowards from behind their shelter. They peaked and saw the machine had returned with her passenger. Trout rolled out the machine, with a smile on his face wider than the Mississippi, with a roar louder than the Niagara Falls, flailing his arms like maniac. The press eyed Theodore Trout's bliss with envy and let slip words of hate from their mouths. Trout looked genuinely happy.
Time passed.
Eventually Trout stood up, Argo guided him behind the podium. The press stayed quiet, they didn't know what to say or do so they allowed Trout to begin the conversation.
“Was it not 95 years ago that man sat on the moon?” He was wrong, it was 83. “I have achieved the next great step you fools! My name will be featured in the history books as prominent as those of the great generals and the great tyrants!” He was wrong, he would be forgotten. “For you see, I am the first human being to urinate his pants of laughter in a foreign universe!” He was right.
The voice of a reporter interrupted him with a shout “What was it like?”
“What was it like?” shouted Trout, “I'll tell you! I walked into a press conference filled with Jews of every trade, do you know what they said to me when I walked in?” The reporter knew but didn't speak, “They said 'beaver there young man!' instead of 'hello there young man!' ” Trout proceeded to collapse of laughter once again, cameras flashing.
Years passed.
Trout disappeared as far as the world was concerned. Jacob Argo made too much money with his new business enterprise. People from all walks of life signed up to visit parallel universes were everyone talked with a Russian accent, dance instead of walking, all foods tasted like chocolate, rainbows always inhabited the sky, the skin of people was covered in polka dots, the word cunt meant love, and so on.
Occasionally news reports of strange visitors began to appear in newspapers all over the world. People spoke of humans who ran like dogs, spoke like birds, dressed like lords. It must have been a year later when newspaper headlines ran a story of a strange man was accidentally hit by a parallel parking enthusiast. The man was described as having a snout of an mouse, purple skin, green hair and spoke a language faintly similar to English. His last words were: “ha...hah.....haaaa......” People of every trade speculated on who the man was. Fools claimed he was a scientific experiment, skeptics said the event was a hoax.
Two weeks after the incident, a young man of similar description appeared in front of the U.N. outlet branch in Topeka, Kansas. He demanded to speak with “whovevars rans des place.”
An old janitor was the only man there, he spoke to the traveler and later called every news source he knew, tabloids.
The old janitor, what some whites would call a 'negro', was a former Iraq War veteran and bare the scars to prove it. He was shot more times than he remembered, he was known in his company for taking unnecessary risks with the hope that a bullet would eventually pierce his skull and end his existence earlier than he was supposed to last. Instead he was awarded medal after medal, celebrating his suicidal tendencies. He now spent his free time popping every pill he came across and inhaling every fume or smoke he could get. His drug habits was known to his employers, they ignored it though, they knew that the only thing the janitor had to live for was waxing the floor of the offices every other week. The janitor loved the glow of a freshly waxed, clean floor. 'It's glowin' just like heaven' he would always say.
The old veteran and the odd looking man sat inside the janitor's office which was a closet with two chairs and a crate for a table, surrounded by various brooms, mops and whatever else was needed for cleaning. An old radio sat on an empty can of some old, banned cleaning substance. The tabloid reporters crammed around the room, leaning on what they could with their notebooks and tape recorders out. The biggest news conference of the century was about to take place, and the only witnesses were to be old, washed up and young, brash reporters, and an alcoholic and drugged up veteran who would have rather died years ago in a foreign land.
The janitor began by stating the obvious, “You isn't from here.” The man sat there, staring at the wall, “No.” The janitor looked for his flask in his pockets, took a swig and asked “What is you searchin' for?” The stranger sat still and replied in a monotone voice that made every soul wriggle in fear except for the drunkard's, “Two wieks pass in this time, son of my leader died.” “Dat was up in Chicago I do believe,” replied the janitor, hesitating not even for one second, he took another drink and added “You wants some recompensation or sometin'?” The janitor's eyes shot straight in the stranger's soul. The eyes of the man wandered throughout the room, “No,” he stated, “I here to say: 'we cut you people off.' All oder advance universes block your signal now.” The janitor smiled and replied “Baby bird gotta leave da nest sometime.” “Yes, baby bird,” stated the odd man without missing a beat.
Silence walked into the room now, proceeded to take all mouths from all faces and place them in his patched-up sack. The stranger's face was more stoic than the marble busts of an Athenian philosophers, he had a poker face so mean daring to read it would lead to madness.
Silence didn't left until a washed up man stood up and said: “I'm Theodore Trout from The Shit-Hole Inquisition and I've got some fucking questions.”
“I've got some fucking answers,” replied the visitor, imitating the reporter's voice.
“Good,” answered the reporter with a smirk across his stubble face. “Tell me, you obviously got here from another universe. No shit about it.”
“No shit at all,” added the visitor, once again imitating the voice.
“Be honest, you know we travel across universes as well.”
“Das not to a question, but yes, we know.” The stranger's voice was his again. For once he was uncomfortable. The reporters in the room began to relax. It had been a while since any of them had interest in his work.
“Well then,” said Trout as he crossed his legs, overlooking his new found kingdom and his new found prey, “tell all in here. What do the rest of you foreign fucks thing of us?”
“Well,” discomfort had placed her talon deep in the heart of the foreigner, “we in oder universes, we dink...well.....heh.....hehehe.....” What followed was a laughter, or what was thought of laughter, it was a series of howls, grunts, sneezing, coughing and sounds that no one thought were humanly possible.
Trout roused from behind the safety of a wooden chair and spoke again. “What the fuck?”
“You people don't understand.” Tears left the visitor's eyes as he spoke. “You people da funniest universe.”
The skid row press corps' attention woke up at this moment. They felt the next words to leave this monster's mouth would give them the story to get them out of their current job and put them on top the journalistic world. They eyed the man with such eagerness. Eagerness reminiscent of the janitor's the day he woke up to find himself riddled with lead, alone in the sand. Quick release from their current pains, they all thought.
“You people do it all wrong.” he said gasping for air.
“Before you are gone dear visitor. Tell us, what makes us so funny?” spoke Trout, in manner too cool for none but Sinatra.
“Your...faces look like.....our anuses...” replied the guest as the last gasp of air left his lungs. He was dead now.
The journalists surrounded the corpse in disappointment. Some began to cry as realization of never escaping and reality became ever present again. Others insulted the lifeless vessel, projecting their deepest insecurities.
But the janitor remained seated, unflinched during the whole debacle that unfolded before him, like Lincoln at his memorial. He finished what was left of his flask and spoke to the journalists one last time before ordering them to leave.
“You know what boys?” He flipped his flask, signaling the end of their time together. “Dat man is right.”
Comments
469 days ago