Time Keeps on Slippin'
Buster Keaton must be rolling in his grave.
written by Justin, January 16 2006

I've grown up amidst a generation searching for some sort of identity by which to define ourselves. We've no great war by which to test our resolve, yet are so eager to prove our merit that we'll latch onto any cause we deem even marginally important. It doesn't matter who the opponent may be so long as we can rally against them and achieve prevalence based upon any number of marginally inconclusive blog entries which reiterate the agenda we'd already been promoting, regardless of and despite such trivialities as "logical deduction" and "conclusive evidence."

What this translates to for me is having to coincide with an influx in people who lobby for one particular agenda and will defend their position against any opposition providing they can exploit the Internet as a means of anonymity and to congregate with those of a similar world view. Regardless of how limited in scope the opinion may be, there will always be a group so steadfast in their resolve to defend whichever platform they're promoting that they'll refute any claim you'd be so brazen to make in an attempt to dispel the presumption by them that two plus two equals five or that the sun revolves around Earth.

I'll not lie; it can be frustrating at times. There are moments during which I've wished for the reinstatement of the draft, brought upon by the resurgence of what was once thought to be a dormant Ottoman empire. I'd like to see how important the liberation of a species so entirely inconsequential as common zooplankton are when the Janissary corps are breathing down your neck, hippie. Don't get me wrong; I'm not in favor of armed conflict so much as I'm in favor of toughening up a bunch of pacifists whose hardest moment in life came when they'd failed to scrounge up enough change through singing anti-war hymns directed toward an affair so one-sided it'd be tantamount to Corey Matthews packing legitimate heat for a water war waged against an ancillary character we'd never see again in order to afford that non-fat/non-dairy latte from the independent coffee house which charges more than the national franchise whose coffee is interminably better, but since it's more widely available is made the target of scorn and opposition.

I'm not one to make any waves, however. I'll be the first in conceding to not knowing thing one about the political landscape in this country or the dissension between our four branches of legislature. So far as I'm concerned, executive decision makes about as much sense as curling and it's acceptance as a legitimate competitive sport; despite the fact that there are only about a dozen people in the known universe who actually are able to comprehend what the fuck is going on during any given match or round or whichever arbitrary phrasing is used to describe those three seconds between when I first turn to curling and immediately change the channel to something far more engrossing, such as watching a bunch of boisterous youths try and molest some oxygen-depleting bag of collagen on MTV's latest installment of The Real World: Does Anyone Even Give A Fuck Anymore... I Mean, Honestly?

What's there for a fairly moderate twenty-two year old such as myself to do when he's left to flounder amidst a sea of political polarization? So long as we're saddled with the electoral college we aren't voting for our appointed officials so much as we're playing an elaborate guessing game in regard to who is going to win any given election. The only thing one can achieve through voting is the knowledge that they've hitched their wagon to a winner, which in turn makes them winners by proxy! The reason nobody ever votes third-party is because America hates backing a loser and would rather have a 50/50 chance of winning than no chance at all.

Man, I'd hate to be Ralph Nader right now!

It's with the above in mind that I've resolved to find a way and travel into the future with the intent of learning the result of every Presidency up until the point in American civilization where we forgo the voting process entirely when our President asks us to relinquish that right and name him supreme overlord in exchange for a couple hundred bucks each. We were pretty hesitant at first, but after considering how many cases of cheap domestic beer we'd be able to afford, most of the country hopped aboard the dictatorship bandwagon with most everyone following suit for fear of being branded as a stupid baby who'd wet their diaper on account of how weak and stupid they are.

Unfortunately, I've no mind for science and couldn't even begin to fathom the complexities of time travel and all ensuing logical fallacies and paradoxical redundancies therein. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how the piano player at that Ol' Western-themed family restaurant my mom took me to when I was eight on account of she was scoring dope from the guy who played Lincoln during the historical reenactment of his famous high-noon shootout with Eli Whitney was able to play without using his hands. I'm a busy man with neither the time nor the patience to wade through some spectacled egghead's half-cocked space/time continuum theories, so as in most instances where I couldn't be bothered to discern between fact and fiction I've once again found myself turning to cinema to explain to me everything pertinent to the subject. Thanks to the manipulative power of Hollywood I no longer trust Eastern Europians and have a newfound respect for any mistreated woman stripping to regain custody of her daughter while putting herself through medical school.

I don't buy into any of this time travel crap, mind you. It's nothin' but a bunch of bulljive propagated by some lonely sci-fi nerd who spends all day downloading weird sci-fi porn and dressing like his favorite sci-fi character while attending a sci-fi convention with all the other geeks who haven't even touched the scaly outer-crest of a woman's vagina! I'm just talking about time travel so I can make fun of it, y'see!

The Terminator

Nothing of much consequence happened during the period before humanity was first exposed to Michael Biehn's bare ass. I'd imagine Sarah Connor spent most of her time hanging out in a mall food court, wearing tacky neon clothing and talking to five other women all named Tabitha or something else so hilariously era-specific while marveling over now commonplace technology such as the cellular telephone and being able to customize a mix-tape of all her favorite songs.

Things were made complicated, however, when Arnold was sent back from the future, acting as a more badass version of Pontius Pilate who knows how to blow shit to fuck and murder the unborn messiah and consequently, our only hope to turn the tide in the war against machines who'd gone self-aware and developed logical thought patterns which apparently included such platforms as "kicking serious amounts of ass" and "being fucking harsh." More like the Dieble, in other words. Following a series of special effect wars down by the explosion and unlimited ammo factory, we're left with an inspirational moral about how we hold the key to our own destiny and nobody's future is written in stone... SIIIIIIIIIIKE! Oh universe, you're such a cosmic jokester!

Of course, the only problem with Terminator logic is that the time-portals seem to be one-way only. I guess that'd work if I'd want to go back in time and vote for say, Calvin Coolidge, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to curb my desire to punch every first-time woman voter in the face for fucking it up so badly.

Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure

Bill and Ted are able to travel back in time, disrupt any number of historical periods and party down with prominent figureheads while holding zero regard for consequence in a film full of plot contrivances so mind-bendingly illogical; the least of which being the casting of Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter and their terrible heavy metal band as the saviors of humanity.

Fucking Alex Winter.

Alex Winter is the living definition of "You know who I'm talking about... the other guy from ____," with the blank space being reserved for the lesser-known member of whichever marginally successful musical act, television show or film happens to occupy the space during casual conversation between feigning an interest in where your girlfriend found the socks which look just like the designer brand but at half the price and "sock"ing her in the nose with a bag full of hammers.

"Dude, you so know who I'm talking about... the other guy from WHAM! What's his name again? Chester-something, right?"

Just shut the fuck up. You know why nobody's ever going to try and refute your claim of how underrated the Andrew Ridgeley solo CD was? On account of nobody fucking cares about Andrew Ridgeley, is why. The only time anybody is ever going to mention Andrew Ridgeley again is when they question whether or not "WHAM!" was the noise his car made as it made contact with that school bus at the stop sign near the free clinic. You just know Andrew Ridgeley is the type of guy who gets drunk before noon, drives around bragging about his "industry rep" and tries to solicit sex from the human refuse who haven't the mental capacity to discern between 1984 and oh, I don't know, any other year in recorded history.

Thinking about it, the complete eradication as all life as we know it is the preferable alternative to living in a society whose basis of existence hedges from fucking heavy metal. The last thing society needs are even more forty-year old burnouts still wearing the same acid washed jeans they've had since White Snake was a relative part of our cultural landscape, just one day at a timin' it and "livin' life to the fullest" while scoring tail near the local primary school by offering to buy underaged skanks a case of PBR in exchange for a toothy blowjob. We've already got New Jersey and I'm pretty sure most everyone got sick of that place a long time ago.

Back to the Future<

Back to the Future helps to confirm two of the most troubling questions which have been plaguing the scientific community for years on end;

1) People living in the past do not understand things which have yet come to pass and are confused and frightened by such modern amenities as Tab cola and the Sony Walkman.

2) In the future, modern-day luxuries such as the DustBuster and mid-80's arcade cabinets are treated as primitive antiquities to be made the subject fun for their complete lack of functionality and convenience.

Back to the Future operates under the that no action goes without consequence. You may have altered an event in the past so that your present self becomes a rich entrepreneur with a business suit made of solid gold and a hot stripper wife for every day of the week, but the counter-effect tou your self-serving indulgence is that an entire ward full of babies born to an honest and hard-working people somewhere in the American heartland are pronounced dead as a result of a sudden untraceable outbreak of SIDS. Way to go, you big jerk!

So those are my options, I guess. In order for my plan to come to fruition I'm going to have to rock out in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, cracking wise about how things sure are different than what I'm used to! It all seems like too much effort, really. Maybe I'll just cut my losses now and shrug off the concept of voting all together. I'm sure my time would be better spent chopping lumber or riding bikes with my friends anyway.