A Letter from George McFly to Dr. Emmett Brown
I submitted this to McSweeney’s many months ago, but it wasn’t a good fit. I then published it on my own site, Curious Rat. In honor of Back to the Future Day, I’ve republished it here. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it.
Dr. Emmett Brown,
When I allowed my son Marty to shadow you in your lab, I assumed he would be learning valuable information about science and engineering to better help him in his studies. As your family has had a longstanding history within Hill Valley, I thought your vast knowledge and experience would rub off on Marty and perhaps guide him to a more lucrative and enriching career than “rock musician.”
What I have come to learn, however, is that the only thing you have to teach my son is how NOT to be a scientist. What kind of a man, let alone one who supposedly functions on the premise of rational thought and logic, summons a teenage boy from his bed in the middle of the night to a deserted parking lot, only to subject him to a battery of dangerous and downright ludicrous experiments? Has your time travel device (which I’m still wary of saying out loud) been thoroughly tested for radiation? You’re using plutonium for God’s sake. You know what also comes back to the future? Cancer.
Dr. Brown, I like to think of myself as a cool customer, a level-headed gentleman who is able to put aside the fact that his son spends all his free time in a shack behind a Burger King with a crazy old man and his clocks. However, I cannot let these incidents go without consequence.
Marty told me you have a dog. Einstein, I believe is his name? And that you strapped this animal into your time traveling death mobile and sent him hurtling into the future. Do you not possess the proper equipment for these purposes? Was there no test dummy available at the time? I’m just trying to wrap my head around why someone would buckle a defenseless animal into a DeLorean and race him past a JC Penney at 90 miles an hour. Since I’ve learned about your actions, I have contacted the ASPCA and the HVPD in an attempt to have the dog removed from your care, though I assume that will prove fruitless, as you haven’t been seen in Hill Valley for quite some time.
Additionally, I’ve been told that on the night my son first went back in time, you two were attacked by Libyan terrorists. He said you stole the plutonium from them in order to power your machine and that, among other things, they shot you and chased you with a bazooka. Tell me, Dr. Brown, how does a small Hill Valley inventor even find Libyan terrorists? Is there a flier posted at the grocery store that says, “Looking to build nuclear weapon. Contact if interested”? Or is there a group for crackpot nutjobs that meets in the church basement every Wednesday night?
According to the stories I’ve heard, you came up with the idea for your fluxing capacitator device — the thing that makes time travel possible — after you hit your head on your bathroom sink. Was that also the moment you became a deranged sociopath who puts sixteen year-old boys in the path of armed Libyan nationalists and performs experiments on his beloved pet?
And I haven’t even gotten to the biggest tragedy of the whole ordeal. Did you think we wouldn’t know? Did you honestly believe we wouldn’t recognize our own son thirty years later? He brought my wife and I together at our high school dance. Hell, she had a crush on him for a week! Then one day he emerges from his room wearing that ridiculous life preserver and it all comes rushing back. Lorraine has been seeing a therapist for months, trying to repress the unholy things she thought about doing to her son, “Calvin Klein,” when she was a teenager, all because you selfishly and irresponsibly dragged him into a plot that could’ve destroyed the fabric of the universe and his mother’s mental stability.
I guess the only good thing to come out of this little “adventure” is Marty giving me the confidence to stop an attempted rape in our school parking lot. I can only imagine what would have befallen our family if Biff had gotten away with it, but that one bright spot does not blind me to the dangers of what transpired.
Dr. Brown, I can’t even press charges against you because I don’t know where or when you are. Last I heard, you married a woman from 1885 and had two children, probably because you still haven’t learned your lessons about screwing with the space time continuum. Well, let me make this perfectly clear: Keep your damn hands away from Marty and your radioactive, time-traveling vehicles out of Hill Valley. I hope your wife one day realizes the insane monster she married and I truly hope your children are smart enough to leave home as soon as possible. One Emmett Brown is bad enough, but three? God help us all.
I’ve never picked a fight in my entire life, but I know a thing or two about knocking out the bad guys, and Dr. Brown, it is my density to knock you out for what you’ve done to our family.
Originally published at curiousrat.com on February 28, 2014.