If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.
“Hello, Operator . . . I want to report a time-warp gone really, , bad. Yes . . . that’s right . . . a time warp. I mean people aren’t wearing any clothing, the music is like folks are screaming and dying. The cars . . . well, I think they’re driving themselves. And people have these little Star Trek boxes they’re talking in to — only nobody’s getting beamed up, if you know what I mean. Can you send somebody over, I think the lunatics are running the asylum. I’d rather have gone the other way and hit. . . you know like dinosaurs and groovy stuff like that, man.”