Which is better, the future or the past?
Dear Dale:
Imagine you have a time machine. Where would you go, future or past?
Signed,
Unable to decide
Dear UTD:
The past. No doubt about it. A few hundred years. Back to the age of sail. Ever seen a sailing ship? A real one? Not one of those toys for rich pricks. They’re beautiful things. Huge. With tons of ropes and poles and sails. I’ve been in love with them ever since I was a kid.
And the pirates! Drake. Blackbeard. Kidd. Name any movie about pirates. Odds are, I’ve seen it. Told my teacher I wanted to be one when I grew up. She laughed. I couldn’t understand it. I still don’t. Why wouldn’t you want to be a pirate? Even now, I dress up as a one for Halloween. Every single year.
Think about it. Tough day at work? You could bash in your boss’s brains with a shovel and be halfway to Tahiti before the police showed up.
They didn’t even have police back then. People were free to do whatever they wanted. Not like now, where you can’t sleep in the street, drink vodka in a playground or fire off a few rounds to celebrate a football win without the police poking their noses in.
But Dale, you ask, what about the conveniences of modern life? Cars and computers. TV and toothbrushes. Refrigeration. Don’t need any of that. Haven’t brushed my teeth in years. Lost my license long ago. And my fridge is a glacier totally untouched by global warming. Or, in my case, defrosting.
Only thing I’d miss is porn. But the sea would more than make up for it. I never get tired of looking at the ocean. So beautiful.
Not to mention the fun of flying through the air with a sword as you board your prey, deprive terrified fools of their doubloons and then head to shore to drink rum with your buddies and get syphilis from a whore.
True, there is a downside. Working on a pirate ship would be a lot harder than working for the city, the buggery would take a bit of getting used to and you’d have to be careful not to piss off your boss or he’ll make you walk the plank. Plus which, there’s always the chance of shipwreck.
But even that might be good. If there was an island nearby and the sharks didn’t get you as you swam to shore. Preferably one with Polynesian chicks with big breasts and no tops. You could go native. Drink kava. Get a tattoo. Hang out with the headhunters. Accompany them on raids and share in the spoils. Replenish their gene pool with your sperm.
Like that book I read in school, Typee. About a guy who gets taken prisoner by cannibals and is forced to sleep with their women.
(Talk about lucky.)
Not an easy read but I enjoyed it. Except for the ending: he leaves. Why? I never understood that. The guy had it made. No responsibilities. Just eat, sleep and fuck. Till the day you die.
Instead, he comes back and writes a book about it. Ended up a customs inspector in New York. Talk about regrets.
Your handle makes me wonder if you actually have a time machine. If so, count me in. Future, past, doesn’t matter. Anything but here. At the very least, it’ll get me out of work. Besides, you’ll need a buddy to back you up. Contact me. Please. You’ll be glad you did. Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Dale
Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale
