Okay, well, oh, a little time travel music, please.

I gotta show him how teed off I am.

Bastard, he drinks my liquor, he bets on my cocks, he gets off on my weekly strip shows, but when promotion time comes around, he passes over me just like that Jewish holiday where they have to eat crackers for a week.

Hey, while you're still here, can I ask you a couple questions about my future?

Shoot.

Will I lose my hair?

Will I ever be able to travel through time?

Will I get a guy executed by mistake?

Will I meet myself in the future?

Geez, how the hell do I know?

I'm not Dick Cavett.

Showtime.

Uh, fill a turkey baster with warm water, tinge with yellow food coloring, and squirt it at him?

Not quite it.

Who the hell are you?

Hmm.

The last time I really upset them with my blunt truths of time travel.

I better come up with a sweet little baby story, so they don't think I'm a raving psycho.

I'm the ghost of Christmas yet to be.

Get lost, you raving psycho.