“AHHHHH!”
“Calm down, sir.”
“IT’S MADE OF TERROR!”
“It’s just a poster, sir.”
“That’s just a poster like Dorian Gray’s painting is just a selfie! It’s got bad juju, Jenk-Jenk!”
“Is it the teeth?”
“BY GOD AND DOW CHEMICALS, YES! Yes, it is the teeth, Jenkins! I think those are Martha Raye’s dentures!”
“Sir?”
“The older readers are laughing at the reference. Trust me.”
“I think this poster is interesting, sir. It’s colorful. It’s, uh, rectangular.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Nothing is misspelled on this one.”
“Point in our column. Still, though: this is just too frightening for us. Perhaps one of the heavier, metallic groups would like it.”
“I doubt it, sir.”
“Ah! I have an idea! Why are you crouching in a defensive position, Jenkins?”
“I’m familiar with your ideas, sir.”
“Stand on your wee hooves, you goat dressed like a man-baby.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s what you are, Jenkins. A secret goat.”
“If you insist, sir.”
“I was on to you when I noticed all my tin cans were missing.”
“I keep telling you, sir: I threw the cans away after you consumed their contents.”
“Lying goat bastard.”
“You had an idea, sir?”
“Idea!”
FASWOOSH!
“Oh, no, sir!”
“The Time Sheath!”
“I am begging you to put that down, sir.”
“All our problems can be solved, Jenkins.”
“And uncountably more created, sir. There’s no way to travel through time without creating paradoxes and causing glitches and breaking timestreams. We’re not qualified, sir.”
“Jenkins, we’re white American men. We’re qualified for everything.”
“No, sir. Not this.”
“First, I’m going to choose smarter, more attractive parents for you.”
“That won’t work, sir.”
“And, obviously, the usual land speculation and sports wagering.”
“Obviously.”
“And then we’ll go back to Austria in the 1890’s.”
“No. No, no, no. We cannot kill Baby Hitler. It’s a cliché at this point how bad an idea going back in time and killing Baby Hitler is, sir. No killing Baby Hitler, sir.”
“Oh, how I wish I could recycle you, Jenkins. Just toss you in a blue bin, feel good about myself, and then not think about what happens to you. We’re not killing Baby Hitler. How unimaginative do you think I am?”
“Oh, good.”
“We’re going to molest Child Hitler.”
“Oh, no.”
“We’ll diddle the self-confidence right out of him!”
“I think this is the kind of conversation you go to Hell for having, sir.”
“The world will view us as heroes, Jenkins.”
“It won’t, sir.”
“How is killing Baby Hitler better than molesting Child Hitler?”
“I don’t know, but it is.”
“You should argue in front of the Supreme Court with opinions as well-founded as that, Jenkins. Now, come on. Grab those candy bars and let’s get to messing this kid up.”
“Didn’t we start out talking about posters?”
“Life is a highway, Jenkins. Now let’s ride it to Child Hitler’s house and play the secret-keeping game.”
“I think I quit.”
“Resignation denied.”
“Goddammit.”
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