“Oh, hey, Branford. I thought you and Elvis went to fight Hitler.”
“Motherfucker, why does that sentence make sense to me now? It wouldn’t have before I started hanging ’round you weird motherfuckers.”
“It’s, uh, amazing how fast the human mind can acclimate to new stimuli.”
“I don’t give a shit. No offense, Bob, but I’ve had enough of the time travel and whatnot.”
“Whole lotta whatnot around here, yup. ‘Whatnot’ is pretty much the dark matter of the Grateful Dead’s reality: we don’t know what it is exactly, but we know there’s quite a bit of it.”
“Did you just call me ‘dark matter?'”
“No, no, no. I, uh, don’t see color. Makes driving a hassle, but the Tesla does it all for me now.”
“Goddamn, I wanna get out of here.”
“Oi! Branny-Wanny!”
“Whoever called me that is catching some hands.”
“Sting? What the fuck are you doing being a part of this?”
“Well, Trudy and I accidentally learned the secrets of time travel via tantric humping.”
“No dumber than anything else I’ve heard so far.”
“And I heard your beautiful saxophonations through the infra-streams.”
“Okay, that’s dumber.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“That depends. Do you want to bring me back to where I came from, or are we going on adventures?”
“Adventures.”
“Cracker-ass cracker.”
“Why is Branford so angry, Jerr-o?”
“Ah, you know, man: skipping back and forth through the infra-stream is a bit disconcerting at first.”
“He makes it about race, though.”
“Well, in his defense, it is exclusively white people doing this to him. He’s just being observant.”
“It’s still hurtful.”
“Sack up, Gordon.”
…
“Jerr-o, did you see Branny-Wanny?”
“He lets you call him that?”
“I’m a knight; I can call anyone whatever I want.”
“Huh, didn’t know that.”
“Comes with the title.”
“You people are fascinating.”
“Seriously, though, where did he go?”
“Boy, what did I tell you about white people?”
“They were the devil.”
“Time travelling demons! Each and every one, even the ones seem okay. Tom Hanks? Time travelling demon.”
“I know, sir.”
“You dumber than a box of dicks.”
“I know, sir.”
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