When I was a wee lad, I used to imagine how cool it would be of my future-self were to gain access to a time machine and come back to visit me; I would whisper secrets of the future conspiratorially to myself, and future-me would assure past-present-me everything would turn out all right, because I’d have somehow memorized most—if not all—of the winning lottery numbers for the next eighteen years and would also have managed to get my hair looking amazing, and we would be the best of friends.

Also future-me would buy past-present-me and my past-present friends lots of sweets because by then I’d be tall enough to reach Over The Counter at the sweet shop, which back then was a concept only slightly less enthralling than the lottery thing.

Thinking about it now though, if you gave me a time machine today I’d be more concerned with travelling back to every point in my life when I said or did something outrageously stupid, insensitive, or just plain ignorant, and shoving my shoe down my throat before I had the chance put my foot in my mouth. I imagine this would be an ordeal that would consume the rest of my natural life, considering how inconsiderate I’ve been in the past.

And continue to be into the present, apparently, what with my first instinct when presented with a time machine being to go back in time and scold a small child. Oh well, I’m sure if I ever do get my hands on a time machine, I’ll make my way to me eventually too.

Maybe I’ve just been listening to too much choice music lately.

Cam: Hey, wazzat?
Chris: Time Machine.
Cam: Gonna go kill Hitler?
Chris: Something like that, sure.
Cam: Cool. Hey, bring me back a beer!
[Sometime in the 90s…]
Past Chris: …so that’s why it’s the best film ever, and anyone who doesn’t like it is stupid!
Future Chris: [POFF] No talking until you’re twenty-one!