My parents are the cause for all my misery and inability to time travel. They only care about things like two-speed hedge cutters and turning a block of ice into beef bourguignon in eight seconds. I've tried to get them to listen to my stories about ancient warriors and extra-terrestrials, but they see me as more of a nuisance than an annoying kid, which is what I am.

One night as I was reading a Mad Magazine comic late into the night, I band of misfit dwarves busted into my room from my wardrobe. The smell was the first thing that hit me followed by the sound of what I thought was Alvin and the Chipmunks. I was terrified enough by their presence so you can imagine my horror when they all jumped on my bead and began beating me about the head and neck.

What followed was a fever dream that left me traumatized and unfit to rejoin society. The final kick in the teeth was the way literally everyone abandoned me, and my parents blew up. The only plus to the story is the way a modern appliance would be the very thing that took my parents out. I wish I could have remained in that dream working with Robin Hood and punching old poor people.