Time Traveler’s Talk Show: The Epic Chaos Edition
The cabin was quiet, save for the occasional crackling from the flickering screen. Ivy Mae had managed to pull out another joint, passing it around as the group settled in, trying to shake off the weirdness of the power surge. As they sat, waiting for the tablet to work, the room felt like it was suspended between awkwardness and anticipation.
Then, bam! The screen erupted to life with a static-filled, neon-green image of none other than… Albert Einstein. But he wasn’t in a lab, or even an intellectual debate. Oh no, he was wearing an oversized chicken suit, flapping his arms wildly.
“Ah, this is the new science!” Einstein crowed, his voice coming through distorted, but definitely enthusiastic. “Who needs relativity when you have the power of cluck?” He flapped his arms again, sending a gust of air that nearly knocked over the screen.
“I—uh—Einstein, are you… okay?” Jas asked, squinting at the screen.
“I’m not okay! I’m cluckin’ fantastic! You should try it. A little chicken dance can solve all the world’s problems!” Einstein chirped, then launched into a ridiculous dance move that made no sense whatsoever.
Suddenly, the camera cut to Donald Trump, who was sitting at a tiny plastic table with a stack of Big Macs and a Trump-branded "I’m #1" foam finger.
“Look, Einstein, you’re doing it all wrong. We don’t need chickens—we need more gold, more money, more everything!” Trump gestured dramatically, knocking over his foam finger in the process. “Big Macs—huge! And guess what? I’m gonna make chicken great again!”
Einstein stopped mid-dance, staring at the screen in disbelief. “You can’t… make chicken great again. Chicken is already great. But I see your problem, you need a different kind of poultry. Like... maybe a turkey, to match your ego.”
The camera shifted once more, this time revealing Elon Musk, who was riding a space scooter with rockets strapped to it. He zoomed into the frame, spinning around in dizzying circles.
“I was going to colonize Mars, but this—this is way more fun!” Elon shouted over the roar of his scooter. “If you can’t solve global warming, at least solve your need for speed! I’ll just zip around space forever, like a futuristic speed demon! And the best part? I’m totally ignoring physics—again!”
Einstein rubbed his temples. “Elon, please. You’re not helping. We’re supposed to be solving the world’s problems, not turning them into a circus.”
Trump snorted. “You know, Einstein, I’ve heard good things about space. In fact, I’m great with space. I could sell you a few acres on Mars. It’s a tremendous deal. People will be begging to live there.”
Just then, the screen flashed with Frida Kahlo—but she wasn’t just sitting there painting or talking about the pain of existence. No, no. She had put on the most ridiculous, over-the-top mustache and was shouting into the screen while riding a rollercoaster.
“Listen,” she yelled, over the screech of the coaster, “I’ve dealt with more pain than all of you combined, and yet, I’m still here. But this, this right here, is the real art—a mustache and a rollercoaster! This is the revolution we’ve been waiting for!”
“Frida, I love you, but what on Earth are you doing?” Jas asked, genuinely confused but also thoroughly entertained.
“I’m challenging you all to take your life less seriously!” she shouted, looping her rollercoaster again. “Art, politics, time travel—it’s all one big joke! The real challenge is not making sense, but having the guts to be a silly masterpiece!”
At this point, Karl Marx popped up, wearing a ridiculous pair of sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, and sipping a coconut drink through a straw. He looked around the screen, eyebrow raised.
“Wait, what? This isn’t how revolution works,” he said, looking utterly confused by the madness. “You don’t win by wearing sunglasses and drinking cocktails on a beach—no matter how revolutionary you think you are!”
“Oh, Karl, Karl, Karl,” Frida shot back, still looping in the rollercoaster. “When was the last time a real revolution didn’t involve a little bit of… chaos?”
Just as they were about to continue, the screen fizzled out, and a new voice, way too upbeat for the situation, chimed in: “You’re all wrong! Totally wrong! If you want to save the world, what you need is... MORE CATS!”
It was a robotic, robotic voice. The screen suddenly turned into a collage of dancing cats—bouncing, spinning, wearing tiny top hats and monocles.
“Just… just embrace the cats,” the robotic voice concluded, as the screen went completely blank.
Jas sat back, eyes wide. “What. The. Heck.”
Ivy Mae stifled a laugh. “I… I’m not sure if that helped anything, but I think we all need a nap.”
Roman shook his head, still snickering. “I don't know if I’m relieved or terrified.”
As the group relaxed, the absurdity of the situation hung in the air like a fog. They weren’t sure if they’d ever get the time travel stuff figured out. But at least, for now, they had laughter—and that was something.