When lightning struck the clock tower in town, I took advantage of the opportunity to jump into my classic DeLorean and alter history. With the aid of some stolen plutonium, I was able to coax the necessary 1.21 gigawatts of electricity to power the flux capacitor and off I soared into the past.
The people of the world know little of the huge debt of gratitude they owe me for my selective interference in matters which have shaped our present and our future.
It was I who stopped Dr. Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of penicillin, from throwing away the moldy orange in his lunchbox. Millions of lives have been saved as a result. you’re welcome.
It was unfortunate that not all of my contacts heeded my advice. I advised Abraham Lincoln to stay out of theaters. I gave the same advice to Pee Wee Herman (you younger folks will have to Google that one). Alas, neither of them took my advice.
I was feeling a bit mischievous on my last visit to the past. I told Elvis Presley, “Forget about Rock and Roll. It is a passing fad. Your fame and fortune lie in…(pausing for effect and whispering in his ear)…German Polka music. Take my word for it.”
I whispered into the ear of the English Composition professor at Stratford-on-Avon in the 16th century, “Give your student William Shakespeare a grade of ‘C’ on his first assignment on sonnets. Take a red quill pen and write in the margin of his test paper, ‘You have no talent for this format. Try something simpler.'”
When I met an optometrist in Paris in 1900, I discovered, as we all expected, that his patient, young Pablo Picasso, had astigmatism which distorted his vision. I instructed the optometrist to fit him with a new pair of eyeglasses, which enabled Picasso to paint in the more popular realistic style. Picasso’s delight and gratitude was heartwarming.
When I returned from my time travels, I rummaged through the two-dollar discount bin at the local music store and found a CD of “Elvis Presley’s Greatest Hits for Accordion,” which included his only money-makers, “Roll Out the Barrel” and “The Beer Barrel Polka.”
At the local bookstore, I found a book called “The Complete and Unabridged Collection of Limericks by Billy Shakespeare.” It had a clearance sticker marked $3. The local high school’s English Department had never heard of him.
Pablo Picasso, who died in poverty and obscurity, left behind his life’s work: thousands of unsold pastoral landscapes, which now sell at flea markets for ten bucks each, including the frame.
The Convention and Visitors Bureau in town needs $50,000 to repair the lightning damaged clock tower. With the aide of the Sports Record book that I brought back from the future and one phone call to my bookie, I should have that raised in no time. It is the least I can do.