I hope one day to have a child, which i will either name Odie-May Douglas Stricklund (if it’s a girl) or Frederick Charles Foster Bigglesworth Pepperidginghamton (if it’s a boy), and i will home-school them and convince them beyond doubt that we are living in the 1870s in the Dust Bowl, until they become old enough to be suitably flummoxed by daddy’s new-fangled Time Machine invention, which will spring open the doors to the outside world, where it is suddenly, beyond all reasonable comprehension, the year Two Thousand Something, and men go around driving horse-less carriages like it’s fuckin’ NOTHING to them.
Hells yes.
