The Once and Future JP

DATE: APRIL 8, 2038
TO: PAST JP
FROM: FUTURE JP
SUBJECT: DON'T EAT THE BOYSENBERRY PIE

Greetings Past Self. Using cutting-edge software that I obtained illegally, I've been given the ability to type messages to the past. (You don't know what a government-employed three-dicked Rigellian wanted in exchange for this chronoton keyboard.) After using my newfound power to irritate several fanboys who were debating the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica (turns out the Cylons are actually descendants of the Grape Ape... who knew?), I decided to impart some future wisdom to you.

First of all, I highly recommend that you hide every trace of your accomplishments as an English major. Once the genetically-enhanced Emperor Penguins take over the world in 2015, they torture anyone who has more than a passing familiarity with Modernist Literature. It turns out the penguins have a penchant for Victorian Lit. I had many a herring slapped in my face while they demanded that I shout "GEORGE ELLIOT ROCKS MY FLIPPERS!" Better to avoid that whole debacle altogether.

In 2018, the nudists take the world by storm following the downfall of the Penguins (turns out that the Victorian mindset of the Penguins did not prepare them for rampant nudity). This actually works out well for you. With the rise in obesity, you actually look pretty damn good by comparison. Strut your flabby body with pride.

In 2025, this blog will finally take off. After 17 years of laboring in obscurity, my pithy diatribes about condescending penguins and gun-wielding nudists finally gains the attention of the American public. Unfortunately, Virgil and Batmite, who combined their forces in a single super-blog in 2020, don't take kindly to this new competition and hire some hooligans to break your legs. Don't worry. Your new hover-chair is totally baller.

Once your blog hits the big time, female adulators come out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, you're such a naive twit that you end up marrying four of them. Each of them takes a large percentage of your fortune. It turns out that pompously declaring that you're the reincarnation of Jack McCoy doesn't work too well in divorce court.

And for crying out loud, don't marry the last one. Charlene may look like a quality nymphomaniac who digs the big, but that deep voice isn't explained by her "past cigarette habit" and I'm still ordering medicated salve at an alarming rate. We sure do know how to pick 'em, don't we?

Oh, here's an important one. That whole atheist thing you have going right now? You better give up on that one pretty damn quick. The second coming of Jesus was a few years ago, and that created quite a few awkward moments... with the whole "I don't believe you exist" thing. Fortunately, Jesus is a pretty cool guy, and he's a fan of our blog. We ended up debating the finer points of Law & Order's 48th season for a few hours over a couple of beers. I have to admit, I was kinda pissed about paying for beers given that the jerk could have been turning water to wine all night. But he kept on with "apocalypse" this and "heretic" that. You don't fuck with Jesus when he's been drinking.

Oh hey! They find a cure for heart disease in 2021. You can eat all the bacon you want; they've got you covered.

One last thing: Don't try to burn down the English building. I know you have that elaborate set of plans, but that fuse burns faster than you run. My eye-patch looks pretty sweet, but I think I'd pass on it if given the chance.

So fair thee well, past self. The future holds many interesting adventures for you. Now just watch out for Batmite. He's got a sharp stick in his closet that's meant for your thorax. Take him out before he can get to you.

Your pal,
You

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9 out of 10 future readers have extorted and blackmailed JP for large sums of money. The last reader just wanted a ham sandwich.