I Would Hate To Date A Time Traveller

Where were you last night?

Oh, come on.  This is bullshit.  You know where I was.  You always know the answer to every question that you ever ask me.

Not true.

Don't get cute.  I know that this could be your second, third or fiftieth go around this particular moment in the space/time continuum.  So, quit playing games and just get to what's on your mind.

Well, yesterday I was just farting around in 1835 and I got wild hair up my ass to go watch Mark Twain being born...

Again?  What's with you and needing to see that so badly?

There's not a lot going on in 1835.

Isn't there a cool battle going on somewhere that you can watch?

I might have started that war, actually.

Really?

It was a misunderstanding.  Who knew the Vietnamese at that time understood the significance of the middle finger?

Hmm.  Maybe they were hungry.

Well, they're all dead or French now.  So, who fucking cares?

Can we skip the nonsense, please.  Look, I know that you know that I know that you know that every single event on Earth is capable of being molded by your whim.  So whatever it is that you are pissed off at me about from last night is basically your fault because you failed to have it happen in the correct manner that suits you.  Thanks for subjugating my free will to your infinite passing fancy, asshole.

It's not just last night.

I'm sorry.  Am I supposed to worry about the next bad decision I make 17 years from now?

Well, while we're on that subject...

Fuck off.

...That might be the next war I start.