If I had a chance to go back in time, I would kill Hitler. Good thing, too, because these scientists are putting a jelly on my body — it’ll stop me from vomiting when I get to the past. They’re also attaching electrical pads to my head and body. Guess why. Go ahead.
That’s right. I’m going to kill the Führer. You heard me: worthless old Tom Lucynski is making good!
Sorry, killing the nastiest sonofabitch in history gets me all excited. How’s prep work going, guys? Good. Pretty pumped over here.
To be honest, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, ever since I was hanging with Jimmy behind the Wendy’s on State Street and he asked me what I’d do if I could hit up the past. I thought about going back five years and avoiding Crazy Callie, or inventing fire, but I figured Hitler was the better choice.
And here I am. Most likely to be a burnout? How about most likely to kill Hitler! High five, Science Man.
I got made fun of a lot in school for being a deadbeat, or whatever. But now I get to be the biggest badass in history. Okay, Jim Thompson from economics class, you have a six-figure salary. But did you kill Hitler? Screw you. And to that couple that lives across the street with their private-school kids, always giving me the stink eye when I’m pounding beers on my front lawn: your kids might have killed their competition in lacrosse, but you know who they didn’t kill? I’ll give you a hint: Hitler. The answer is Hitler.
What? 30. I’m 30 years old.
What’s this? A special time travel jumpsuit? Rock on. So I’ve been meaning to ask you guys about the gun I’m going to use to kill the bastard. I know it’ll be something awesome, like a submachine gun or a plasma rifle, but do I take it with me to the past, or do I have to get one when I land in Austria-Hungary? Oh, and speaking of which, why am I going to Austria-Hungary? Isn’t Hitler, like, Mr. Germany?
Doesn’t matter. I’ll just bust in there, like during an evil meeting or something, and give him a good rat-a-tat-tat. Maybe I’ll catch him goose-stepping in front of the mirror and just unload on the guy. There’ll be more bullets in him than girls I nailed in high school. Nice. Still waiting on that high five, Science Dude. Now you owe me two.
Wait, no one told me I’d have to use poison. Really, guys? I wanted to go Rambo on his ass. I was going to shoot Hitler, return to the present and piledrive my neighbors’ kids right into the pavement. And they wouldn’t be able to stop me because I killed Hitler. I can hear you whispering over there. Stop keeping secrets. What’s this about a little kid? Don’t be jealous.
That reminds me — do you guys have a party planning committee, or something like that? I mean, I’d expect at least a Fudgie the Whale cake when I get back safely. Obviously, a full-blown parade would probably be more fitting. I’m thinking floats, an army of clowns making balloon animals of my likeness, and I’ll make a grand entrance at the end wearing a pope hat and driving a Maserati. And make sure there’s a Jim Thompson dunking booth — I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see that guy underwater.
Now that it’s on my mind, how exactly am I getting back to the present? Like, I know this time machine is pretty new-tech, so who’s going to build one to get me back?
Wait.
Wait.
So, let me get this straight. I’m going to go back in time. I’m going to land in Austria-Hungary in 1900. I’m going to find some deadly poison — just, y’know, find some deadly poison — find an 11-year-old boy named Adolf Hitler, become a friend of his family, and use my access to kill him before he does all the bad Hitler-y things.
And then I’m going to stay in that time period, because there’s no way for me to get back. And then, because Hitler didn’t go full Hitler, no one will know how much of a hero I am. Jim Thompson won’t get dunked.
Look at me, Science Guy. Look me in the eyes, and tell me that Jim Thompson won’t get dunked.
Oh man, this is going to suck.
