So I ran into this girl I went to high school with. I never really knew her but she was pretty and cool and nice. And when I saw her at this bar, she told me she wished I had asked her to homecoming sophomore year. Instead, I didn't ask anyone and stayed home alone.
Coincidentally, I invented time travel. Don't ask me how. (That's a subject for another entry!). I decided to put my invention to good use; I was gonna have Sophomore Me ask this girl out!
I turned the dial aaaaaaaaaaallllll the way back to the Fall of 2001...
Present Me: Tony, it's me! You, from the future! I invented time travel to tell you--
Sophomore Me: Aw, shit, man.
Present Me: What?
Sophomore Me: Are you kidding me?
Present Me: Huh? What's wrong?
Sophomore Me: I don't get any taller?
Present Me: What? No... Still five foot seven-ish.
Sophomore Me: Awesome. Real awesome.
Present Me: Okay. A) I don't like your tone. B) Shut up for a second. I came here to help you, dude.
Sophomore Me: How?
Present Me: You know Jessie? The girl. A year older than you? I ran into her at a bar in the future and she told me she had a crush on me in 2001. That's now! You should totally ask her to Homecoming.
Sophomore Me: Oh sweet. How old are you?
Present Me: Twenty-Three.
Sophomore Me: Uh-huh. And what do you do for a living?
Present Me: Me? I work for Enterprise. Enterprise Rent-A-Car.
Sophomore Me: Oh. Huh. You, uh, in management there? Doing marketing for them, maybe?
Present Me: No. Just renting cars. Out of SFO.
Sophomore Me: You're shitting me.
Present Tony: I shit you not.
Sophomore Me: Fuck, man. For real?
Present Me: This conversations not about me, it's about you.
Sophomore Me: I am you.
Present Me: Shut up.
Sophomore Me: And you're telling me I rent cars when I'm twenty-three.
Present Me: Will you lay off me, dude? I invented time travel.
Sophomore Me: And the best idea you could come up with was a plan to get a fifteen year-old laid?
Present Me: You make it seem creepy.
Sophomore Me: It is creepy.
Present Me: Whatever, dude. At least I've had girlfriends.
Sophomore Me: Well, you obviously don't have one now.
Present Me: Oh yeah? How are you so sure?
Sophomore Me: Dudes with girlfriends don't worry about the girls they didn't get with 8 years before.
Present Me: I think you're really missing the point here. I time traveled.
Sophomore Me: I think you missed the point. You depressed the fuck out of me.
Present Me: Come on, dude. I went to a good college. Had lots of fun. I went to law school.
Sophomore Me: You went to law school? And you rent cars?
Present Me: Well, I dropped out.
Sophomore Me: Huh.
Present Me: What? What is it?
Sophomore Me: ...Nothing.
Present Me: You can't just say, "Nothing." I know you better than that.
Sophomore Me: I'm just really bummed these are the best years of my life. I mean, getting turned down by girls all the time, being the best runner on the worst cross country team in the county, and being second-chair saxophone in the Marin Catholic band. This is as good as it gets?
Present Me: At least you're thin.
Sophomore Me: Ah, man. You're thin, too!
Present Me: You mean it? I look thin?
Sophomore Me: No, you're a fat piece of garbage. Go back to the future. You make me sick.
Present Me: I had no idea I was such a dick.
Sophomore Me: What are you gonna do about it, you quitter?
Moral of the story, if you travel back in time and kill an earlier version of yourself because it turns out you were a huge jerk, it doesn't kill the future version of you. And there's only one set of fingerprints at the scene.
I apologize upfront. When I made a nearly exact copy of "2 Girls 1 Cup," I had no idea your film existed.
I think I ought to blame my friends. They must have known about “2 Girls 1 Cup.” It seems like everyone in America was aware of it but me. Why didn't they warn me when I said, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if I got someone else and shit in a cup and had the other person eat that shit and then have both of us puke that shit into each other's mouths?” They just looked at each other knowingly. Like they wanted me to be humiliated, to be found out as a fraud, a Johnny-come-lately in the shit/cup/vomit game.
Never once did they say, “Oh, Tony, I think that's been done before,” or “Oh, like in '2 Girls 1 Cup,'” or “That idea borders on the insane.”
Perhaps, understandably, they thought I was joking. How could they have known I was serious enough about amusing my fellow man to shit into a cup, have another person eat that shit and then have both of us puke that shit into each other's mouths?
But no one even tried to stop me. Not once in the dozens and dozens of times I mentioned the fact that I was planning on doing it. Not when I said I was renting camera equipment to do it. Not when I asked anybody with a garage if I could film there on a Saturday. Not when I called and asked everybody I knew for some bleach, explaining “I'm going to be covered in shit for that video I've been telling you about for a few weeks now.”
It's like they were conspiring against me.
Imagine, Mr. Villanova, if I had gone through with an idea for a film revolving around the antics of secret-agent guinea pigs. Imagine I had acquired the technology to computer animate guinea pigs, written a hilarious script about their antics, totally financed the production, and then filmed it, all while my closest friends were well-aware of the existence of the recent box-office sensation “G-Force.”
Now, imagine that the guinea pigs are not guinea pigs but, rather, human waste. And imagine no computer graphics whatsoever. Just lots of very real human waste. That's the point I'm at now.
Or if I had had the idea to put Brendan Fraser in a 3-D joy ride into the depths of the earth, all while they knew about “Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D.” Same deal, but instead of Brendan Fraser, it's me and someone else, and instead of going into the center of the earth, we do horrible, horrible things to one another with human waste.
I think you get the idea.
How can I ever be respected again as true humorist now that I've been made a fool of? Now that I'm second-fiddle in the shitting-into-a-cup-then-having-another-person-eat-that-shit-then-both-people-puke-that-shit-into-each-other's-mouths world?
Mr. Villanova, can you offer me any comfort at all? A kind word from a genius such as yourself could do much to warm my heart at such a dark time.
P.S. It's not impossible to think that my version of the film could still have true cultural merit. A sequel of sorts. A Godfather II to your Godfather. But with far more shit, of course. Keep in touch.