Because It’s The Only Plausible Explanation.

What? What? What?

Ok. I honestly have no explanation for this whatsoever.

You mean, fer why we’re in Tom Swift’s snowglobe? An why my legs are missing? An why dere’s Nazgul flying around? Oh, and dinosaurs. Why’s dere dinosaurs?

“Actually, I think this one looks more like Godzilla.”

Ok, why’s dere dinosaurs an also Godzilla, den?

“I don’t know.”

You don’ spose dose crazy cultists finally got us? Dat dis is some outer dimension of madness where we’re doomed to wander fer all eternity?

“Seems a bit tame for that.”

Tame? Dat dinosaur’s got huge teeth!

“Godzilla.”

Whatevah. Ohh, maybe Count Weirdly made dis insidious device to trap us in the past, so we’re-

“Count Weirdly made an insidious device that works?”

Wellllllllllll, maybe Count Weirdly was TRYING to make a bakin-soda volcano, but it came out as an insidious device to trap us in da past?

“I’m working on getting us back! There’s a lot of random buttons to try, and it would really help if at least one of them was labeled.”

Dat’s anudda thing. Who died an made you timelord? Howcum you get ta drive dis crazy contraption?

“Because your legs are missing. How would you operate the pedals?”

What pedals?

“Aren’t there any pedals?”

Don’ see none.

“Huh. Well, I’d better put some down, then.” I pull a couple piano pedals and a clutch from an old AMC gremlin out of my hat, and stick them into the floor. “There! Now we’ll get back!”

I guess I’d better marry my grade-school principal, den.

“Especially since he’s having your baby.”

He wha-!?

I hear Max thrash violently in the next room, and wait for the thud that means he’s fallen out of bed.

Thud!

I sigh, put down my book and cigarette next to the nearly empty glass of bourbon, and wait for him to pull himself out to the living room.

Eventually, his nose comes cautiously around the corner of the doorway. Sly?

“Who else?”

What’m I doin in your house?

“You went on another bender, turned up at my front door barely able to stand up, and then passed out on my couch. Just like last month. That’s all I know bout the situation.” I pick my book back up.

Oh yeah. He scratches his head. Dere aint no… dinosaurs out here, are dere?

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Good. He staggers back toward the general direction of the spare room.

I pour myself another stiff shot. Funny how when he drinks, I’m always the one who pays for it.

The Final Word.

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