Hey, Funky, I have a better idea–how about if you wish you were the way you were thirty years ago? That would take you back to when you were kind of funny. Going back twenty years means you’re going to have to go through all that again–the alcoholism, the divorce, the beginning of the unending spiral toward the heat death of the universe. Only this time you’ll have to watch, helpless, as it all happens again.
An even better idea–why don’t you wish you were thirty years older? That way Cory can take you to the food court, and you can complain that the sandwiches are way too big. And you’ll be that much closer to death’s sweet embrace.
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