I was reading an advice column about a guy who was cleaning his house and he rubbed his hand near a wall socket and it transported him to another dimension. And I thought, that's all it takes? My ticket back to 1984 was a hand rag, a can of Endust and the wall outlet all along? Those things aren't easily accessible to me because I'm living in a hotel right now so acquiring them would involve complicated secret missions to infiltrate the maid closet. Still, I was excited because this method is much more easily attainable and cost effective than DeLorean based time travel.
ONE OF THE DISADVANTAGES OF BEING "HIGH-MAN" IS THAT YOU ARE NOT INVINCIBLE
If I was that guy I would be worried that cleaning the wall just gave me time travel powers and how could I control them and what should my superhero name be. But then the advice columnist told the guy that more than likely what happened was he got high on the cleaning chemicals he was using and no interdimensional time traveling occurred. The mind just does weird things when it's deprived of oxygen due to chemical interference (or in this case, when you're high). But it seemed so real to the guy that even if it was a mind trick, it was as genuine a reality as any other he'd experienced. If perception is reality then how can anyone tell him what he experienced was not 'real'? Reading all this led me to the obvious conclusion that dreaming may in fact be interdimensional travel and I should be careful what I do in my dreams because who's to say that I am not visiting other dimensions where fantastic incredible things really do happen like flying cars and I actually have a job.
DID I JUST INVENT THE CHICKEN PHONE OR IS THIS WHAT THEY CALL BEING HIGH ON CRACK
The other night I dreamt I was working as a stock boy at a Target in Antarctica and the guy helping me stock the automotive section was a six foot tall Soundwave the Decepticon cassette player. Then an awkward situation arose when Soundwave tried to take me to the back room and get me to smoke crack with him. I thought, I need to be careful what I do in this dimension because it might be actual events. Then my cell phone rung and it was a chicken. I started thinking this might be a dream but I'll be damned if I'm not gonna find a way to bring chicken phone back with me when I cross through the stargate and get back home as proof of interdimensional travel. So I stuck the chicken phone in my pants and started smoking crack with Soundwave. Oddly enough he sounded like Clint Eastwood. He told me, "You can't take things of this dimension back with you" and I told him, "What do you know? You're just a crackhead robot stockboy working at Target." Then our supervisor caught us and I was shocked back into this reality. I immediately woke up and reached for my chicken phone, only to find that in my bed I was not wearing pants. Apparently clothes do not pass through the stargate. Soundwave may be a crackhead Target stockboy but he sure knows his interdimensional physics.