You grab a nearby leaner with a broken handle and whap Joe in the back. He shakes back to consciousness.
“Where'd you go, Joe?” you probe.
“Uh, I just had to interdimensionally travel through time and space a little bit. A lot of boneheads out there you know, about to do some really stupid shit. You can thank me later, come visit.”
“Uh.... whatever. Ok, let's go find a good lawyer to get this shit all drafted up.” You grab a nearby wash-up hose and douse the guy good. Decades of dirt come pouring off the poor old man. You blast him in the face, and his cheeks do that fantastic wobbly thing you love to look at in slow motion. Now sopping wet, you lead him up and out of the basement. His eyes burn in the bright sun. Thank god you live in such a developmentally arrested community that still has functional phone booths. You stuff Hobo Joe into one where the sun is slightly obscured and rifle through the yellow pages. Sorry, let me back up. There used to be this thing called PHONE BOOKS... oh wait, I'm going to fast for you? Okay, once upon a time, there was such a thing as a BOOK.... it was made out of pulp and paper, you know the thing that keeps your town humming? If you don't buy it your family will starve to death? Anyways, don't turn off your computer, sorry I had to back track so much, oh paper? It was made out of trees. You haven't heard of trees before? You know those tall none building things you can't do anything with in video games? Ya, those things. Chop them down and mush them up. Anyways, back to the plot, where were we? Oh ya, you find the name of a reputable looking law person in the YELLOW PAGES called Sal Cumberbund. You call him up and book an appointment pronto. The fate and freedom of humanity hangs in the balance. You race to the law offices but are tackled by a giant, horrific looking insect looking creature who holds you down as Sal drops a flying elbow onto Hobo Joe from the top floor window of his office. A brutal tag team brawl breaks out upon the streets of your downtown sector, and spills into the local pet shop. It appears that Hobo Joe messing with the timeline has blown up in your face long before you could traverse the sixth dimension. The crazy little pet shop clerk drops to the floor and slams out the one two three count upon you. Sal leaps up triumphantly! Hobo Joe throws down his hat in disgust and argues that the Vespa Crabro man was cheating with three of his limbs. What a mess! You shuffle home in defeat.




FACE PALM!