Babe Listowel vigorously shook his left hand in the hope that one of the $6 bills he was holding would fall to the ground; where someone else would surely pick it up, and save him the trouble of putting it into the vending machine himself. The note with the highest third highest serial number was the first to come down from its perch, and welcomed this opportunity to unite with the ground. Dawson Filter stooped for the bill, and pocketed it with the unrecognized help of his pocket.
Babe sighed, blinked, scratched his neck, stopped sighing, and overturned the vending machine. “None shall go hungry tonight, Plywoodn’t Give Up On Our Dreams!” He announced, to the dismay of None, a longtime resident of the vending machine.
“Calling ourselves Plywoodn’t Give Up On Our Dreams was perhaps a worse idea than I thought.” Twelve-Anne confessed.
“What about ‘The Quest Committee’?” Sylvester Denny suggested.
“That sounds sufficiently fantastic.” Dawson Filter seemed to remark.
“Reviewing the bails could be an idea worth calling good.” Said Twelve-Anne, who’d been raised to believe that ‘bails’ was a synonym for ‘information’ as part of a bet her parents had with a local dentist.
“So, we’re pretty sure that if we go to the Amazon Basin I’ll know The True Meaning of Feelings,” Babe ostensibly said, “and that if we go to 2114, we’ll get pretty close to the Amazon Basin.”
“Also, The Illuminati for the Blind seems to be quite a thing.” Said the man typically referred to as Dawson Filter, but who briefly lost his name without warning in 2016. “And they really want to know about walruses.” Ah, you highlighted this sentence.
“No, ‘what do you know of walruses’ is just a code.” Twelve-Anne Stradivari explained, being. “The correct response is ‘though you might hear laughing, spinning swinging madly across the sun, it’s not aimed at anyone, it’s just escaping on the run, and but for the sky there are no fences facing.'”
“But they were” Said Dawson Filter. Oh, I’m sorry, did that interrupt the flow of the quotation? Here’s the end of it, it’s pretty good: “going to torture me until I told them!”
“They’re remarkably 3 bad at stuff.” Twelve-Anne said. The ‘3’ was silent.
Dawson shrugged, and turned the dial of The Quest Committee’s island sized time machine which they decided to call ‘the tumour’ to 2114. Everyone survived.
They sprinted off the machine onto Amazonian land. 2114 soil was firmer, and unlike 2016, there was a man with a lantern jaw and LED biceps standing in front o’ a giant chessboard holding a newspaper called ‘The Secret Obituaries’.
“Hello, my good man.” Babe Listowel said, guessing that the man would consider himself good; and if he didn’t, likely wouldn’t be offended by the mistake. “Could you direct us to the Amazon Basin?”
“I’ve asked for directions to way better basins than that spinach raft.”
“I can believe it,” Twelve-Anne said, “but we really just want to go to the Amazon one.”
“Ha! That’s nothing-one time I wrestled a bear!” The man boasted.
“What?” ~Twelve-Anne (2114)
“I’m just saying: wanting to go to the Amazon Basin is pretty lame compared to actually wrestling a bear.”
“This isn’t as much of a contest as you think it is.”
“Another time I water skied on a lake near Chernobyl. Are you even trying at life?”
“The odds of your life being neater than mine are really quite slim. Can you please just direct us toward the Basin?”
“Did you ever doubt it?” The man said, pointing forward with his right hand, and at his ‘I survived 2109 Wimbledon’ t-shirt with his left.
The Quest Committee thanked the man, and rush’d forward without a trace of regret in their hearts; nor in their spleens, handbags, or even minds. They were sure that they’d know The True Meaning of Feelings before 3:56 that afternoon; and they were right.
But such statements change a fair bit in meaning when time travel is a thing.