Tequila Kaboom is, without a doubt, the finest Time Traveler bar I have never thrown up in. Partially due to one of two features the bar offers. The first feature involves Tequila Kaboom’s extremely clever janitor who became increasingly vexed by one of his least favorite tasks; emptying the cyber-plastic vomit receptacles by each table. These classy pitchers (clear and marked every ten milliliters, for some reason) are necessary not just because Time Travelers tend to be irresponsible drinkers who have difficulty accepting their recent moral decline, but also because many conversations at Tequila Kaboom revolve around contemplating 4th degree paradoxes resulting in 4th Dimensional Vertigo. Many of these conversations would be avoided if Time Travelers weren’t so obsessed with having sex with historical figures and turning themselves into instant 10th generation royalty. When you realize you appear on your family tree several times, don’t try to figure it out– just leave the table to play Galactic Air Hockey. In its early stages, 4th dimensional vertigo often causes the subject to twirl around in a circle and yell, “Is it now!?” before throwing up 400 mL of RedBull and vodka. There is a rarer condition called 5th Dimension Vertigo, but to even describe the bizarre circumstances and symptoms causes 4th Dimension Vertigo. Generally, Time Travelers with acrophobia don’t last too long anyway.

The janitor wasn’t bothered by amateur-hour at the bar as much as he was tired of hearing the same pseudo-intelligent philosophical discussions at his damn job every day. By combining the more common Quantum-Rip Drive with Auto-Head-Shrinker, transcribing software and a catheter, he built the Omni-Lobotomizer Soporific Lexicon 15. This incredible device reads speech patterns and upon sensing repetitive confusing sentences will cross reference the speaker’s current level of psychosis, thus predicting ensuing nausea. A rambler with a high coefficient is immediately ripped back in time 15 minutes earlier, his memory intact, but with a low-grade sedative released into his bloodstream. It feels like Nyquil, chamomile, and sunglasses in a dark room. Also, the owner of the offending mouth is dropped not back at his table, but into Tequila Kaboom’s Dodgeball Octagon just for good measure. I’m told Stephen Hawking is stuck in a time-warp between the cocktail tables and the Dodgeball Octagon, but it might just be because Hawking is a gladiator in the D.O.

The second anti-puke feature at Tequila Kaboom is Frank, a likable flannel-wearing regular who is psychologically so far removed from his original universe, he isn’t sure he wants to return. For Frank, it was either centuries ago or just this morning when the astrophysicists at table 582 became rowdy. Nubes. Professors talking over one another with a lot of “If blank, then blank, then blank-blank-blank never exists” kind of talk. Eventually the pomposity grew to talk of smooshing prehistoric butterflies, inadvertently causing intercontinental wars millions of years later. One phD bashed another phD over the head with the slide projector he was using and an incredibly unskilled bloodbath ensued. It was like a pillow fight between two pillows wielding smaller pillows. Tequila Kaboom employs a bouncer, but his duties don’t require him to do anything as silly as breaking up a fight. The result was three dead Time Travelers wearing corduroy suits (with the stupid leather elbow patches) and a fourth throwing up on the table, mumbling through foamy lips, “the present tense is a lie. The present tense is a lie. The present tense is a lie.” 

Frank, not known to intervene in anyone’s business, but disturbed by the body count as much as the smell, thought he might do everybody in the bar a favor and simply stepped into the quantum stream that pours near Tequila Kaboom’s front door. He ripped a hole for himself twenty minutes before table 582 mentioned prehistoric causation liability and gently tapped one bearded phD on the shoulder. “Hi there. I’m Frank from twenty minutes in the future. I hate to interrupt the slide show, but you are about to murder each other the way a fern might attack a left-handed sofa. I don’t want you great guys getting hurt and I’m not zapping back through the damn confusing quantum pool again to save you. So calm down, stop arguing, and we can talk about how the breasts from my universe differ from the breasts in your universe. ”

Laughter from the men. Frank shrugged, walked back to his recliner in the corner and watched the discussion turn into a massacre all over again. He had delayed the inevitable by about two minutes.

Instead of managing his universe or trying to recreate his family, Frank found his new purpose in helping Tequila Kaboom’s Time Travelers have a better time. Basically, when Frank stops by your table at Tequila Kaboom and tells you to do something, just do it.

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