Mill boy to tuber, mill boy to tuber! Do you read, tuber? What’s your position? Can’t read. Can you turn up 
your gain? Roger. How ’bout this…. try turning down your lose. Ah… much better.
Ah, you have returned. Good on you. Yes, as you may have surmised, the man-sized tuber… ahem, I mean the intrepid man-sized tuber has made his way into the remote past, fully 145 years ago or more, back to the time of Lincoln. His mission? Very simple… to apprehend the nefarious anti-matter Lincoln (one of our various hangers-on) who has somehow supplanted the actual president and begun to drive what’s left of a Civil War-plagued nation into the sewer. Shouldn’t be too difficult a task for a non-verbal overgrown root vegetable on a cart. At least, that’s what our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee had assured me. He said that security was not as tight in those days as it is now, so it shouldn’t be hard for the tuber to catch up with anti-Lincoln to deliver his ultimatum. Piece of cake, right?
Well, not so right. Believe it or not, the tuber has run into some difficulties. For one thing, even though he jumped through the same wormhole as anti-Lincoln, he somehow didn’t land in the same geographical area as anti-Lincoln. Hell, he wasn’t even on the same continent. Tubey and his little cart rolled out of the time warp in Santiago, Chile. Now I know what you’re going to say. Yes, it is a capital. And yes, it is an American capital. But that’s where the similarity ends, my friends. And in any case, similar isn’t enough. We’re talking about the man-sized tuber on a cart a continent away from where he needed to be, in a century when the fastest mode of travel was probably a not-so-fast train. This was not a good beginning. And while tubey bumped around from one end of the Avenue Francisco Bilbao to the other, we set ourselves to the task of working out what to do. (Which involved scratching our heads for a few minutes, then running off to get Mitch Macaphee, who has some semblance of a functional brain.)
Mitch’s suggestion came quickly. Commandeer Trevor James Constable’s patented orgone generating device and fire it directly at the image of tubey, who was just visible as a cloudy outline in the center of the spiraling shape within the time warp. (Whoa, that was a mouthful.) Mitch would then manipulate the controls in such a way as to transport the man-
sized tuber thousands of miles across the 19th Century landscape to where he needed to be. Well, we tried it…. and when we next received word of the tuber (when I say “word”, I actually mean Morse code – we tied a clicker to one of tubey’s more dexterous roots) he did seem to be in a more congenial place vis-a-vis his mission. Which was a good thing… for Marvin (my personal robot assistant), because he has been sitting in the ready room for the last five hours anticipating some kind of back-up rescue mission… a prospect he has not been savoring, I can tell you. Hang in there, Marvin!
So, what the fuck. One thing leads to another, right? My guess is that by the time you check in on this ridiculous account again, something will have happened… somewhere….
