“Okay, machine,” Wilbert said. He was in the mood for some free love and free weed and a bunch of groovies, psychedelic shirts, and love beads. “Woodstock, 1969, on the double.”
Aunt Prudence would wonder where he’d gone. She was expecting him for one of her countless cotillions with the upper-crust Republicans of San Francisco. All eleven had R.S.V.P.d and Aunt Prudence was expecting them. They’d complain about Obama and their taxes while sipping Grey Goose martinis with diamond-ringed hands, tiaras, Vera Wang originals, and Manolo Blahniks.
No worry, Wilbert decided. He’d just put the time machine in reverse and come back two hours earlier – plenty of time to rewind the cotillion and start over. Hopefully, the society wouldn’t get wind of it. There’d be hell to pay if they found out he’d reversed time. But it had to be done.
He cranked up the machine and made his way to Woodstock.
“Damn this machine,” Wilbert said once again. He needed to trade in this jalopy for a new and improved model. Preferably one that landed in the right place at the right time. He landed in the middle of New York city. As far as he could tell, it was Times Square. And judging from the fashion, current day.
But something struck him as funny. He got his psychedelic shirts, love beads, and everyone passing him said groovy, man. But everyone was paired off with a twin. The African Americans in the Nelson Mandela overshirt, two of ‘em. The Orthodox Jews in black and white, a pair of identical twins. The twink gay boys in their gym rat spandex, two of ‘em. The militant feminists with their saggy boobs, gray caftans, thick glasses, and sensible shoes – a dynamic duo. The Chinese software engineers walking with heads buried in Apple Macbook Pros, the middle-aged businessmen driving BMW 5-Series while talking on cellphones, the angry white old curmudgeon McCain-Romney voters walking around with constipation written on their faces, the transsexual drag queens. All in identical pairs – two of ‘em each time.
And then Patty Lane walked by him, followed by her identical cousin, Cathy Lane. Wilbert remembered his favorite re-run from the 1970s – Patty Duke with the curls twirling out, Patty Duke with the curls twirling under. But they’re cousins …
“This is weird shit,” Wilbert said to one of the two street vendors hocking cheese dogs and mu shu pork. “I’m getting’ out of here.”
“But haven’t you heard?” the two said in unison. “Obamacare’s giving everyone a free clone.”
Should the world risk another Wilbert? He ran for the machine and put it in reverse.
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