Get this, my contemporaries. The other night, I’m jamming on my lute like a regular guy when the police poppethed by to arrest me on suspicion of, I kid you not, “coming from the past.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking: obviously they had me bescrambled with someone else. Yet despite all evidence of me being a super-modern dude—my state-of-the-art abacus, various high-grade lenses—imagine my shock when, lo, they found me guilty there and thence!
“Hark!” I cried. “I pray ye!” But they would not be chill. Outnumbering me thrice to one, the #knaves had me cuffed and booked before you could sing hey-nonny-nonny.
I honestly don’t get it. ’Twere it my cool hat? My fun, pointy shoes? I mean, sure, these garments came as handeth-me-downs from my elder brother, but to conclude from my outfit that I somehow “o’erleapt” the centuries to steal your precious modern-day wisdom—get thee real.
By the by they schleppethed me not to the usual thieves’ hole but to some twinkling alchemist’s lair, where a crew of wizards in white coats came in all “time travel” this and “codpiece” that. Meanwhile, I was, like, “E’er heard of slumber?” Fie on those dudes, seriously.
And so the days turned into fortnights. O, what I would have given to crack open a can of mead or joust a few rounds with the boys back home. (You know what I’m talking about.) But it was not to be, my contemporaries. It was not to be.
Eventually, those #curs must have grown weary of my super-modern ways, for ere long they gave up and brought me to court—no doubt to set the record straight before the King. And believe ye me, I shall give him an earful!
Seriously, though, where is he?
Well, while we wait for His Majesty, let me reassure the jury that I am not—I repeat, not—from the past. I mean, behold! I’m so from now it’s not e’en funny.
And if I were from the past, I totally wouldn’t go a-telling anyone about all the cool stuff you guys have.
But that’s not a worry, because, like I said, I’m a hundred-per-cent latter-day.
