Is my mouth supposed to taste like this? Seriously, come over here and taste my mouth and tell me if it’s supposed to taste like this. No? Is that no, I won’t taste your mouth or no, it’s not supposed to taste like that?
While doing my best Tom Cruise at my New Year’s Eve party (I’m talking Cocktail, not climbing around on Oprah’s furniture), I plumbed long-untapped depths of my liquor cabinet. I wanted to mix something exceptionally special to sip right at midnight, something that would usher 2010 in with a bang, something that would make me want to climb around on Oprah’s furniture after all.
So there I was, nudging aside grenadine, Irish cream, and one, two, three, four, five, six—how many different kinds of tequila are there?—when I found a small, unlabeled bottle. Actually, it was more of a vial. When I held it up to the light, I could see a tiny clock with a lightning bolt coming out of it etched into the glass. I didn’t remember ever buying something like that, but I didn’t remember inviting Glen Starkey to my party either, yet there he was, dominating the party platter, tucking away little ham rolls like 2010 was really 2012 and we were all going to die or turn into Mayans or something when the clock struck 12.
Making a mental note to hire a bouncer for my next party, I dumped the entire contents of the suspicious vial into a glass, added a shot of rum, some Tabasco sauce, two fingers of whiskey, a lemon peel, a pinch of nutmeg, and a dollop of whipped cream. And a few hits from the various tequilas I’d found. And some Kahlua. And a Maraschino cherry. And a generous pour of absinthe, which is legal now in the states, even though I’d acquired the particular bottle I was using long before the law changed.
Eyeing Glen the ham vacuum once more, I downed my creation in one gulp. Then the world exploded and my head opened and my brain floated up and started flying away, up over the party platter and through the roof and out into the night where it danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings before waving goodbye to me and the ham and Tom Cruise, who was there now, too, and the laws of physics and the laws of time.
I must have had one wild night.
Because here I am, skull intact—as best I can tell—and this funny taste in my mouth and a mind filled with memories of stuff that hasn’t happened yet. Yes, my brain visited the future. Here’s what’s going to happen in 2010:
• Sen. Abel Maldonado is confirmed as lieutenant governor, pleasing Republicans. The confirmation also angers Republicans, pleases Democrats, angers Democrats, and stirs jealousy in First Lady Maria Shriver, who worries she’ll be replaced as Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s main squeeze.
• Smoking is outlawed in San Luis Obispo. Everywhere.
• Dave Romero decides to give it another go for the mayor slot, but his human body is failing him. So in a Six Million Dollar Man ploy he gets fitted with cyborg parts. Vote Robo Romero 2010—OR BE DESTROYED!
• Following the Mother’s Tavern name change to Mo Tav, other downtown drinking establishments follow suit. The Library becomes the Li. Black Sheep becomes Bleep. Frog and Peach becomes Frog Pea.
• Having bought up Ausra and Optisolar’s Carrizo-based solar projects, First Solar sells to a new company, Sunpowergy, confusing residents and local environmentalists even more.
• Now that the Pope has been attacked outside the protection of his Pope-mobile, the Vatican builds a more suitable pedestrian shield: The Pope Hamster Ball.
• Drinking is outlawed in San Luis Obispo.
• Dan DeVaul starts his own religion. Mandatory religious garments include suspenders and leather hats. The holy text is peppered with folksy aphorisms and a healthy dose of cussin’.
• County employees finally gnash their teeth and hunt for the blood of those who squandered their pension fund through waste, stupidity, and insane investment schemes. Union leader Kimberly Daniels remains characteristically silent and coos softly as she’s petted by the SLO County higher-ups.
• Gov. Schwarzenegger goes missing, elevating Lt. Gov. Maldonado to acting governor. The ascension pleases and angers Republicans and Democrats alike.
• Sheriff’s candidate Jerry Lenthall wins a landslide vote after grinding the bones of opponent Ian Parkinson to make his bread. Under his rule, every New Times employee goes bankrupt from traffic tickets. Even the ones without cars.
• Thinking about smoking is outlawed in San Luis Obispo.
• Chuck Lidell loses New Times sponsored Jello fight to Jack LaLanne.
• SLO County Animal Services rescues dozens of orphaned otter pups, but has no room to keep them and donates the pelts to Sarah Palin for her newest throw rug.
• Residents lobby Barack Obama after the U.S. Supreme Court rules against an appeal on the Los Osos Sewer Project.
• The San Luis Obispo Chamber of Commerce circulates a survey to take the city’s temperature on banning dancing. Members also begin casting suspicious glances at copies of Catcher in the Rye.
• Gov. Maldonado announces his intentions to run for president of the United States as a candidate of the revived Bull Moose Party.
• Legislation that would legalize and tax marijuana use takes some significant steps forward, not that it would help Charles Lynch at all.
• Otherwise, everything else pretty much stays the same, just like always.
The Shredder needs a couple of aspirin. Send your hangover remedies to firstname.lastname@example.org.