After falling asleep to the comedic sounds of Chelsea Lately, I was awoken by such a clatter. As I rose from my race car bed, what stood before I could not believe my eyes.
It was Adrian Zmed. He asked me if I had any whiskey, I said "Sure, but how did you get into my room?"
Zmed replied, "The garage door was left open". I sighed a little.
He began told me he was the Ghost of Christmas Future and that I was on my last visit of the night. Obviously he was drunk and I, already awake, went along with it. We got in his '89 Geo Metro and headed on the freeway.
"Where are you taking me?" I questioned cautiously.
"Where we're going we don't need roads!" he exclaimed. Then we we're airborne.
After an hour and fifteen minute discussion of why he didn't get the role of Marty McFly, we had arrived. Las Vegas, 2018.
"I can't believe this is happening, how is this possible?" I remarked as we parked on the strip.
"It's a kind of Magic" Adrian explained. By this point we were on first name terms.
"No, not time travel" I retorted, "The fact that Dane Cook is still popular" pointing to the huge marquee that he was being featured at the Hooters Casino Hotel.
"Me too, but that is not why I brought you here my son. Look over there at Caesar's Place."
In the midst of wondering if Zmed would be a better last name than Hover, I looked up. In big floating Letters read:
PICARD MANEUVER
MIKE HOVER & ADAM FANISHER
MAY 17, 18, 19 & 28TH
Surprised that Caesar's put us on the bill and put my name first, I asked Adrian, "This is awesome that we reach this stage, no pun intended. What other feats did we do to get here?"
Adrian, looking uncomfortable, slowly walking backwards towards the Geo Metro. "Well, according to my hand book here, the owner lost a bet and as a result had to put you up for five nights."
“But there are only four dates up there” I glanced at the sign.
Adrian ran to the car and flew away, in the midst of his escape knocking the Luxor pyramid over, turning it into a trapezoid.
I stood there in awe of both the Caesar’s Marquee and Adrian Zmed’s drunken flying. I thought to myself. "One day, one day"
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