Help me, Daily Cabal

by David

You’re my only hope! I’ve tried, I don’t know how many times, to get some 21st-century attention. It’s just not working. I’m racing against time, and I have been since the Britney exploded, in 2214 by your reckoning. It happened in transport space, so my pod launched in that bizarre continuum. The onboard computer had two choices about which way to go, and it chose wrong. I’ve been drifting retrograde temporal, at a rate of about one local year for every 110 years in 4-dimensional space-time. I need help! I can communicate, but the pod has no transfer engine. It’s already 2010 out there, and the technology to receive this message has only existed for about 5 years. I’ve got just a couple of weeks, my time, to get in touch with somebody. After that, I’ll ride nonstop to the Big Bang, although my air will run out in the late Pleistocene. This is not a prank! I’m sending plans for the extraction device. It’s an attachment to a mass mailing I’m addressing to everyone whose e-mail address I can get hold of. You’ll know it’s from me. The file name is helpme.exe, and the subject line is “before I run out of time.” So, if you are reading this and got my message, please please please deliver the attachment to the nearest high-energy physicist right away. If you don’t know any physicists, forward the message to everyone in your address book. You have until the date of the explosion, December 10, 2214, to rescue me. And if this doesn’t work out? I’ll wave five years ago, when I fly by.

I should say something to let you know this is for real. Sorry, Red Sox fans, they’ve already won the pennant for the last time. I can’t prove this to you! You’ll have to trust me. Please?

End