The Providers – Letter 1

Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill,

Dude, dude, DUDE.

I’M SO DRUNK. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

HONESTY-TIME, HONESTY-TIME, man. I’m from the future. No no no no no, wait… seriously. YOU STUPID SHIT, LISTEN TO ME! This writing back to the past is serious business. Me and Greg – Greg from the future who don’t know yet – have been drinking a serious amount of Cuervo at his parents peacock farm. It is some f’d up s, man. They have this weird idea that peacock-dancing is the entertainment wave of the future – well, after SURGE BALL, of course.

Then me and Greg had this idea. CHECK IT OUT! We tell someone in the future to start the peacock-dancing trend, so by the time we come around it’s mega-popular and Greg’s parents (and us, of course) can reap the benefits – and by benefits I mean a dick-load of CASH MONEY.

So here’s what you basically need to do: If you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you’ve got just one peacock, get another one, then bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. If you are 100% sans-peacock, acquire two peacocks, bring ’em round the yard and teach ’em how to dance. IT’S THAT SIMPLE.

In return, we’ll give you tiny hints about the future so you can maybe possibly benefit from them.

Dude, this is going to be SO SICK. I LOVE YOU DUDE, I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Eat my balls,
Dom

The Providers – Letter 5

Bill,

Now that you’ve taken care of the preliminary tasks we asked of you (thanks for sending that 2010 Chone Figgins baseball card, he’s going to have a monster year, trust me), I figured I could let you in on a little bit of information  about the future. Not enough to alter the space-time continuum so much that the United States gets attacked by a murderous race of giant sea turtles (again), but enough to make you totally jealous.

To start off, no, there are no flying cars. At least not anymore. A slight lack of foresight by AeroFord resulted in most of the flying cars obliterating each other mid-air. No lanes – people make their own lanes. The cars that didn’t become murder boxes were impounded or sent to museums. We’re all back to driving regular cars, powered by canaries.

I know you’re probably wondering about time-travel. Well, to sum up time-travel in one sentence: NOBODY TIME-TRAVELS. It’s really boring and totally not worth the risk. In case I hadn’t made in clear in my first paragraph, the future is great. Like, way better than the past. Why would we want to go back and look at boring losers like you (no offense) while we have 3-D virtual reality back in our own time? Even if we were interested in observing what you had for lunch last Tuesday, the possibility of completely ruining everything in the future is surprisingly high. Even the littlest thing – like someone from the future waving hello to you – could potentially have cataclysmic effects. If you wish to learn more about this, there was a documentary released during your time called The Butterfly Effect starring the man who now has a 30-foot tall bronze statue standing on the Hollywood walk-of-fame, Mr. Ashton Kutcher.

Also, dolphins can talk now. At first it was really cute, but now they’re just annoying – always whining about how much the want another fish. Fuck dolphins.

Thanks for your help, the next letter will inform you as to the next step in the process.

-Dom

The Providers – Letter 7

Bill,

Greg and I just came back from the site you were meant to bury the canaries in the Suspended Animation Chamber and honestly, I was a bit disappointed. I thought we had made it clear how costly it is these days to acquire these precious little birds ever since the motor vehicle companies found they were an extremely cheap source of energy. There’s hardly enough for two average-joes and their hair-brained experiments in time travel (or, since no one’s actually travelling, hair-brained experiments in Past Manipulation).

Nevertheless, Greg and I will trudge on. We have an old friend Pablo who used to work with us at the Bran Factory until he inherited a pet store from late Grandfather. I’m sure he’ll have a few of them lying around.

I hope you understand how dire our situation is, Bill. Greg and I need our jobs back at the factory. We’re lost without them. This is why I’m giving you one more opportunity to help us. All we need you to do is dig a tunnel beneath Francisco’s Pet Store on the corner of 25th and Henson. This should give us an entry way into Pablo’s store in the future so we can get our canaries. 

Should you fail us again, this endeavour could prove deadly. Pablo’s got a bit of a temper. You don’t want the weight of two future guys looming over you, do you? I didn’t think so. DIG THE HOLE, BILL!

-Dom

The Providers – Letter 8

Bill,

Well, it nearly killed us, but we got the canaries from Pablo. Holy codfish, he did not want to give those up! But luckily, after an intense struggle, we were able to knock him out with a rag soaked in ether. He did mention murdering us in the future, which was a bit unsettling — especially because neither Dom or I had lunch yet. Getting news of our imminent death on an empty stomach just made the afternoon all the worse. If they’re out of Calamari Fritters at the pub, I may LOSE IT!

I’m just glad you’re helping us out from the past by doing all those small tasks that end up having such a profound impact on our future. If you never read Dom’s last letter and took care of what he asked you, I’d never have attempted the canary-theft. It’d be a suicide mission. But since you obviously did, now we can reap the benefits!

By now, you probably have the last few Farmer’s Almanacs necessary to set up your Fringclaxitor. If you haven’t yet, PLEASE DO! It’s crucial you have it set up in case anything goes wrong. I mean, it’s extremely doubtful something will, but better safe than sorry. Dom said the chances of him having to write asking you to activate the Fringclaxitor are around the same as you winning a few lotteries. Psssh.

Oh, that reminds me, I decided to give you a bit of a gift for helping us out. I looked up the info, and below are the winning lottery numbers in your area for tomorrow’s drawing. May as well get something out of the deal!

Ultra Millions
6, 24, 28, 38, 51
UltraBall: 38

StrongBall
12, 22, 41, 44, 57
StrongBall: 24

Rad Million
4, 8, 14, 22, 28, 36

Our next, and final task for you involves all those cans of tuna-fish, bricks of cheddar cheese, and fresh-baked rolls you stole: please make around 200 Tuna Melts and bring them to the nearest homeless shelter and feed everyone you see. This seemingly POINTLESS task will end up benefiting us, don’t worry. I’m not just asking you to help others in need for no good reason.

By feeding those particular homeless individuals, you will set forth a wave of goodwill that will cause Dom and I to be able to get our jobs at the Bran Factory back! They called us mad for our inventions, and said we’d never work in the Bran Industry again. But after you give tuna melts to some hobos, they’ll reconsider and allow us back in. Perfect and logical.

Then we can unleash the Stealthometer onto a public in dire need of its services! I mean, its how we know what past events have made crucial impacts on the future. It’s what’s enabling us to re-direct our misfortunes and stealthily get them back in the fast lane. Why they’d call us crazy I’ll never know.

Anyway, I’ll let you go make some tuna melts. Talk to you soon, past buddy!

– Greg

The Providers – Letter 10

Bill,

It’s like I always said: if you’ve got 2 peacocks, bring ’em out round the yard and teach ’em how to dance.

ha HA!

Anyway, man, that was crazy. To think that all I needed to provide Dominick was 3 copies of the Farmer’s Almanac from 1985 in order to solve everything. I mean, wow. It’s just uncanny.

But that’s so Dom, man. THAT’S. SO. DOM. He’s just a wiz with all this technical stuff. I never could’ve gotten it right. I’m more of the ideas man, you know?

And the timing couldn’t be any more perfect because Pablo’s coming tonight to get back the extra canaries we stole from his pet shop. But now that all’s well, it’ll be no problem. Remember how he told us “I’m going to MURDER YOU BOTH”? Oh, Pablo. He’s such a character.

Oh wait, you probably don’t remember. That’s the thing: we just discovered today that the Time Machine Mailbox Dom and I invented had the settings all screwed up. You see, we had been mailing you the letters to be delivered in spaced-out increments going forward in time but starting 100 years before we wrote the first letter. Turns out the setting was in reverse. OOPS.

No big deal. It just means that now you’ll be receiving the letters backwards instead of forwards. So. Umm…I guess that actually means when you read this you won’t know anything about what happened yet.

Wait a minute…oh man…this could be bad. OH MAN! That means right now you have no idea who we are or why we’re even writing to you!

Listen, just trust me here: go buy yourself a whole bunch of canaries, ok? It’ll all make sense in the end. I can’t remember what Dom wrote you last time, but hopefully when you get it later this week it’ll help clear things up a bit.

Also, was the Fringclaxitor invented yet in 2010? If not, start eating a whole bunch of bran and hope for the best.

Your pal from the future,

– Greg