The other day, an East Village Radio colleague played a  new recording by a band so derivative, so feckless, so utterly craven, so thoroughly lacking any musical or lyrical creativity that I knew I had to do something about it.  Except of course, there’s nothing I can do about it. Where I to name and shame this particular ensemble, I would almost certainly subject myself to accusation of bullying, or even worse, “gate-keeping”. 
 
 Putting aside how I’ve kept MANY records by Gate and that’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’m instead not going to take this lying down and will be launching a gofundme on this very episode in order to finance a time machine.  Once I’ve zapped myself back several decades, I can make some of the same terrible life choices the rest of you schmucks have surely made, ensuring I have zero notoriety or influence to speak of.  Then, I can freely take steps to eliminate the band in question (perhaps by hooking their parents-to-be up with more intelligent or attractive partners  — i think there’s multiple other movies I need to research).
 
 For those who’d call this an incredible personal sacrifice on my part, YOU’RE RIGHT.  I might not be the most unselfish person you know, but I bet I’m in the top 20. 
 
 (time machine art : The Masquerading Scientist)