Parallel Time: Damn, your show sucks

To suscribe to TV Chef Network, please call customer service, or click here.

Like a shish kebob

But I do not understand why we are going to the North Pole, Lord Bramwell.

Try to get this through your tiny brain. There is a magnetic axis that runs through the center of each of the thousands of realms that make up Existence.

Like a shish kebob?



Yes! A shish kebob! Exactly. And there are thousands of these vertical shish kebobs that make up the known and unknown universes.


Caw?


And the skewers holding these shish kebobs together, as it were, bisect each of these realms at its polar axis.

I like shish kebobs. I'm hungry. Caw.





Concentrate. As it happens, on this shish kebob, the realm of the really Big Crows is situated directly beneath Parallel Time.

So we are on a piece of chicken and we want to travel to the piece of lamb above us?


Precisely! However, we are blocked by a slice of green pepper and a shard of onion.


So we shall eat our way through!


No. I shall use this transpolar destabilizer to open a hole in the pepper and onion so that we may climb onto the the piece of lamb above us.


Why do we want to climb onto a piece of lamb?

No! Not lamb! It is Parallel Time! We shall climb from the North Pole of the Realm of the Really Big Crows onto the South Pole of Parallel Time! That is where we shall find the Great White Crow!

Caw! I think today's post on Parallel Time makes much more sense.

It looks good! Really.

Lord Bramwell?

Enter.

We have recovered your eye.

Bring it to me.

It looks good! Really.

It is of no importance. ... Now bring me the transpolar destabilizer and my snow suit.

Caw! The Great White Crow is nearly within our grasp.

And there's a new post on Parallel Time! Caw.

Oops

That's tomorrow's post over there in the thumbnail, but there's a new one today at Parallel Time.

Sorry about the Phillies, dudes

Hola, dudes! I'm in a meeting, so I'll make this quick.

You're wondering if the dudes on the elevator are dead -- am I right? Well, it sure doesn't look good does it? If you really want to know, check out Parallel Time.

What did Karl say? ... Interphasic toast, I reckon. Hmmm. ... Man, I never get tired of doing Karl. Hmmm. It aint got no gas in it. Mmm. ... Flowers is purty. Mmm. ... I like them french fried potaters. Mmm. Ha!

Hey, lookit. I also do Jayson Werth. Ha! ... Oh yeah. Sorry about the Phillies, dudes, but I did heal Rollins' leg, right? ... Later!

I reckon we's done for

It feels as if the elevator is being torn apart!

Oh dear. ... I'm too scared to faint!


I reckon we's done for. Mmm.

The protocols! Maybe if we all change ino the new uniforms ...


It's worth a try. Hurry!

Karl, if you had to live your life over again, would you do anything differently?

I'd probably get me some more of them french fried potaters. Hmm.

I think I would have finished "Answered Prayers" while I still had the chops ...

-POOF!-

... Oh! Now the I Ching paddles and are gone ... and the balls! We are completely out of control.


This is the end!


Scrapple, we're coming to join you!

I hate Marge

So, one minute I'm a baby dinosaur playing with Jesus in the Garden of Eden, then, suddenly, I'm whisked away on an elevator travelling though time and space. So, I finally get used to that and I start growing up and I make some pretty good friends on the elevator, like Mrs. Egram, Truman and Karl. Even the Green Guy was OK, though he was sort of a wuss. And there was Bramwell, of course. I never really liked him. ... So, anyway, what happens? Suddenly, I'm grabbed by an interdimensional rift and trapped in an interphasic reality that exists somewhere between time and space. My life is over before it ever began. I mean, was that really God's plan for me ... to float in an interphasic void ... all my hopes and dreams dashed? And why? Because of someone named Marge who lives in a place called Allentown. I hate Marge, whoever she is. ... Well, you don't need to hear my troubles, do you? One good thing to come of it, I guess, is that I can talk and think now. ... Though, I have no one to talk to and my life was too short to have much to think about. ... Anyway. I'm supposed to tell you about a new post on Parallel Time, but I don't really feel like it.

Never mind

One minute I was playing hide-and-go-seek with Mr. Bear's little girls in the Secret Room in 1867 and the next minute I'm stuck here with these stinky dinosaurs in prehistoric times. I think that's just awful. And Adam and Eve are the worst neighbors ever. And that boy of theirs -- Cane. What a brat! And this stupid elevator. It never comes. ... Oh. Right. I was supposed to mention that there's a new post about about some nasty something or other at Parallel Time. ... Never mind.

My balls are smoking!

This has been the longest and most turbulent segment of our interdimensional elevator voyage thus far. Truman, are you quite sure that you are practicing economy in the bouncing of your I Ching balls?

My balls are barely bouncing. Are you sure that you shouldn't be bringing the drink cart around?


You may live to regret your impertinence some day, Truman.

Your balls may not be bouncin' but this been a purty rough ride. Hmm.

And what could be causing these bright flashing lights?

Maybe it's covered in Bramwell's letter.

-POOF!-

The drink cart! It just disappeared!

No! ... Oh! My balls are smoking!

According to what I can glean from Bramwell's interdimensional protocols, the flashing lights may be indicative of the opening of interdimensional rifts.

Mmm. So I reckon one of them interdimensional rifts opened up and grabbed ol' Marge's drink cart. I reckon that means the cart is trapped in some sorta interphasic reality that exists somewhere's between time an' space. Hmm.

So, theoretically, any of us could be pulled into an interdimensional rift at any moment and be lost forever?

I reckon. ... Guess that's why ol' Bramwell said "Interdimensional travel a'fraught with unspeakable danger" and whatnot. Mmm. ... He said that before them crows got to peckin' him to death, a'course. Mmm.

And why would Truman's I Ching balls be smoking?

I'm afraid that is not covered in the protocols.

I reckon he been workin' them too hard.

Hey, I've been under a lot of stress!

-POOF!-

Scrapple?

The dinosaur! it's gone!

That dinosaur has a name!

Mmm. Interphasic Toast, I reckon.