Herpes, Schmerpes. If I have the ability to teleport, you best believe I am getting a prescription for "Herpex." I won't go into in-depth details about how I will acquire said prescription, but know I could be teleporting into your living room during reruns of Extreme Home Makeover crying my eyes out right next to you.
Who knows, you can be sitting down for a quiet dinner when BAM!, Dub Jeezy is taking the last double cheeseburger out of the bag (a punishable by death offense) and disappears into a cloud of dust. Eh, herpes, is a solid reason not to get a prescription for Herpex, but the pros clearly outweigh the cons here. This leads me to time travel. Saw "Hot Tub Time Machine" (great movie) this weekend and it got the ol' noodle a'stirrin'. I'd completely fuck shit up if I got thrown back into the crisp year of '87. I'd undoubtedly meet all the wrong people, get into a bar fight with my future father, and mistakenly tell my future mother that I am her son and grow up to be a wildly unsuccessful blogger. Shit is best kept for the movies, because if it happened to me, I most assuredly wouldn't be here.
But clearly, the world would be a much, much, shittier place. Netflix and Reese's Pieces probably wouldn't exist, and no one wants to be alive in such a world.
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