“Explain this, uh, explain this to me again, Mr. Presley.”

“TH’ FUTURE NEEDS US, NIX. THEY ALL DONE TURNED SQUIRRELY AND HEROES ARE REQUIRED.”

“Squirrely, you say?”

“LIKE AN ACORN CONVENTION, MAN! HERE’S WHAT WE GONNA DO: YOU GONNA MAKE ME A TIME COP. THEN AH WILL DEPUTIZE YOU AS A FELLOW TIME COP. GOTTA DO IT BY TH’ BOOK.”

“Good thinking.”

“AN’ THEN ME AND YOU GOIN’ TO 2017 AND PUTTIN’ THE WHOLE DAMN YEAR UNNER ARREST.”

“Is there a charge? A particular crime we’re, uh, arresting the year for?”

“CONSORTIN’ WITH COMMUNISTS AN’ SMOKIN’ REEFER.”

“Either one of those things is unacceptable. Jenkins, are you writing this down?”

“Yes, sir. Communism, reefer.”

“THEY MAKIN’ URINE ON EACH OTHER, NIX. DON’T PLAY FOOTBALL RIGHT NO MORE. WORLD DONE GONE MAD.”

“Sounds rough.”

“THERE MAY OR MAY NOT BE ALIENS INVOLVED. PROB’LY. LESS CROSS THAT STARGATE WHEN WE COME TO IT, NIX.”

“Elvis, I have no goddamned idea what you’re talking about.”

“THAT DON’ MATTER. WHAT DOES MATTER IS YOUR BURNIN’ HATRED OF THE COMMUNIST.”

“Oh, I hate them.”

“PREACH, SON.”

“Some people say that the only good Commie is a dead Commie; I disagree. To, uh, to me: the only good Communist is one that had never been created in the first place. The other day I asked my wife, Pat, what she was afraid of. She said, ‘Mr. President, I’m afraid of spiders and Communists.’ So, uh, my distaste of their system is now personal.”

“AH KILLED MANY COMMIES WHEN AH WAS IN THE ARMY.”

“Where were you stationed?”

“GERMANY. ALL OF THE DEATHS WERE ACCIDENTAL-TYPE SITUATIONS. AH WAS TAKIN’ A LOTTA SPEEDY PILLS AN’ BOUGHT MAHSELF ONE O’ THEM LI’L BMW CARS. AH BLAME THE COMMUNISTS.”

“How so?”

“THEY DID’N KNOW THE RIGHT KARATE MOVE TO DEFEND THEYSELVES.”

“Which is?”

“BEIN’ INSIDE WHEN AH DRIVE BY.”

“Ha! Excellent. Um, ElvIs: how do you know they were Communists?”

“WHAT ELSE COULD THEY BE, MAN?”

“Are you all right, son?”

“AH AM ELVIS. AH WOULD LIKE SOME WAWA, THOUGH.”

“Jenkins, bring Elvis some wawa.”

“Wawa, sir?”

“WAWA, DAMN YOU, BOY! BRING ME MAH WAWA! AH GOT A PARCHED THROAT AN’ MAH KARATE WILL DRY OUT.”

“Water! You mean water.”

“AND SCARVES!”

“What?”

“SCARVES, BOY!”

“What kind of scarf? Winter?”

“WINTER!? NIX, I’M ‘BOUT TO LAY A SMACKIN’ ON YOUR BOY HERE.”

“I would approve of that. He’s been slacking lately.”

“A MAN ENTERS YOUR HOME, YOU OFFER HIM SCARVES AND WATER. THIS IS THE COMMON COURTESY PRACTICED BY THE GREEKS CALLED XENIOS.”

“Kind of, sir. Mr. Presley–”

“CALL ME KING. MR. PRESLEY IS MAH CORNCOB-ASSWIPIN’, FIREMAN-HATIN’, TURTLE-EATIN’, SEMI-RABID DIPSTICK OF A DADDY–

“Vernon.”

“–AND AH AM AN INFORMAL MAN. KING WILL DO.”

“Great. King. I’m just going to bring you water, and you’re going to have to settle your own scarf situation.”

“AH DON’ LIKE THAT BOY’S ATTITUDE.”

“Been thinking about replacing him with a tape recorder.”

“THASS A GOOD IDEA, MAN. NOW LESS GO RESCUE TH’ FUTURE FROM ISSELF.”

“I’m still lost.”