Dearest Reid, My throat has been hurting for weeks now. It feels like a bunch of little gremlins snuck into my throat wielding knives. What should I do?
Ms. Cupcakes, a more ignorant person in my position may suggest you see a doctor, take medicine, drinks fluids, and get bed rest. You see, a lot of people are cowards who subscribe to “modern germ theory”; not all of us can be brave enough to state the truth. The real reason your throat hurts? It's because of the crimes of your ancestors.
Granted, a sore throat, while annoying, is not an especially severe punishment. What this means is that your distant ancestors weren’t diabolical criminals or evil no-goodniks, they were more likely just jerks—more rude than sinister. Your sore throat is probably cosmic justice for crimes of practical joking (“Excuse me, fellow peasant, but you have some mutton on your blouse. A ha! You had no such stain! I tricked ye!”), throwing rocks at the king’s cows, yelling at the king’s chickens, and not taking off one’s shoes when entering a friend’s thatched roof hut.
Fixing this is tricky, as all those crimes were committed long ago, and most likely all parties involved are dead. But to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone getting over a sore throat. I had a couple friends get sore throats long ago, friends with admittedly jerkish ancestors, and they still have them to this day. The solution? Settle in. This is just your life now. “Sore Throat Cupcakes” the kids will call you in the future. They’ll run around your front lawn, yelling “Sore Throat!” and “Sore Cupcakes,” and you’ll want to yell at them, but you can’t because your throat is too sore. It’s a sad truth, but I’m afraid that’s just how it is. The best you can do is to help your future descendants: be polite, don’t throw rocks at livestock, and take off your shoes!
There's this guy that I text a lot, and we have all these crazy and cool conversations, but he doesn't speak a word to me at school. Why is that?
Obviously, the reason this guy won’t talk to you in school is because—brace yourself—he has no memory or recollection of ever texting with you.
Are you familiar with the concept of parallel universes? Mathematically, it’s all quite sound; our existence is only one of an infinite number of possible universes, varying by such minor degrees that it’s more than possible alternate versions of ourselves exist in other planes. Perhaps in one you have blue hair, in another your name is HereWasAnne, but in the one I mean to discuss you and this guy, during school hours, are quite chummy. Chummy indeed! You talk at school, eat lunch together, and as I’ve heard said before, you could even be described as chummy. However, this alternate you never seems to remember the text conversations he swears you share at night. How strange, right?
Here’s what’s going on: your phone, by some miracle of science, is a physical bridge between these two dimensions. The guy you’re texting at night isn’t the same boy you see in school, it’s his parallel universe doppelganger! Just as his version in your universe doesn’t seem to recall the texting during school, the same thing happens with your alternate self. Honestly, it’s the only reasonable explanation this guy has for ignoring someone he unknowingly has wonderful conversations with every night. The only excuse.
So, this is what you need to do: take your phone, seal it in an envelope, and send it to the government. While the boy situation is important to you, this phone is important to science, which sadly trumps the concerns of us mere mortals. Here’s the address if you need it:
Government, USA 00001
Hopefully, using the phone, scientists can construct some kind of traversable bridge between these dimensions, and you can cross over and finally meet a version of this guy who isn’t acting like a complete jerk.
That is all for this week! If you have any questions that could use some practical and wholly reasonable advice, leave them in the comments and I’ll answer them next week.