Look at this, look what she wrote me, Doc.

Look at this, look what she wrote me, Doc.

Good morning, Mom. I don’t know, I can’t keep up with all of your boyfriends. What, what, ma? What kind of date? I don’t know, what do kids do in the fifties? Mother, with Marty’s parents out of town, don’t you think he oughta spend the night, after all, Dad almost killed him with the car.

Doc. Let’s put him in there. What about George? Hey man, look at Marvin’s hand. He can’t play with his hands like that, and we can’t play without him. Okay, but I don’t know what to say.

Doc, she’s beautiful. She’s crazy about me. Look at this, look what she wrote me, Doc. That says it all. Doc, you’re my only hope. Whoa, wait a minute, Doc, are you telling me that my mother has got the hots for me? Huh? Doc, I’m from the future. I came here in a time machine that you invented. Now, I need your help to get back to the year 1985. She’s just trying to keep you respectable.

Listen, I gotta go but I wanted to tell you that it’s been educational. Oh. Just say anything, George, say what ever’s natural, the first thing that comes to your mind. Okay. Who the hell is John F. Kennedy?

Take that you mutated son-of-a-bitch. My pine, why you. You space bastard, you killed a pine. My god, they found me. I don’t know how but they found me. Run for it, Marty. My god, they found me. I don’t know how but they found me. Run for it, Marty. Look, there’s a rhythmic ceremonial ritual coming up. Great Scott. Let me see that photograph again of your brother. Just as I thought, this proves my theory, look at your brother. Jennifer.

Leave a Comment

Votre adresse de messagerie ne sera pas publiée. Les champs obligatoires sont indiqués avec *