OK, seriously. Someone out there needs to invent a transporter/teleporter. We’ve got “science,” right? “If we can make an SUV that gets about 5 miles to the gallon, then we can disperse my atomic structure and “beam” it to a predetermined location, where it will be flawlessly reformed” is what I always say, particularly after my eighth or ninth beer.

Think of the productivity gains, for God’s sake! I could wake up at like 8:55 am and still be at work on time, sitting at my desk in my pajamas, because I didn’t really get dressed, so I beam back and at least put on some pants and some clean undies, and beam back and I’m STILL on time. I’d be so much more willing to work late, too, knowing that I can beam straight home to my dinner table, or straight to bed if and when I feel ill, or say that’s what I’m doing but in fact beam myself to Vegas or something.

I wonder how you prevent other people from beaming into your house and robbing you. I guess it doesn’t matter – I’ll let scientists take care of those pesky details.

But the final, and most happy, thing is conceiving in my mind’s eye the Garden State Parkway’s slow decline into ruin as kudzu creeps up from the destroyed wetlands, choking the roadway. More than normal, anyway. I always imagine a skeletal figure still clutching .35 cents in one of the toll booths, but that’s the romantic in me. The EZ Track system would slowly fall into disarray, especially since the gubment will now be able to track our destinations and travel patterns directly from our physical destruction/reconstruction. See, even the gubment benefits from learning how to teleport!

No more drunk driving. No more tardiness. No more gas problems. No more road accidents. Only the occassional person who gets up one morning and steps into the transporter, and there’s a malfunction and they are in terrible agony as their body is ripped apart atom by atom and sent spinning out into oblivion, only to get caught in the gravity well of a black hole, causing a weird rip in the fabric of space time in which the person meets himself coming out of the transporter as he is walking in, and the person tells his or her self that he or she shouldn’t go into the transporter because it will hurt, and they don’t go in, and this paradox ends the universe as we know it. Well worth it, I say!

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