From the journal of Peter Kugel-Schwanz

I have obtained the journal of the late Peter Kugel-Schwanz, investigative journalist for the German tabloid Spektakel, through devious means, which I am not at liberty to divulge. The following is an excerpt, dated the day before his untimely death in a freak accordion accident.

In the course of my research surrounding the mysterious Document 1285a, I have learned of the involvement of one Harry Bollocks, Jr., an operative of an obscure British agency called the Ministry of Abstruse Development; it is so obscure that its acronym is a state secret.

It seems that Mr. Bollocks was a key player in the time machine project alluded to in the afore-mentioned document. I was determined to find and interview this gentleman, but he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth around January of last year, around the same time as the filing date on the document. While delving deeper into the workings of the ministry, I was able to make the acquaintance of someone who once was employed there, who must remain anonymous; I will call him Mr. Y. At about the same time, I became aware of several suspicious events, which I could only interpret as attempts upon my life. This has prompted me to write down as succinctly as possible the facts I have learned through several intensive interviews with Mr. Y.

First, as to the functioning of the time machine: it could be set to arrive at any precise time and date in the past by ministry officials, but the return journey depended on the operative who was sent into the past, a fact whose significance will become clear.

Second, the operative who was sent on the mission in question was none other than Harry Bollocks, Jr.

It was determined by those in charge of the operation that Bollocks would be provided with a cover identity, a verifiable historical entity, in order to minimize any collateral effects of his presence. The identity that was chosen was that of an obscure German dispatch runner who had been wounded severely at the Battle of the Somme, and had died March 4, 1917 of infection. Bollocks assumed this identity, counting on the force of history itself to clear up any contradictions, in order to carry out his mission to assassinate Heinrich Knebel, a lieutenant who would later rise to prominence and instigate WW II. The idea was to forestall the Second World War entirely by eliminating this person.

The name of the deceased dispatch runner whose identity Bollocks assumed was Gefreiter (Pfc.) Adoph Hitler.

Letter found in a drain tile

Dear Donald,

Hoping this letter is still legible, after 80 years in the agreed upon place for communications. If, indeed, you even exist. I have to tell you I’m in a bind.

I know, we agreed that, in going back to 1934 in the time machine we invented, I would have to be super careful not to do anything that might change the course of events, that I was to be an observer only, and that the only way to do that was to be as inconspicuous as possible. We thought that should be easy enough, given my natural tendency to disappear into the wallpaper.

Well, something has come up, and I need you to transfer me back to 2014 ASAP.

Remember how we made sure I had plenty of money, and how we thought ordinary dollars would be fine, since the dollar was the same currency then as it is now (or in my case, now as it will be then, or something)? Well, we forgot something.

See, I’m in prison for trying to pass counterfeit currency. Not only that, but I’m a laughingstock for making such obviously fake bills, that they had colors other than green, and were dated in the 21st century.

Actually, not a complete laughingstock. Some people here believe I’m from the future, and are working to spring me, convinced I’ve been sent here to save them. From what isn’t clear, but there it is. Then there are others, who I suspect are completely capable of imprisoning me and capitalizing on this by forging writings they will purport to have come from me.  I know, I know, I can’t write a thank you note to Aunt Sally, let alone a book, but nobody knows that here.

So I’m caught in this situation where, to keep from inadvertently making a big whoopsie change to the future (where you and I live, or, rather, where I used to live, and you may not ever have even been born), I have to try to convince people that I’m not really from the future. Of course, that would mean I’m a counterfeiter, and not a very good one at that.

Already, I’m anything but inconspicuous, but, can you imagine if they manage to spring me?

Please, please, bring me back immediately. If you don’t do it soon, I’ll be stuck here, and, who knows, I might become the center of some kind of weird cult, or something.

In sincere hope you’ll find this,
L. Ron Hubbard