I Would Swap Bodies With You, Stephen Hawking...In The Name Of Science.



But we're both, probably just as skinny as the other - so maybe this isn't as cool for you. You won't get laid more because I know, from what I've read - that you have horrible taste and self-destructive, bad judgement when it comes to the opposite sex. Who woulda thunk it, Steve? You - one of the most brilliant minds since Albert Einstein? Bah! C'mon Steve! This is like me flunking a Spiderman test.

What gives? You can talk to me. My speech, at times, is just as fragmented as yours. We're all the same grains of sand in the cosmic beach, right?

You can talk about Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and I can talk about Jack Kirby.

Let's sip some beers through straws. I can sneak you puffs off of my cigarettes when the scholars aren't looking. We'll take a gander at all of the pretty ladies strolling by us. We'll slowly nod our big heads up and down to the beat of distant music. Nothing can stop us, Steve. NOTHING AT ALL.

WE HAVE JUST BARELY BEGUN TO TAP INTO OUR RESERVOIRS. We've only reached a fine, top-layer of film - It's like scratching the faces off of the first picture of the world's tallest stack of wet Polaroids.

I know that you and me, Steve have a lot of years to live - we're practically babies -and you and me both know that in the grand scheme of things, that nothing exists for any allotted amount of time, except for hot, fiery suns and drying laundry in coin-operated machines. Nobody can tell me when to stop, nobody can tell me when to go, Steven. NOBODY.

Our minds, hearts and souls are our own miasmic and dichotomous beautiful combinations of Big Bangs Theories and Black Holes. Our lives are the only time that small, soft creatures get the chance to play GOD. If dyslexic dogs get to aim high - then I do too.

We have so much potential. Let's show all of the sidewalk worms some rain.

I want what I've had since birth, Steven -

A chance to die GLORIOUSLY.