(The story so far: It's the year 2015, and I'm getting ready to travel back in time to keep a legendary Bonanza photograph from falling into the wrong hands!)
At 7:45 a.m., after reporting to my neighborhood Starbucks for a nonfat Latte, I reported to my neighborhood "TimeRiver" for my trip back to the week of July 12, 1972 - where I planned to grab the famous tear-stained photo of Dan Blocker from Mitch "Jamie" Vogel's hot little hands!
What I would do with it once I got it home, I hadn't quite worked out. Frame it and put it in a sacred place in my apartment, to love and cherish for the rest of my natural life? Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I'd sell it on Tel-Bay, that hot new service that took bids by mental telepathy. It'd be nice to get the cash as quickly as possible, so I could see "Vanity Fair IV: Becky's Revenge", starring Dame Reese Witherspoon, next weekend.
The bimbo at TimeRiver's front desk gave me one last sheaf of papers to sign, with all the usual legalese about how I promised not to sue TimeRiver or any of their affiliates if anything unforeseeable happened (like if I wound up on the set of Gunsmoke, instead of Bonanza). And I also had to swear that I wouldn't warn anyone in the past about the horrors of the future, like 9/11, or President Chas Bono.
After signing all the papers and leaving my valuables in a storage locker, the receptionist took me into the "projection room," a little room about the size of a closet (or my apartment, nyuk nyuk). "Wait here," she instructed me, then vanished.
I waited about five minutes, stifling a few yawns, but nothing seemed to be happening. "Hello?" I called out. No answer.
I didn't really feel like playing "Hide-and-Seek" with a bimbo today. I fumed to myself for a few more minutes, then got up and opened the door, fully prepared to stomp out and demand my money back so I could get a cappucino instead.
But when I opened the door - I realized that something had changed.
The big blue-and-yellow "TimeRiver" sign in the lobby was gone.
Instead, there was a big blue-and-white sign which read, "Paramount Studios".
And a gangly red-headed teenager was leaning against the empty receptionist's desk.
Mitch Vogel! I'd know that ugly red hair and freckles anywhere!
He looked up and smiled as I walked towards him. "Hey," he greeted me. "Got my doughnuts?"
TO BE CONTINUED!
At 7:45 a.m., after reporting to my neighborhood Starbucks for a nonfat Latte, I reported to my neighborhood "TimeRiver" for my trip back to the week of July 12, 1972 - where I planned to grab the famous tear-stained photo of Dan Blocker from Mitch "Jamie" Vogel's hot little hands!
What I would do with it once I got it home, I hadn't quite worked out. Frame it and put it in a sacred place in my apartment, to love and cherish for the rest of my natural life? Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I'd sell it on Tel-Bay, that hot new service that took bids by mental telepathy. It'd be nice to get the cash as quickly as possible, so I could see "Vanity Fair IV: Becky's Revenge", starring Dame Reese Witherspoon, next weekend.
The bimbo at TimeRiver's front desk gave me one last sheaf of papers to sign, with all the usual legalese about how I promised not to sue TimeRiver or any of their affiliates if anything unforeseeable happened (like if I wound up on the set of Gunsmoke, instead of Bonanza). And I also had to swear that I wouldn't warn anyone in the past about the horrors of the future, like 9/11, or President Chas Bono.
After signing all the papers and leaving my valuables in a storage locker, the receptionist took me into the "projection room," a little room about the size of a closet (or my apartment, nyuk nyuk). "Wait here," she instructed me, then vanished.
I waited about five minutes, stifling a few yawns, but nothing seemed to be happening. "Hello?" I called out. No answer.
I didn't really feel like playing "Hide-and-Seek" with a bimbo today. I fumed to myself for a few more minutes, then got up and opened the door, fully prepared to stomp out and demand my money back so I could get a cappucino instead.
But when I opened the door - I realized that something had changed.
The big blue-and-yellow "TimeRiver" sign in the lobby was gone.
Instead, there was a big blue-and-white sign which read, "Paramount Studios".
And a gangly red-headed teenager was leaning against the empty receptionist's desk.
Mitch Vogel! I'd know that ugly red hair and freckles anywhere!
He looked up and smiled as I walked towards him. "Hey," he greeted me. "Got my doughnuts?"
TO BE CONTINUED!
Such a shame that 'Bonanza had not stuck to the same high standards as 'Big Valley' by maintaining a cast of both talented & attractive individuals. The casting of Mitch Vogel made it blatantly clear that the quality of the series had greatly diminished & was on its way out!
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