October 27, Revisited

On October 27, I opined that Oregon configured traffic with the specific objective of killing California motorists. Some time thereafter, dear anonymous pointed out that Pennsylvania and Ohio motorists were similarly targeted half a century earlier.
Eerily, wheeling in on the threads of tiny vibrating strings came a crazy little scientist who's now concurrently looking for a new assistant and filing for divorce.
This is a paradox, since Hawking conceded that time travel is possible - but only in the future.
"On the other hand, the future is open. So we might be able to warp it enough, to allow time travel. But because we can warp space-time only in the future, we wouldn't be able to travel back to the present time, or earlier," he quipped, through his voice box designed by the man whose slut wife ran off with the Prof eleven years ago.
So was he real in this story, or is he real now? You decide...

Don't feel bad, Oregon. Back in the fifties, Ohio and Pennsylvania were discourged from trying to
get to Virginia in an automobile by a maniacal
death-trap teenage chicken
racing beer-drunk coal trucker thing called...
(dum dum dummmm!) The West
Virginia Turnpike. Three
lanes, Mlle. Chatette:
yuh gotcher left side an'
yer raight side and yer
suicide! (Very. funny.
officer! May we proceed
now at our own risks or must we endure more gems
of mountain law enforcement wisdom?
Now yew jes watch yer
mouth. If they wuz a moving violation for smart
ass, I'd be moved to violate yer entire damn trip with a whole wad of $200 tickets! How would'ye like that, huh?
This appalachian powder
keg was disfused at the last moment by an odd sound
of squeakysqueakysqeaky etc
and all eyes turned from the berm to the mid-lane.
Oh dear god, said my wife
quietly, what...is that.
The cop was blase. Aw shit,
Ma'am, that's jest thet
little internationally renowned astrologer boy
from Engeland? They Queen
she made him a knaight an'
stuff. He's all pathetic an' crippled up which is
why he has him thet little
electric motor chair? He
cain't speak niether an'
he has him a kinda speaker
box thing sounds like this
H U L L O O F F I C E R
W A S I G O I N G T O O
F A S T H A H A H A ! !
I don't know how he does
them execremation points, but they in there alright.
Why the wig? He looks
like Senor Wences' Johnny
with horn rims.
Well, someone tole him they wuz a big ole girls' Catholic boarding school
in the mountains up beyond
Beckley an' he been trying to get up there for a month. I couldn't see how
the hell a little ole cripple boy from Engeland
would know his way around
over here so I jest axed
him straight out, "How the hell," I said, "do yew know where the hell yew
are going?" You know what that brilliant little crippled-up fucker said? No. What.
B Y T H E S T A R S
Y O U I D I O T H A
H A H A ! !