"History"

This is an original work.  Even if for some bizarre reason you wanted to, please don't say it's yours.  Because... yeah, I wrote it, and you didn't.  I hope you enjoy it!

      I grow so easily bored these days.  With my genius it is not uncommon to become so.  Often times I can find things with which to occupy myself for several hours, and then the boredom settles in again.  I sometimes go as long as an entire week doing absolutely nothing, just sitting and waiting for inspiration to strike.  I have tried sports, television, and novels, but none of them provide the stimulation my brain so desperately needs.  At one point I tried to teach myself Hindustani, but I found that to be a silly pastime.  (This is not to speak against Hindustani.  I merely mean that I have no reason to know how to speak it.)  At different times I took up stamp collecting, composing classical- and neoclassical-style music, photography… bores, all of them.
       And one day, finally, said inspiration did strike me, as lightning might strike a hapless tree.  I was enlightened!  Inspired!  It was so simple!  I was appalled that I had not come up with this plan sooner… but my brain was more than likely so busy with other, more important matters that required my immediate attention.  I do amaze even myself sometimes.
      I was in the middle of a game of solitaire when it hit me- why not amuse myself by playing games with history?  It could provide so much enjoyment!  Why, I would do nothing that would be too harmful- I would of course take every precaution to make sure that nothing I did would, say, obliterate humanity and the Universe itself!  Of course not!  It is laughable to think that I might be so careless!  My family has always been extraordinarily wary of such things as altering the course of history.  "Son," my father used to say to me, "if you ever get the notion of rearranging history, always remember- stick to the little things.  Don't try to prevent Hitler's rise to power or the assassination of the ArchDuke of Austria-Hungary.  Instead, do something amusing.  Perhaps suggest some structural changes to the yo-yo, or convince Ed Wood not to make Glen or Glenda."  I paid grave attention to these words of wisdom.
      Of course, to play aforementioned games I would have to have a time machine.  It would be easy enough to build- a man of my intellect would have no difficulty whatsoever in constructing such a device.  I got to work immediately, going to my basement and building it out of spare parts in just under a week.  It turned out looking like a cross between a washing machine, a pinball machine, a Shop-Vac, and a 1976 Ford PintoTM (where did you think I got the spare parts from?), of course with a few other little things thrown in.  It was truly a splendid creation.  So, the afternoon I finished it, I opened the door and stepped in.  Where should I go first?  Oh, the possibilities were almost endless!  I could go back to revolutionary times and convince Betsy Ross to make the flag trapezoidal, rather than that dull rectangle shape!  I could prevent Silly Putty!  Or 8-track tapes!  Or Rush Limbaugh!
      But with these silly notions out of my mind (though I did linger over that last one for a bit), I set my sights on Florence, Italy.  I didn't know the exact date of birth of the man whose life I was going to change, but my machine would.  I built it to be smarter than I, quite a feat, mind you.  All I had to do was compute an intelligence algorithm and- no, never mind, it would be useless to try and explain.  I do not expect that many would understand my intellectual prowess.
And so, with a judder and a whine from my magnificent machine, I disappeared from my basement and reappeared in 16th century Italy, outside the Vespucci household.  It was a very nice house, at least from the outside.  I emerged from my time machine, drawing several suspicious looks from the passers-by, but I ignored them.  I had things of higher import on my mind.  (I did, however, cover it with a tarpaulin I had the foresight to bring.  I am no fool.)
      I approached the door and was let in by a confused looking but amicable houseman- no doubt my attire had him befuddled.  "Signor Vespucci," I said in Italian (of course I speak Italian!) as I went toward that good man and shook his hand, "my name is Lord Montresor of Fortunato, and I understand your wife has just given birth to a son!  My congratulations! Have you a name for him?"
      "Well, Lord Montresor," said Signor Vespucci, "I have been considering the name Amerigo for some time now.  It seems a fit name for an explorer, for my wife and I feel sure that that is what he shall become."  He smiled the smile only a proud father can give. 
      It was time to put my plan into action.  "It is a good name," I said hesitantly (I am a marvelous actor, I forgot to add). 
      "You disapprove?"
      "Oh, Amerigo is a fine enough name for the common layman, but your son should have a name worthy of his upbringing.  Something strong and manly!  Something like… Dwight!"
      Signor Vespucci was overcome.  It took him a few moments to recover before he said, "What a simply stunning name!  Dwight!  Yes!  I shall call him Dwight!  Thank you, Lord Montresor!  Thank you!"  He shook my hand, and I bowed and took my leave.
      I climbed into my time machine and went home.  Everything seemed the same.  I looked around my basement for awhile, trying to determine if my suggestion to the good Signor Vespucci had been followed.  I had no doubt that it had, for who would refuse such a man as myself?  For awhile it seemed that my quest had been futile, but as I turned on the radio and heard Bruce Springsteen singing "Born in the USD," I allowed myself a smile.  It had worked!  Good has been done here today.  And in future days, perhaps some greater changes shall be made. 

[Author's note: This short story was not in any way intended as a slam against those who are called Dwight.  It's a fine name.  If only this country were actually called the United States of Dwight… *sigh*  We should be so lucky.  Thank you for your time.]


                                                            The End

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        -The Authoress