I admit it – your boy Craig here has been messing around with time travel again. I know, I know – I told you last time I went back in time and sneezed on a stegosaurus, spread the common cold to all dinosaurs, and caused a ripple effect that eliminated dinosaurs from the timeline that I would never time travel again. But what can I say? I cannot be contained. Craig's gonna do what Craig's gonna do, know what I'm saying?

When I went back in time, had sex with my mom, and became my own dad, my first thought was, “aww Craig, you gone and done it this time! The time travel science nerds are gonna let you have it” But honestly – being my own dad is pretty awesome and has only made time better, in my humble opinion.

Here's how it happened: I took the time machine out for a spin to good old 1989, for one reason and one reason only: to kidnap Taylor Swift as a baby. Look, when you're time traveling, shit gets hot and shit gets weird. My lil' scheme was all set in motion when I happened across a real sweet babe jogging. I immediately threw myself in her path and we started talking. Since I was from the future I told her all sorts of stuff to impress her like the Derek Jeter Re2pect ad and all the smoke tricks I could do with my vape pen. One Zima let to another and soon we were rocking the sheets in the back of her Suzuki Samurai. I'm not afraid to admit I came fast – this girl was out of control.

Turns out my little Craiggies got that lady all sorts of knocked up. Even though I still hadn't kidnapped baby T-Swift, that was my cue to hop back to the present. If I've learned anything from my time travel escapades, it's that child support laws don't work across the fourth dimension. But there was something about that chick that made it hard to leave. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but she could put her finger in what it was, if you know what I mean. I'm saying she let me watch her masturbate while she fingered my butthole. Player's got to play.

Imagine my surprise when, in the delivery room, I saw the strangest thing – and I'm not talking about her stretched out pussy, haha! That baby she pushed out of her snatch was me! I half expected time to freeze and the universe to instantly implode in on itself, but nah, shit just proceeded as normal. Those dumbass egghead scientists were looking real stupid now. I had a shit ton of questions – was I ready to be a dad to me? If I killed this baby, would I die? How was I gonna explain to my baby self that I've never seen Taylor Swift naked? But if there's two things time travel has taught me, it's fuck asking questions – just roll with that shit, baby. I was pumped to be the father that I apparently always had.

And let me tell you something – being a dad to yourself rules. My mom was never around as a kid, and to be honest, that always made me sad. But now, as my own dad, I see a totally different side of things – we love to do a bunch of coke and fuck. That's why she never came to my Little League games or kept the house stocked with food – she was too busy giving coke-addled handjobs to adult me! And that's awesome in a way some dumb ass kid could never understand. One day, when I grow up, I'm gonna get the experience of watching my mom do lines off the glass coffee table while I finish on the ottoman and it's gonna be all worth it.

And I take care of my kid financially. My job is traveling forward in time, than going back and betting strangers that shit is gonna happen. It's amazing how many people on the street will be you a c note that a bird is gonna take a shit on the Accord in the parking lot of K Mart. I'm making 36 grand a year on these future bets, easy. And I don't just spend it all on drugs and premium cable. Name me one other kid that has six external hardrives full of porn. And I'm not talking the small little 250 gig hard drives. I'm talking the industrial stuff that reality TV editors use. LaCies, motherfuckers. Little me is jerking it 24/7. Probably explains why I cum so fast now, but hey, I'm not a scientist – I'm just Craig.

I gots to admit that hanging out with a past version of myself is weird, though. That's why whenever I see little me hanging around I yell at him or throw the Playstation controller at his face. I know that's cruel, but there's this weird thing that happens where whenever he gets a thought, I instantly get the exact same thought – I think it's because we share the same soul or consciousness or something, but I don't know none of that quantum leap shit. I keep seeing him imagine girls his age naked, and that's gross. Sometimes he'll even think stuff that I thought at his age, like, “I wanna hit my dad in the kneecaps with this Louisville Slugger,” or “one day I'm gonna grow up to be big and strong and fuck everyone,” or “is anyone going to drive me to school?” and hearing his thoughts and my thoughts at the same time is a total brain overload.

But it's not like I don't give little me some fatherly advice. I'll sit him down and tell him about condoms and pretending to wear them, the breeds win the most dog fights, and which Pep Boys host bare knuckle boxing fights after dark. It makes me wish I had a dad who did that kind of stuff for me. Oh wait I do, and it's me.