I happened to be with Ryan O’Neal when he first saw the huge box office numbers for Grown Ups 2
You know, Max didn’t actually have to cut the fuel lines to Booth’s car at the end of “The Past in the Present”. He just wanted to be a dick about it.
"You’re not doing it right."
"For fuck’s sake, Booth…"
"No, Max. This is important. This is my wedding, for god’s sake. And I won’t have my wedding fucked up because the bride’s father can’t get ‘Gangnam Style’ right.”
"Booth, I’m fairly sure that Brennan doesn’t even know what ‘Gangnam Style’ is."
"Yeah, well, everyone else does, and I want everyone to have a good time at the reception. Especially since Bones has turned her vows into a diatribe against marriage and Christianity."
"That’s your fault for asking her to write her own vows, you know."
"…I know. But still. After that buzz kill, I want everyone to get drunk and happy. And that means everyone who was in the wedding is dancing into the reception to ‘Gangnam Style’. Or, well, everyone’s doing ‘Gangnam Style’ except for Bones. She’s doing the Electric Slide. Now come on, we’ve only an hour before the wedding starts."
"I can’t feel my legs."
"…I’ll go get us some more beers."
"Ah, here it is, Bones. The time machine."
"There’s no such thing as time travel, Booth. This is just a…large capsule…of some kind."
"Bones, I’m telling you, it’s a time machine! Hodgins and that British kid—Cecil…Elderberry…Asquith…"
"Vincent Nigel Murray."
"Yeah, him—they swore that they traveled through time with this thing! The key to time travel, and it’s been sitting in the Jeffersonian basement the entire time!"
"Booth. It’s impossible to travel through time because time is a scientific construct—"
"Bones, they brought me back a rock from prehistoric times! It’s unlike any rock I’ve ever seen!"
"It’s igneous rock, Booth. You can get one near the vicinity of any given volcano. And I have papers to grade, so…"
"Just go with me on this, Bones. I give you full rights to laugh at me if this doesn’t work. Now come on inside. Okay?"
"…Okay, fine. But time travel isn’t possible."
"Let’s see if you’ll be saying that when we go to…let’s see…what date should I punch in, Bones? Let’s start with something easy. Just in case we can’t get back to present day, it won’t be too crazy for us to adapt to our new lives. How about 1970? I was a year old, you haven’t even been born, discos, swine flu, ‘Whip Inflation Now’, what do you say?"
"Well, considering time travel is impossible and you’re just making a fool of yourself, fine, 1970 is as good as anything."
"Cool. Okay…March…third…one…nine…seven…zero… We’re set. Now open the door."
"…Holy shit, Booth."
"It worked! I told you it would work! We’re time travelers, Bones! Now if there’s one thing I remember from the Back to the Future movies, it’s that you don’t want to interact with anyone you know. So if you see anyone familiar, then—"
"LOL HEY BOOTH."
"Holy shit, it’s your dad! Back in the time machine, back in the time machine!"
"How…did he know…your…name?"
"Who know who cares back in the time machine."
"…Okay, Booth, I’m…impressed. Time travel is possible. But we have to consider the ramifications of this—not only on a physical level but on an ethical level—"
"Yeah, in a second, Bones. What’s next? How about…the thirties? Bonnie and Clyde, G-Men, Jimmy Cagney and Bette Davis…I can be ‘Pretty Boy’ Booth and you can be my moll! How’s that sound?"
"Ah yes, Jim Crow laws, economic depression, the dust bowl—sounds wonderful, Booth."
"Great! March…third…one…nine…three…zero… Okay? Ready to go out there and tell FDR how to save the country?"
"Franklin Roosevelt wasn’t President yet, Booth. He wouldn’t be President for another three years."
"Okay, then whoever was President before him then. Although I guess changing history in the slightest way would only—"
"LOL HEY BOOTH."
"Booth! Back in the time machine, Booth!"
"Holy shit, what is with your dad, Bones? Is that even your dad, or is it your grandfather or whatever?"
"I don’t know, but it’s definitely unnerving. Can we please go back to the future now, Booth?"
"No, Bones, I refuse to give up on this! We’re fucking time traveling! We’re not going to let nosy relatives or ancestors or whatever screw it up. Okay, how about 1776? Birth of our nation, the founding fathers, Betsy Ross, American history unfolding for you, flintlock muskets for me, all your relatives are still in Ireland, it’ll be fun. Okay?"
"Primitive medicine, slaves, no fluoride in the water so all of our teeth will rot at an alarming rate, yes, okay, sounds great, Booth."
"I knew you’d see it my way. Okay. March third…one…seven…seven…six. Ready?" Prepare to have a braingasm, Bones."
"I don’t know what that means."
"Of course you don’t. Okay. Open the door."
"Oh, for fuck’s sake."
"Okay…okay. Okay. Back in the time machine, Bones. You got papers to grade, and I think I tivo’ed a Flyers game or something…"
Because everyone thought that my spectacular drawing of Booth crying and eating pudding was so very sad (it’s understandable—that spectacular drawing really showed the despair that Booth was going through. Stalin himself would have been moved by it—in fact, he was, I just emailed him and he sent me back one of those :’( emoticons), I’ve decided to lift everyone’s spirits by offering an alternative version of what Booth is doing with his time. He’s hanging out with his might-as-well-be father-in-law and eating pancakes! I know you can’t tell because of my amazing Photoshop skills, but in this artistic interpretation, I’ve replaced Christine with a stack of pancakes. Because Christine is with Brennan. And I bet both Max and Booth really like pancakes. Because they’re good, honest men. Booth loves pancakes so much that’s he’s entertaining them with a toy giraffe. Here’s a bit of their daily conversation:
"Man, I fucking love pancakes, Max!"
"I do too, Booth! You know, as crazy as it might sound, we have a lot in common. Like, we both love pancakes! And we’ve both killed a bunch of people! And we both really like Meg Ryan movies!"
"Lol, Max, keep that under your hat, man. I have a rep to protect."
"So do I, Booth, so do I. I once strangled a guy with a rope made from toilet paper from a prison toilet, you know. Did I ever tell you about that?"
"Um…my favorite Meg Ryan movie is Addicted to Love! Let’s go eat these pancakes and watch Addicted to Love!”
"Lol, sounds good to me, Booth. You know, Booth, I just want to say—everything you’ve been through these last few months is horrible, what with the love of your life running away and on the run from the law and taking your baby daughter and you suspended from your job and then on your way home from the Hoover you were attacked by that seagull and all. But in a way, I’m kind of glad things have gone the way they have, because it’s made us closer! We never would have become pals if not for all this adversity!"
"…Fuck you, Max. I’m going to go cry in my bathtub."
Brennan: What are these holes?
Max: For toothbrushes!
Booth: PLEASE LET ME OUT!
Brennan: For the last time, Booth, I said no!
Booth: It’s scary in here! It smells like raw hotdogs! All the waitresses are glaring at me! I think I see a cockroach!
Max: Just ignore him, honey. I’m glad you like your present.
Brennan: Thank you, Dad. It really does mean a lot to me. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself thinking this—never mind saying this aloud—but I really do find your presence right now…comforting, in a way, and—
Booth: BOOOOOOOOONES! PLEASE LET ME OUT!
Brennan: Okay, who here broke my heart within the past two months? Because whoever here has broken my already fragile heart by running off to Afghanistan and falling in love with a sunglass-stealing journalist doesn’t get to talk right now!
Booth: But, Bones! I think I’m running out of oxygen!
Brennan: Well, then you should probably conserve what little oxygen you have left by shutting the hell up!
Max: You’re only making it harder on yourself, Booth! Now what were you saying, sweetheart?
Brennan: I was saying that I think I’m finally starting to accept you back into my life. I mean, I still feel some trepidation, I suppose, but—
Max: Oh dear lord, he’s eating the little packets of ketchup.
Brennan: Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Max: You sure you want to waste your time pining away for this guy, honey?
Brennan: He’s really very nice when he isn’t suffering from lack of oxygen.
Booth: Bones? I think I’m ascending into heaven, Bones…
[Photo courtesy of imnotnormalimextraordinary.]