Jimmy Hoffa stepped out of his time machine

Jimmy Hoffa stepped out of his time machine and rubbed his stubbled chin. "Well, that worked!"

Relieved that he'd escaped several nagging problems, Jimmy Hoffa resolved to start a whole new existence here in...he looked around... Tibet? Shangri-la, the sign said. A tiny

little voice inside of Jimmy Hoffa said, "What's wrong with Buelton?" Buelton sounded nice to Jimmy. It had vineyards. That famous split pea soup place. It was a small town where

men were men. In fact the men were so manly the water supply was nearly 80% testosterone, meaning all women, children, cats and sheep had long luxurious beards like retired majors.

I went fishing with my bearded wife, but the fish were so muscular that they snapped all our lines and ate the hooks to taunt us. There was still prey in the desert. Cactus hunting

was the easy way, but we never went for the low hanging fruit. I wanted to eat the forbidden, fossilized meat of extinct species. I handed the shovel to my wife, pointed, and sat

watching as she heaved the carcass of a saber tooth tiger to my feet. It smelled weird. Kind of like fruit but also kind of like rotting flesh. I decided I would not eat it, but

stuff it into my moonshine still and distill it. That fruity smell reminded me of butyl acetate. Soon I had 2 quarts of fruity death-rot smelling saber tooth brandy. I handed her

a toothful to taste. "Guess what's in it!" I grinned. "Well it's got well-rounded top notes of gristle permeating earthy tones of dead meat." She loved my sabre tooth brandy!

She then grabbed her stomach and groaned. "I don't feel so well," she said. "Oh grow up, you big baby," I said, "It's part of the sabre-tooth-brandy experience!"