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November 25, 3942
by Robert A. Heinlein
The door dilated open, and in walked Lazarus, as he likes to call
himself, or Woodie, as I always think of him. That lovable rogue who has
been my son, lover and husband at various points in history, but who
will always remind me of my father, the only man whom I was never able
to trip.
"Maureen, I have invited the Carters, Asimovs, Elizabeth I, Nikolai
Tesla, the Stones, three sentient computers, Sam Clemens, Thomas
Jefferson, eight cats, Glinda the Good Witch, the Gray Lensman and
Andrew Libby in his current female state to Thanksgiving dinner."
"Of course, dear, as I am your wife and you are in charge of our
household I will accept this massive influx of unexpected people with
grace. Of course, later we will all have sex?"
"Of course. Please ask a sentient computer with a juvenile sense of
humor to summon the children to clean off our sidewalk while I wait for
you to cook. I had to shoot somebody for stepping on my toes just now,
and it made me hungry."
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(Thanks to John Mozena)
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