Back to the Future Page #5

when this was all farmland as far as the eye could see. Old man Peabody,

owned all of this.

He had this crazy idea about breeding pine trees.

Marty:
This is uh, this is heavy duty, Doc, this is great. Uh, does it

run on regular unleaded

gasoline?

Doc:
Unfortunately no, it requires something with a little more kick,

plutonium.

Marty:
Uh, plutonium, wait a minute, are you telling me that this

sucker's nuclear?

Doc:
Hey, hey, keep rolling, keep rolling there. No, no, no, no, this

sucker's electrical. But I

need a nuclear reaction to generate the one point twenty-one gigawatts

of electricity that I need.

Marty:
Doc, you don't just walk into a store and ask for plutonium. Did

you rip this off?

Doc:
Of course, from a group of Libyan Nationalists. They wanted me to

build them a bomb, so

I took their plutonium and in turn gave them a shiny bomb case full of

used pinball machine

parts.

Marty:
Jesus.

Doc:
Let's get you into a radiation suit, we must prepare to reload.

Doc:
Safe now, everything's let lined. Don't you lose those tapes now,

we'll need a record.

Wup, wup, I almost forgot my luggage. Who knows if they've got cotton

underwear in the

future. I'm allergic to all synthetics.

Marty:
The future, it's where you're going?

Doc:
That's right, twenty five years into the future. I've always

dreamed on seeing the future,

looking beyond my years, seeing the progress of mankind. I'll also be

able to see who wins the

next twenty-five world series.

Marty:
Uh, Doc.

Doc:
Huh?

Marty:
Uh, look me up when you get there.

Doc:
Indeed I will, roll em. I, Doctor Emmett Brown, am about to embark

on an historic journey.

What have I been thinking of, I almost forgot to bring some extra

plutonium. How did I ever

expect to get back, one pallet one trip I must be out of my mind. What

is it Einy? Oh my god,

they found me, I don't know how but they found me. Run for it, Marty.

Marty:
Who, who?

Doc:
Who do you think, the Libyans.

Marty:
Holy sh*t.

Doc:
Unroll their fire.

Marty:
Doc, wait. No, bastards.

Libyan:
Go. Go.

Marty:
C'mon, more, dammit. Jeez. Holy sh*t. Let's see if you bastards

can do ninety.

Marty:
Ahh. Ahh.

Mother:
Pa, what is it? What is it, Pa?

Father:
Looks like a airplane, without wings.

Son:
That ain't no airplane, look.

Mother & Father: Ahh.

Father:
Children.

Marty:
Listen, woh. Hello, uh excuse me. Sorry about your barn.

Son:
It's already mutated intro human form, shoot it.

Father:
Take that you mutated son-of-a-b*tch. My pine, why you. You

space bastard, you killed

a pine.

Marty:
Alright, alright, okay McFly, get a grip on yourself. It's all a

dream. Just a very intense

dream. Woh, hey, listen, you gotta help me.

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