The day John decided to bring a time machine home was the worst day in Paul's life. He had been in the middle of an intense game of solitaire when he heard John's Rolls rumble into the driveway.

"MAAAAAACCCCCCAAAAAA!" Paul heard John scream as he slammed the car door.

Paul sighed and stood up, abandoning his solitaire game. He thought he would get back to it after he finished dealing with whatever stupid thing John wanted. Little did he know he would never finish the solitaire game.

Paul went to the kitchen and pushed the window up so he could stick his head out. "What do you want?"

"Look what I got," John said, gesturing to the large object haphazardly strapped to the top of his Rolls Royce.

"What is that?" Paul asked, peering at it.

"It's a time machine," John said proudly.

"It looks like an oversized Campbell's can."

John glanced up at the time machine that indeed resembled an oversize Campbell's can, complete with "Campbell's" across the side. "Never mind that. I got it from this guy downtown. He gave it to me for free. Strange, since it's a time machine. You'd think the government would want it or something."

"You do realize," Paul said slowly, "if he gave it to you for free and it looks like a can of soup, that it's probably fake, right?"

John blinked. "I don't think so. It's authentic, all right. Come and help me get it down. I almost threw out my back getting it on my car."

Together they heaved the time machine — aka the oversized Campbell's can — off the roof of John's car and set it in the front yard. They were both wheezing by the time they were finished.

"We probably shouldn't leave it here," John said, looking around. "The neighbors might decide to steal it."

Paul stared at him. "It looks like distasteful yard art. I don't think anyone is going to want a can of soup."

"It is not a can of soup," John spat. "I'll prove it to you. Get inside."

"What? I'm not going to do that!"

"If it's not a real time machine, why are you so afraid?" John asked with a smirk.

"I'm not afraid," Paul sputtered. "I just think it's ridiculous."

"Well, get in, then." John stood on the tips of his toes and pulled the lid off the can. "After you."

Paul looked between John, the lid in his hands, and the can. "Am I high?"

"If you were high, why would we see the exact same illusion?"

"It happened that one time when we were in Paris and we saw that donkey mime — "

John waved him away. "We agreed never to bring up the donkey mime ever again, didn't we?"

"Yes."

"Then stop talking about it."

Paul sighed. "I'll need a stool to get in." He went in the house and brought back a stool, placing it in the grass. He stepped onto it and carefully climbed into the time machine. "If you tip this thing over and roll me down the street, I'm going to kill you."

John smiled. "I swear I won't. Duck down."

Paul's head disappeared as he crouched down into the can.

John screwed the lid back on.

"It's not working," Paul called, his voice muffled.

"The man told me you had to kick it two times to get it going," John called back.

"Don't I get to pick where I go?" Paul asked.

"No," John said. "It'll just take you somewhere in time."

"Then how do I get back?"

"To come back to your original time period he said to kick it three times."

"Got it." Inside the can, Paul kicked it two times.

"Or was it four times to get back?" John said just as the time machine disappeared. He shrugged and went to the garage to get a lawn chair. He planted it in the yard next to the spot the time machine had been and began to read a book. Paul would be back shortly anyway.

* * *

"Ringo, 'meh' is not a word," George said. "That's just laziness."

"Homer Simpson says it!" Ringo protested.

"Just because Homer Simpson says it doesn't mean it's a word," George said.

"Anything Homer Simpson says is a word."

"Ringo, the Scrabble gods are very disappointed in you right now."

"No," Ringo said. "They're disappointed in you."

"How are they disappointed in me?"

"For shunning Homer Simpson."

"Will you stop with the Homer Simpson nonsense?" George cried.

"No!" Ringo crossed his arms.

Someone banged on the door and George sighed. He got up and answered it. John stood outside, looking like a drowned rat. His clothes were drenched and his hair hung in his eyes. In his hand he held a soggy book.

"What happened to you?" George asked incredulously. "Did the clown drag you into the gutter?"

"It's a long story," John panted. "Just let me come in."

"I'm not letting you come in like that," George said. "You'll drip on the carpet."

"It's pouring and you're just going to let me stand out here?"

"You're not going to get any wetter than you already are," George said, his face twitching.

John shoved past him into the house and stood dripping in the foyer. By this time Ringo had come to see what was going on, and he and George watched John drip on the carpet.

John ran a hand through his soaked hair. "I got a free time machine."

"That's never a good way to start a story," Ringo said.

"I brought it home and Paul tried it out. I waited for him to come back in the yard. I guess I fell asleep. I woke up like this and Paul still hadn't come back."

George and Ringo stared at him.

"What time did he leave?" George asked.

"I think it was just after noon."

Ringo looked at his watch. "Ouch. Now it's nine."

"Today's still Friday, right?" John said frantically. "You mean nine PM, right? Not in the morning?"

George regarded him flatly. "John. Look out the window."

John looked out the window and saw streetlights shining through the dim. He looked back at George and Ringo. "So it's not Saturday?"

"It's still Friday," George said. "So Paul's been gone in the time machine for approximately nine hours."

Ringo peered at George. "Since when do you say 'approximately'?"

"It's what educated people say instead of 'about nine hours' or 'probably nine hours.' So there, Ringo, I'm educated."

"You didn't even graduate high school."

"And you didn't learn how to read until you were nine!"

"Burn," John said.

"Hey," Ringo said, looking a little hurt, "I had health issues."

George threw up his hands. "You know what? This isn't important. We just need to get Paul back."

"How are we going to do that?" Ringo asked.

"Follow me," George said, beckoning them.

They found themselves in the garage, looking at a large object under a brown tarp.

"When did that get here?" Ringo asked with disbelief.

"It's always been here. You just haven't noticed it because you never come out here," George said matter-of-factly.

"What is it?" John said. "A motorcycle?"

"John," George said, putting a hand on John's shoulder, "how cool do you think Ringo and I are?"

"Not that cool."

"Right. So would you think we would have a motorcycle?"

"No."

"Stop asking stupid questions, then." George ripped the tarp off the object, revealing a six-foot tall Progresso can.

John stared at it with his mouth hanging open. "Are. You. Kidding. Me."

"What?" George said. "I thought all time machines were Progresso cans."

"The one Paul took off in was Campbell's."

Ringo looked between George and John and the Progresso time machine. "Wait a minute. Is no one going to talk about the fact that these time machines are soup brands?"

George shook his head. "I don't think so."

John thought about it before saying, "No. We're just going to leave that a loose end."

Ringo threw out his arms. "Who's writing this anyway?"

"Stop breaking the fourth wall so I can tell the surprising and shocking story about why I have a giant Progresso can in my garage," George said.

John gestured for him to go on.

"All right, so I think I got it from the same guy you got your time machine from," George said. "Did he wear a wool hat? Talk excessively about some kind of chicken?"

John nodded.

"It's him, then. For whatever reasons he has a bunch of time machines that look like soup cans and he's giving them away to people."

Ringo stared at the time machine. "Have you used it before?"

"Nope. I was too afraid to. But not we need to find Paul."

"But it goes to random time periods," John said. "How are we going to get to the one Paul is in?"

"Since the time machines are leaving at close times, they might go to the same ones. I'm just hoping Paul is panicking and kicking it excessively and flashing through all kinds of different time periods rapidly. In that case, we'll never find him."

"He's panicking," Ringo said with a firm nod. "We can know that for sure."

"All right," George said, clapping his hands together once. "Let's do this."

They all crowded into the Progresso can, which was in no way big enough for all three of them.

"John, your elbow is jamming into my back," Ringo complained, squirming.

"I would move it if George wasn't squashing me," John shot back.

"Well," George said, "I would stop squashing you if Ringo was breathing down my neck."

"I wouldn't be breathing down your neck if — " Ringo began.

"Everyone shut up!" John screamed. "Somebody kick it because I can't move my leg."

Ringo kicked it and the can lurched. They all started screaming.

"It feels like an elevator going sideways at a rapid speed!" George shouted.

"I think I left my stomach back there somewhere!" John cried.

"I'm dead!" Ringo joined in.

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!" they screamed in unison.

The can stopped abruptly, sending them all slamming into each other. The can made a popping sound like a car after it had been driven for a long time.

"I'm so sick," George groaned.

Ringo unscrewed the lid and stuck his head out before ducking back down. "I don't want to look. It's bad out there."

"Lemme see." John looked out and stared in awe. All around, dinosaurs were grazing in a meadow. He couldn't identify many of them because they looked much different from the illustrations he had seen in books. "Oh. My. God."

George looked out and spun around in a circle. "This is the best acid trip ever."

Ringo smacked him. "We're all sober."

"You are, but who says I am?"

The ground began to rumble and the can bounced up and down.

"That isn't a good sign," John said. "Something bad is coming."

All the dinosaurs grazing looked up with terror and began running. John, George, and Ringo looked in the direction of the rumbling. A Tyrannosaurus rex was stomping its way toward them, its beady eyes fixed intently on the Progresso can.

"Bad!" Ringo cried. "Bad! Very, very bad!"

"Everyone back in!" George barked.

"It probably thinks we're a giant dog toy!" John moaned.

They screwed the lid back on and kicked the inside of the can desperately. The can lurched sideways, but this time they didn't mind the ride. The can skidded to a halt and they all sat inside, breathing heavily.

"Who wants to look out this time?" George asked after a few moments of silence.

"I'll look," John said, and opened the lid. He warily stuck his head out and looked around. "What is this? So many bright lights."

Ringo looked out next. "This looks like . . . the far future."

"I've got to see this." George looked out and gaped. "This looks like New York, but a brighter, gaudier New York."

"It was always gaudy," John said.

"I know. That's why I said 'gaudier,' John."

"Look!" Ringo pointed.

They swiveled around to look at what Ringo was pointing at. A few feet away set a giant Campbell's can.

"That's my time machine!" John said, climbing out of the Progresso can. "Paul must be around here somewhere."

George and Ringo climbed out of the time machine and followed John down the street. They passed a man wearing glasses with an intent look on his face. As they passed, George saw that he was watching something on the lens of the glasses, like a personal movie.

"What year is this?" George whispered to Ringo.

"Whenever it is, Homer Simpson is long gone," Ringo replied with awe.

George sighed exasperatedly.

"Guys!" John cried. "I think I found him!"

They gathered around John and stared. Inside a futuristic cafe sat Paul, drinking a futuristic cup of coffee, wearing futuristic clothes.

"Good God, he looks at home," John said.

"Well, he's been here nine hours!" George exclaimed. "He probably thinks he's just going to have to live with it."

Ringo pushed the door open and entered the cafe. They made their way to Paul's booth and huddled around him. He didn't look up, simply stared into the dark liquid of his coffee cup.

"What are you guys doing here?" he finally asked groggily.

"We came to bring you back to the land of Homer Simpson," Ringo said.

Paul laughed bitterly. "I don't want to go back. I'd like to stay here in 2058."

"2058?" John exclaimed, making some of the patrons turn to stare. "What has 2058 got that Homer Simpson era doesn't?"

"It's got better coffee. Also, the clothes are nicer."

"Better coffee, nicer clothes or not, you're coming back with us," George said, his hand clamping on Paul's arm.

Paul tried to shake him off. "I like it here. The music is mind-numbing and everyone walks around like zombies. The government brainwashed them. It's like bloody 1984."

"What happened in 1984?" Ringo asked, puzzled.

"It's a book," John said.

"It sounds like the brainwashed you, Paul," George said. "Should I break out into song?"

"No," Paul said firmly. "I hate that song."

"But it's true," George said, dragging Paul out of the booth. "Pay for your coffee so we can go."

"The coffee's free," Paul said. "That's what great about 2058. Everything's free."

"That's not possible," George said, but his voice was unsure.

"It's true. No taxes, no charge."

"No . . . taxes?" George asked, his eyes getting bigger.

"No, no, no," John said, grabbing both Paul and George by the backs of their shirts. "Stop trying to lure George in like that. We're leaving."

Ringo's face was pressed against the glass. "They've got floating octopuses."

"Octopi," Paul corrected.

"Actually," John said, "using 'octopi' as plural for 'octopus' is incorrect."

"What?" George said. "My whole life is over!"

John snagged Ringo and dragged all three of them out of the cafe. "We're going back to our own time period and we're going to destroy the time machine."

"What?" Paul screeched. "We can't do that! I want to come back any time I want!"

"2058 is a trap," John said. "It's luring you in so it can drain your life away." He crammed them all into the Progresso can. "How many times do we kick it to get back?"

"The guy in the wool cap told me six times," George said.

The Progresso can was kicked six times and the Beatles found themselves back in the era of Homer Simpson, in George's garage. John later took the Progresso can to the landfill and had it smashed into a cube so no one else would find themselves victim to 2058.