The Penguins of Madagascar

* *

Okay, Kowalski, wow me.

Behold a portal to time's past:

The chronotron.

So... it's a time machine?

Well, yes.

So why not call it a time machine?

Yeah, okay.

And while we're at it, let's just call the Great Wall a fence,

Mona Lisa a doodle,

And Albert Einstein Mr. Smarty Pants.

Oh, Skipper, I don't think you're seeing the big picture here.

With the chronotron, we'll be able to visit any period in history.

Outstanding.

Finally those hippies can be stopped.

Come on, Rico.

Hippies.

Hold on, Skipper.

The chronotron needs just one more thing

before it's fully functional:

five ounces of macguffium 239.

Fortunately I know where to find some right here in midtown.

Oof.

The macguffium is somewhere in this lab.

Spread out, men.

Hello? Macguffium?

Ah!

Private, you have got to stop me!

Um, okay.

Kowalski, stop, please.

No, not me me.

That me.

Hmm, nope.

Ah... nope.

Ooh... no.

There's two of you?

Private, I have come from the future.

Heh-heh.

There's two of you.

That's a smashing trick.

How did you do it, mirrors?

Or is that Rico in a Kowalski costume?

Private, can you think of even one time

I have played a trick or even told a joke?

You really are from the future.

Tell me, am I living in a cottage in Nova Scotia,

happily married with one egg and another on the way?

Eh, no.

Oh.

But we have more pressing concerns.

If my past self completes the chronotron,

it will lead to nothing but disaster and chaos.

So go tell yourself.

You're sure to listen to you.

All right... No!

If I meet my present self,

the space-time continuum would be ripped asunder

by a chronal vortex.

Oh, dear.

Ah-ha. Here it is.

Five ounces of macguffium 239.

You've got to get that macguffium, Private,

or the entire universe will be destroyed.

The entire universe?

Yes!

No pressure.

Ah, think of all the famous historical figures

we'll be able to meet.

Yeah, like, uh, uh...

Well, actually, I... I just want to slap a hippy or two,

Maybe make 'em get jobs.

Oh!

How about you, Private?

Private?

History will unfold before our very eyes.

We'll watch primordial ooze form,

witness dinosaurs battle for survival...

Ow.

Stupid flying glowy bottle.

Behold primitive penguins rise as the dominant species.

And it's all thanks to this macguffium 239.

Could I hold it for a moment?

All right.

Just be care...

Whoops, I spilled it. Oh, no.

Oh, dear, now I seem to be accidentally trodding upon it.

My... my... my macguffium,

ruined.

Oh gee, Kowalski, I'm sorry.

I guess no time traveling for us.

Well, good thing I grabbed a back-up.

Always prepare, baby.

Ah-ha. Good show.

It'll take a few minutes to install the macguffium.

Wake me when it's time travel time.

Roger that.

Um, excuse me.

I have to do a thing over there, so...

What do you mean, you didn't destroy the macguffium?

I'm sorry, future Kowalski.

Well, then the universe is doomed!

If only you could explain this to yourself

without destroying the space-time condominium.

Continuum.

Right.

Maybe I can.

Wrench?

Pliers.

Six quarts of 30 weight oil.

Ooh!

Hello, boys.

Hello, Private.

What's with the box?

Shoes. Why?

What's so suspicious about a penguin and his shoe box?

Nothing, except we don't wear shoes.

Hmm, yes, quite true.

Oh, that reminds me, Kowalski.

Have you considered the dangers of a chronopath pair of ducks?

I mean, a chronopath paradox?

Which has nothing to do with water fowl, apparently.

Chronopath paradox?

Wait.

Are you saying that the chronotron

could cause a time-spatial distortion?

Don't know. Am I?

Uh, yes, I think I am.

Einstein's undies.

I didn't think of that at all.

It could spell the end of the universe.

So I'm told.

Skipper, you've got to stop me!

Ow!

There, you're stopped.

No, not me me.

That me.

I must destroy the chronotron.

There's two of you?

You're from the future.

Tell me, does the Earth become a post-apocalyptic wasteland,

terrorized by roving bands of irradiated mutants?

Eh, no.

Oh.

But we have more pressing concerns.

Another future me has come to this time

to convince the present me to destroy my chronotron,

which I've only just learned is key

to the survival of the universe.

Time travel.

All you want is to slap a hippy,

but all you get is multiple Kowalskis.

Not to worry, Skipper.

I know just what to do.

And so dies the dream of time travel.