Enjoy this silly little short about an eccentric billionaire who has commissioned the development of a time machine specifically so she can go back in time and punch H.P. Lovecraft in the fricking face.

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At first, when I lay out the full extent of my plan and what I want to do when we take the time machine out for its second spin, my team doesn’t know what to make of me.

You’d almost think that they hadn’t been paying attention every single time I mentioned why I needed a time machine built in the basement of my manor.

“Let me get this straight, lady,” Casey says, her dark brown eyebrows quirking upward. “You sunk billions of dollars into researching and building a time machine just so you could go back in time to punch H.P. Lovecraft in the face?”

I shrug, not seeing the problem. “Yeah, basically.”

Another member of my team, Derek, frowns at me. “That’s it? You’re not going to use this to stop tragedies in history or to save the world? You’re just going to go and punch a writer you don’t like?”

“I mean, if I was going to punch a writer I didn’t like,” I point out, “It’d be Ian Fleming. Lovecraft is something else. I don’t just dislike him. I hate him and everything he stands for.”

Casey shakes her head as if I’m not making perfect sense, before saying that, “You don’t even know him.”

As if that has any basis in my reasoning.

I hold up my right hand and start ticking points off on my fingers. “First,” I say, “He’s not even that good a writer. Yes, he created Cthullu and that’s been a big deal, but he’s not a good writer. Second, I don’t have to know someone to want to punch them and he was a huge racist besides –”

“Don’t tell me,” Derek says, his tone far too snide for someone that works for me, “You’re going to go through history punching every single racist you can.”

I blink at him.

Oh.

“I can do that?” I grin, already readjusting my timeline for future trips into the past.

I’m going to do that.