(It is 1:32 AM, at the tail end of a night out just like many others before it. The following day, an extremely hungover Tom has acquired a time machine, and is attempting to prevent the inevitable sickness which is soon to follow.)
Drunk Tom: Jesus, you are handsome. Who are you?
Hungover Tom: It's me, you idiot! I'm you!
DT: Whoa...I didn't think I was that drunk. Usually my illusions are large women somehow looking small, but nothing like this.
HT: I'm not an illusion. I somehow found a time machine and I'm trying to prevent us from making a terrible mistake.
DT: Calling our exes?
HT: No...well, yes, don't do that, but that's not what I mean. Don't drink anymore tonight!
DT: Why not? I feel amazing! I'm impervious to the affects of alcohol!
HT: Yeah, well I feel awful. I feel like microwaved garbage. I feel like I was drop kicked into a pile of glass. Besides, do you even know what impervious means right now.
HT: Wow. Seriously, it's not worth it. You won't have any more fun, you will probably get angry, and you will pass out immediately when you get home.
DT: Nope. Imma keep drinking so I am confident enough to talk to some of the LAAAAY-DIEES!!!
HT: But you won't! You're going to play half a game of shufflepuck, lose your friends and walk home!
DT: Go away, you're no fun.
(In the background, "Shots, shots, shots-shots-shot-shots!")
HT: I give up.
DT: Where are you going?
HT: I'm going to go back in time and try to help College Tom get laid more than once in a blue moon.
DT: That sounds even more hopeless than this.
HT: True. Well, I feel like I'm going to throw up. Jackass.
DT: Love you, too!