Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

- What'd I get him? - Checked suspenders. Remember the card?
No one works. No one argues.
At which point, you're in danger of a time-flow ripple.
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
- Come on, let's go. - Wait...
I don't know how I know this, but I don't think his color's quite right.
But as much as everybody loves you...
- What are you gonna do? - I'm gonna take him to Kansas City.
Checked suspenders.
- Really? - Yes.
Why tights? Why a cape?
- Do you know where they are? - Gone.
Oh, it's all right. Don't worry about it.
Superhero.
Good idea. Why don't you go back to the office.
Mr. Wells, what is it you're after, exactly?
Where can I get more of these?
Thank you.
What?
Look, it's not your fault. His was just plain bigger.
This is really good.
I will fight you with my last breath.
H.G. Wells wrote fiction and he died in 1946.
And the ammunition belt, holster. Extra clips, of course.
- Well, let's go. - Where?
- We stopped here because... - I'm sorry, sir. We're really busy...
But that means the ship would already have landed...
Hurry.
...he must first appreciate the intricacy of the flux facilitator.
...but it just kept getting so complicated.
- Unless... - Something went wrong...
Yeah. He liked them, didn't he?
If this is a gag, you're dead.
- Lois, what are you...? Go back inside. - I will not.
It just slows down that whole getting-to-the-present thing, you know?
What's the matter, my dear?
Gee, if only I had a time machine.
Trust me, I'm not joking.
You didn't happen to find a baby, did you?