I'm Bart Norse, who the hell are you?

It was twenty-two years earlier, and Joe was not dreaming. Bartholomew Norse was eating a bowl of microwave popcorn and glaring at him.

"It doesn't matter whether or not you agree with the premise in order for you to like it. I mean, ultimately it's a time travel movie for the entire family, I don't think Gilliam was trying to expand upon Einstein's work in quantum mechanics when he made it. You should ask yourself if you can stop thinking long enough to relax and passively enjoy a movie once in a while, Joe. Gosh!", said Bartholomew.

"I know," replied Joe, and sat the paused Beta remote control down on the coffee table, "it's just that long term exposure to midgets gives me the creeps, and the fireman could not be that dude from the desert in the other time, it's just not feasible. The whole plot is full of holes."

Bart snorted. "Yeah, dummy. Wormholes. It's called Time Bandits for a reason. Are you gonna play it?"

"I was wondering if you'd rather play a quick game of Scrabble instead?" Joe actually turned off the television and sat on the floor opposite the couch, already pulling out the game beneath.

"I really need to practice."

"Oh, all right. Practice what, anyway?"

"I am studying what words another person plays vs. what I play. You see, I am making a list of special words. I am writing the list for my idea."