History Voucher

Bonzai Dinewell zoomed into the living room with a bag full of goodies. He kicked off his electric boots and collapsed onto the sofa beside his android dog, Fletch, who had been upcycled from old watering cans. His partner of many years, Comet, glanced up from his tablet and eyed the records sticking out of the bag.

“Where have you been, Bonzai?” Comet asked. “And why do you keep buying this obsolete stuff?”

“You won’t believe what I got in CeX!”

Comet rolled his eyes. “What crap did you get this time?”

“You remember that historical voucher my great-grandfather gave me? The one that came with instructions from his great-grandfather, and his great-grandfather before him?”

Comet sighed. He’d heard this story many times. “I’m surprised it’s still in good condition.”

“It was expiring! I thought I’d better use it.”

“You should’ve binned that piece of crap ages ago,” Comet muttered. “It’s probably not even worth anything now.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my love.” Bonzai reached into the bag and pulled out a blue crocheted dinosaur. His heart skipped as he squished its cheeks. “Look at this! What a cute little thing!”

Comet shook his head and tossed his tablet aside. “If you’d waited until Christmas, Aunt Bessie would’ve knitted you one.”

“This isn’t just any dinosaur. This is an Amiibo. They used these on Nintendo consoles. They’re still making them today. For a thousand years — this is incredible! But wait!” Bonzai leaned forward and tipped the entire contents of the bag onto the sofa. “There’s more!”

Fletch’s eyes glowed red as he surveyed the records and ancient gadgets.

“I get grounded when I empty my crap on the sofa,” he said.

“Look at this!” Bonzai squealed. “It’s the complete discography of Saint Michael Jackson.”

“And why,” Comet asked slowly, “have you bought *The Teachings of Harry Potter*?”

“It was on offer!” Bonzai slapped Fletch’s nose when he tried to grab the dinosaur.

“So how much earthly money did you waste?” Comet asked.

“None! The voucher covered everything. They said their vouchers never expire — but legally they had to include an expiry date. By the time I passed it on to my great-grandchildren, inflation would’ve made it worthless. It would’ve been as good as toilet paper.”

“Well, where are we going to put all this stuff?” Comet asked. “It’s not coming into the bedroom. I can’t sleep with that Pikachu statue staring at me. It’s bad enough you and Fletch pray to something that didn’t even exist.”

“I keep telling you — Pikachu existed. Harry Potter existed.”

Comet shrugged. “They were probably fictional characters. Like the ones in those holy books.”

“He must have existed! Harry Potter was real. Pikachu was real — he appeared in Japanese parades. Michael Jackson saved them from Epstein. There’s more written about Harry Potter and Pikachu than the Six Wives of Henry VIII!”

“There’s no proof Harry Potter existed!”

“No proof? Blimey, he was the most celebrated man of his time. There’s loads of information about him. Platform 9¾ is a real place! Sure, history gets twisted and rewritten — but Harry Potter was famous. You can’t invent that kind of fame.”

“Well, by that logic, you could say Santa Claus was real.”

“Now, going back to saints,” Fletch said, raising a paw, “Michael Jackson didn’t qualify as a saint in the traditional sense. Nor do Oprah Winfrey or Saint Beyoncé.”

“Ah, Beyoncé!” Bonzai raised a finger. “Destiny’s Child. There’s a bit about her in *The Teachings of Saint Michael Jackson*.”

“Well, what happened was, a descendant of Kanye West—”

“Who’s Kanye West?” Comet asked.

“He was a rapper who lived around the same time as Michael Jackson,” Fletch explained. “Anyway, Kanye West XIV sent Pope John Paul X a fifteen-thousand-word essay explaining why Kanye West, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Jackson, Beyoncé, and Barack Obama should all be canonised as saints. It was the first traditionally published essay in over 150 years without AI.”

Fletch rolled onto his back and rested his head on Bonzai’s lap.

“And since you asked,” he howled, “I have room in my third bedroom. Maybe your junk could go there.”