Here's one I've thought about for a long time. And the longer I think about it, the harder it gets. Here's the question (and you can expect to want change your answer a dozen times before you can settle it. Don't answer too hastily). If you could have dinner, say three hours of private conversation with anyone, anyone in history, who might it be.? Several pop into my head immediately - my Dad, who I never took the time to talk to while he was alive, Albert Einstein, Hitler, Jesus Christ, the list just gets longer and longer. What about D B Cooper or Jimmy Hoffa? JFK or Ghandi? Give it some thought and share with me. I'm sure you'll suggest people I never even thought of. (That's what I like about this forum!)
Steven Hawking, Nikolai Tesla, JFK, Albert Einstien, Timothy McVeigh, Richard Speck, The Unabomber, Tim Burton, Socrates(translated), and Macguyver.
Einstien, Carl sagan, Mr.Tesla, Plato, Democrates, Hypatia, Pharoh Sneffer(i think thats him), Coral Castle dude, Me in 30 years, Jesus Christ(to find out if there really is a god), Imhotep, An atlantean, and thats about all I can think of right now.
I was thinking of having just one person, but I guess a dinner party would work. I'd just hate to have to split up a short period of time between such important people. Can you imagine telling Jesus Christ "be quiet please, it's not your turn. I'll be with you in a few minutes!"?
reads more like a party. I think those are good choices but would want to add a few more, just to make it interesting: Robin Williams Jerry Lewis Phyllis Diller
The dinner party... Hmmm, I think it would be fun with a girl party so I would invite all my previous reincarnations as Nefertiti, Marie Antoinette and that geisha I can´t remember the name of... and other non incarnation of mine as Madonna, Cicciolina and perhaps Maria Callas too. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
Dinner If I could have a dinner and a talk with anyone alive or dead, I would have to choose Buddha. We could sit in the middle of war-torn Europe around 1912. Me and him. Looking and smiling at each other over a rickety wooden army folding table. I would be grasping a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and Buddha would be sucking a worm out of a bottle of tequila. Noxious Chlorine gas clouds would be wrapping our feet in soft tufts of wispy death as bombs exploded overhead. Yes, I would know his joy. His pain. His great sense of loss. In the distance I could see those with eyes cast low marching towards the columns of smoke on the horizon.
