Major Events in Future History

Citizens, the world is in dire straits these days.  Our economy is in peril. Global climate change is inevitable, and we can only begin to imagine what terrors that may bring as our filthy, filthy chickens come home to roost.

The Collective has taken the current world situation under serious consideration. After much thought, here are our careful predictions of what is to come.

2019: Aliens invade our world. Seeking to eliminate the fiercest resistance first, they land in Afghanistan. After a long and bloody campaign, the desperate aliens use transmogrifcation beams to turn the Afghans into Frenchmen. Surrender follows in five minutes, but the lactose-intolerant aliens are forced to leave anyway.

2021: The UN banishes all bikini and lingerie models to St. Kilda. Photographic overflights for tourists generate enough revenue for Scotland to buy France, Germany, and Sweden.

2022: Atlantis rises from the mid-Atlantic, confounding naysayers, skeptics, and commonsensicons everywhere. The enlightened Atlanteans offer to share their advanced technology with the rest of the world, which says, “Duh. We already have water mills, cotton gins, and spandex. Thanks anyhow!”

2024: Porn becomes America’s number one export, making up the majority of the GNP.  President Jameson gives the Statue of Liberty a makeover, including a dominatrix costume, massive implants, and a number of intimate piercings.

2025: War of the Two Frances. Classic France and New France come to blows over who truly represents the French spirit. Surrender follows in five minutes – from both sides. Unfortunately this leads to more fighting, as they are unable to resolve who surrendered first.

2026: Ninja cyborgs take Parliament hostage. The British stifle a collective yawn and continue fantasizing about being tied up and whipped bloody by Margaret Thatcher dressed as Ronald Reagan.

2027: Aquaman claims Florida for his own and makes Epcot Center his palace. He still gets no respect.

2028: The Marines invade Cuba. Cuba invades Texas. Texas invades New York. New York invades Connecticut. Connecticut invades West Virginia, then turns around to accept New York’s occupation as by far the lesser evil. Cuban women quickly tire of hearing “The Marine’s Hymn” and move to Miami.

2029: George Washington returns from the dead and destroys most of Chicago with his awesome cybernetic powers.

2030: The European Union outlaws tobacco. France tries to quit the Union in protest, but can’t get up enough breath.

2031: George Lucas finally files for creative bankruptcy after Star Wars XIV: How Han Solo Got His Vest.

2032: Fictional characters are given full citizenship rights in China after Disney takes over the Near East. Governor-General Jafar immediately recruits Lara Croft, Betty Boop, and Ginger from Gilligan’s Island to his harem in the Forbidden Palace. He is assassinated by Ginger, who flees to Ecuador to escape prosecution.

2033:  Quentin Quillpot Quincy is elected as the first Pope from Cleveland. Or maybe the Falkands.

2034: You realize the utter pointlessness of your life after yet another Walker, Texas Ranger marathon.

2035: Dead-eyed reptiles from another dimension take over the Republican Party. No one notices.

2036: Short-sighted invertebrates from another dimension take over the Democratic Party. No one notices.

2037: Adam Sandler falls into a pit of his old DVDs and is forced to eat his way out.

2038: General Mills unveils “e-Cheerios”, a subscription-based cereal downloaded directly into your brain every morning.

2039: The Rapture finally happens! All the good Christians are taken to waiting spaceships, which Xenu programs to crash into the sun.

Your Mother’s Horrible Soup, Served in a Shrew’s Skull

Citizens, there was once a brave young soldier determined to serve his country well. He volunteered the day after the first clone bomb went off and filled Cincinnati with thousands of Adam Sandlers. Like the rest of us, he’d cried in helpless horror as the pride of Ohio fell victim to that terrible scourge. And then he swore he’d do everything he could to make sure that would never happen again.

He fought the Taliban in Hyderabad, the Neo-Guelphs in Belgium, and the Kiwanis in Modesto. He served with bravery, distinction, and a gusto none of his elders could match. He won medals and commedations for his baking and bayoneting. 

But one day, while he was clearing a street in Bakersfield with his platoon,  he met someone. A very sweet, special, sexy someone. She wore a cute little Teflon combat apron with Hello Kitty logos all over it, and her name was Jackie. She was a professional mime degrader, trained in the art of pelting street performers with rotten fruit. (She specialized in mango, pineapple, and durian.) 

Jackie and Barfolomew fell in love. The romance of Bakersfield, the quivering of her bosom, the trembling of his stubbly earlobes – it was too much for their young, passionate hearts. They tumbled into each others’ arms and made sweaty, smelly love amid the submachine guns. After a prolonged courtship, they were married under a banyan tree with only the moon and stars as witness.

She took a job as a hula dancer. He took a job as a cottage cheese voyeur, and a second job pricing free samples. But life was hard for our young heroes. They could barely make ends meet, even their own. They lived in a greenhouse on top of a grain silo next to a photography studio. They bought groceries in a secondhand store and clothes from a video-game dealer. They even recycled coconuts for her work uniform. 

Foreclosure came as a shock to them. They rented the greenhouse. They owned little more than the clothes on his back. They borrowed their friends’ stolen cars and ran them on wishes and corn oil. So when the bank’s officials evicted them and took everything they didn’t own, they were sad. Sad as Dutchmen without their third-hand wig collections. Sad as Saracens.

But they were in love, citizens. So they didn’t need any noodle pudding or pumpkin tarts to writhe in with erotic abandon. They moved into a complex of discarded oatmeal cannisters and scissor handles, where they lived happily ever after until they both succumbed to mouth cancer after a long battle and many shiny shoes.

In Case of Water Landing, Apply Liberally to Face and Teeth

Citizens, this is not the time for timidity.

There are weighty issues afoot. The economy, civil rights, terrorism, the environment, the inexplicable popularity of Charlie Sheen – the stakes have never been higher. And there are still millions on millions of people whose minds are starving for the surreal.

The White Linen Pants Collective believes that we would all benefit from a greater sense of the surreal. Worlds spin around us in empty, pointless majesty. All that lives is born to diet. Surrealism is existential bravado in the face of repression, senility, and an endless parade of Adam Sandler movies. Practice it daily like a monk doing penance for a life misspent as a libertine.  Living weirdly is its own reward.

Go to a cafe and teach the tables Spanish. Invite a turtle to lunch. Fly a kite by moonlight. Kiss your flashlight goodnight. Write a movie script about a day in the life of a matchbook in your kitchen drawer. Wear your top hat and tails to the high school track meet.

Live, citizens! Live!