The next step in our cultural evolution is the televised celebration of self-actualization, followed immediately by the realization of the movie Idiocracy.
After Idiocracy, a religion of sticks and stones that emphasizes not sitting on cacti and hot stoves will spread like wildfire.
Economists will rule all. Unfortunately everyone will fancy himself an economist, so, still more-or-less anarchy but with dolphin-safe tuna.
Then, philosophers will emerge from the rabble. People will say how smart the philosophers are and how cute they look in cages.
Philosopher-safe tuna will be invented.
All the bubble gum will lose its flavor. A dark time.
At that point the sky will turn forever grey due not to global warming or other chemical or physical change, but to a lack of imagination. The good news: Charlie Chaplin will make a comeback. The bad news: It will be as the title role in "Weekend at Bernie's 4,753."
Then IQs will soar. Children will play Duck, Duck, Partical Accelerator. Mindful parents will play "Baby Jung" to their newborns.
Mysteriously, socks will cease losing their partners in the laundry.
At some point, reality television will depict a suburban strip mall and people saying "Hey, Hi, What up," and not really playing head games.
The last possible date of the apocalypse will pass without incident. In the face of such security and well-being, a general sense of meaninglessness will pervade the popular landscape.
Finally, Conan O'Brien will migrate to TBS. The end. - inspired by Nostradamus, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, and the distinct sensation that I am dematerializing
After Idiocracy, a religion of sticks and stones that emphasizes not sitting on cacti and hot stoves will spread like wildfire.
Economists will rule all. Unfortunately everyone will fancy himself an economist, so, still more-or-less anarchy but with dolphin-safe tuna.
Then, philosophers will emerge from the rabble. People will say how smart the philosophers are and how cute they look in cages.
Philosopher-safe tuna will be invented.
All the bubble gum will lose its flavor. A dark time.
At that point the sky will turn forever grey due not to global warming or other chemical or physical change, but to a lack of imagination. The good news: Charlie Chaplin will make a comeback. The bad news: It will be as the title role in "Weekend at Bernie's 4,753."
Then IQs will soar. Children will play Duck, Duck, Partical Accelerator. Mindful parents will play "Baby Jung" to their newborns.
Mysteriously, socks will cease losing their partners in the laundry.
At some point, reality television will depict a suburban strip mall and people saying "Hey, Hi, What up," and not really playing head games.
The last possible date of the apocalypse will pass without incident. In the face of such security and well-being, a general sense of meaninglessness will pervade the popular landscape.
Finally, Conan O'Brien will migrate to TBS. The end. - inspired by Nostradamus, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, and the distinct sensation that I am dematerializing
