Thirteen Stories From an Old Man

Gino tagged me on a meme requiring the writer to make 13 predictions about the world as it will be when he or she is “old”. Well, RW already stole my joke about opening the paper this morning and reading off the first 13 headlines, so I guess
I’ll have to put a little work into this.

Appropriating his formula, what will the world be when I am 75, 40 years hence? Well, let’s see....


Dateline: Pleasantville, Massachusetts. May 23rd, 2047.
The bones are creaky as I rise out of bed. The ladies on the news sprightly tell me we’re in for a cool one today; the recent mid-90’s heatwave¹ will be replaced by a pleasant sea breeze bringing temps down into the ‘80s. Of course this will be only after a late morning series of thunderstorms which could cause a stray tornado or two². I make a mental note to fasten the storm shutters, then slap my forehead for my forgetfulness;

“Wifeypooh?” I say in a loud, clear voice.

As always, she answers. “Yes, dear?”, her voice cool and modulated.

“Could you secure the storm shutters when the barometric hits 29.5, would you?” She demurely responds yes. Never fails me, does she. “Coffee too, okay? And run the morning program, would you?” She quietly beeps an affirmative as the plasma in the bedroom lights-up with my emails, headlines, and the usual array of operational stats for the house.

The Boy was over with his grandkids the other day, my great grandkids – the oldest now two (it’s time to start paying for college, isn’t it!), and commented that he thought it was more than a little weird that I named the home control system³ after his mother – dead now these last ten years after blowing an aneurysm yelling at a door-to-door salesman⁴.

“Dad, don’t you think it’s time to move on? You’re still a young man, and with the new implantable, fully bionic penis⁵ that guy Avitable keeps talking about, you could still date. “

That boy. Always the romantic. And yes, I’ve read Avitable’s raving about the thing – how he actually made a horse cry the other day – but frankly, with my back I don’t think I could lug the bastard around. And look, as a full-time naked blogger he could deduct it as a business expense, I can’t afford $23.7 million… That’s almost two weeks of social security checks⁶.

The headlines were the same today as yesterday it seems. Luxembourg is the seventh European nation to make Arabic their official language⁷, George Quinton Robert Romney Bush has already announced for the 2056 Presidential election, having just turned 26. His uncle, President George Herbert Smith William Bush II pledged his instant support, himself the frontrunner in the 2048 race. His cousin, George Walker Texas Ranger Jefferson Bush, the current Governor of Old Mexico, cried foul – understandably, why his Dad would go supporting someone else for 2056 when GWTRB was running in 2052 and might be trying for reelection himself in 2056 was a little odd.

Although, hey, ever since the Bush and Clinton political families put aside their differences and pledged only to marry each other, the genetic material’s gotten a little thin. It wasn’t in the news, but I imagine George William Hillary Bush-Clinton, the military governor of Afganiraqanianistan is probably pissed.

I'll tell you though that these ten year presidential election cycles⁸ are getting a little tiresome...

The siege of Fort Gino in Arizona continued. I’d have to remember to send him an email. I mean, really, how important are incandescent bulbs anyway? Jeez. Just give up the lightbulbs⁹ Gino.

"Wifeypooh? Tull tickets?" She responded that she had placed the order for tickets, and Ian and the Boys, well the embalmed corpse of Ian and four sessions players all born about ten years after Ian passed out and fell out of his walker on stage that fateful night in Providence, playing the Jacobi bar mitzvah¹⁰.

But we loyalists still show and hope that one of these years they'll produce a new album. Although fifty years later Dot.com still holds up, I'll tell you what.

I surfed over to Large Regular, where Chris is mocking Bill Simmons for having a real, live, stroke when the Celtics yet again got screwed in an NBA draft lottery, getting the supersecret purple ping pong which gives them the last pick in the NBA draft, right after last year's champion, the Beijing Yau Mings¹¹. Well, there's always the Patriots who have won the last 39 Superbowls¹² and will be coached this year by a retarded Monkey with one testicle. The Krafts complained that the NFL forced them to hire the retarded monkey, but given the fact that the the majority of NFL teams are coached by Schottenheimers, the descendants of Marty and Brian, the commissioner figured that was the only way to level the playing field.

Of course, I had to surf through 57 popup ads of Peyton Manning trying to get my to buy a Rascal. That bastard's been dead and he's still in 67.3% of all the ads¹³ on Webovision. Well, that's what winning one superbowl (and choking 14 other times in the playoffs) will get you...

And, don't you know, I've been on the webovision longer than they government allows¹⁴ (don't want us to all get obese, you know...) so Wifeypooh breaks in and gently reminds me it's time for my mandatory exercises.

Well, that's fine. RW said he wanted to break-in the new flying Mini and wanted to zoom up to Minnesota to hear Harmonica Man's latest band rock the nursing home. I've read of his prowess with the holographic harmonica is something to experience in person.

Afterward he promised to drop me off in Toronto. I've got a hot date...

If the home system would just stop it's interminable bitching... Yes, I am wearing this out of the house, thank you very much. No, I don't mind that it's a velour sweatsuit... Yes, yes, I'll be back by ten... Jeez. Where's the remote?

Damn that boy. He disabled the mute button.