I suppose the best way to break it would be to tell the most unbelievable news first:
You see... Within the next five decades... Men... They will... breasts will become boring!
There, I've said it, and it pains me to say something so blasphemous. I realize now that I am subjecting myself to distrust and ridicule. I can only ask that you believe my story, and make your own judgments in the end, for it was the day man scorched the sky....
It all started one day this past summer, when I watched the Back to the Future series. As you all know, these movies are--without question--the best in humankind's history. Marty McFly was the man. Keeping this in mind, perhaps you'll see that it was no real feat for me to be inspired enough to create something as wondrous as a real time machine. After 6 months of plowing and puzzling like MacGyver in a tool shed, I created one � using a lead exhaust pipe, wires, and a Duke of Hazards lunchbox � and it worked.
I decided to go 50 years into the future, wanting to see if my lineage had overtaken the world yet. My preparation was meager, as I didn't think I had anything that would be of use to me in the future, except a couple of Led Zeppelin records that I figured would be a worth a fortune.
Before departing I took a deep breath. Who knew what time traveling would be like? Nauseating? Maybe. Disorienting? Probably.
Neither. It was mildly orgasmic--though not pleasurable enough to be satisfying. It's kind of like when you're going solo, and you're about to reach the top and everything starts to get pleasantly warm... but then you realize you're a loser without no girl because you have no game, no play, sitting in a pool of pretzels, beer, and Xbox controllers. The orgasm that is life withers into something disappointing.
Anyway, it turns out that my lineage hadn't taken over the world. Indeed, no formal governmental systems were in control, because the world had become a place structured around sexual and emotional passion, and no conservative authority can exist in such a society. People screwed anywhere they wanted, however they wanted, and whenever they wanted. It was like if I were transplanted into the Spice Channel.
My time machine appeared in a back room of some high class strip joint--for beautiful women with perfect bodies and gorgeous faces pranced around completely naked. Or at least I thought it was a strip joint, until I saw the youngsters, parents, and grandparents sitting at tables and eating dinner, then I realized - it was a McDonald�s. I would later learn that for a good thirty years Ronald McDonald had been renamed as Micky-the-Pimp.
I sat at a table and ordered a Big & Long Mac burger, not knowing how I was going to pay.
As I waited for my order to arrive, an old man sat near me, smiled, and said, "I guess this is the part where I tell you all about the last 50 years, huh?" Turns out he was a good friend of mine in his 70�s. We talked all night, and here are some of the things he told me:
The day boobs scorched the sky:
In their race to be the sexiest, pop idols Spears and Aguilera will show their boobies on MTV's 2006 Video Music Awards. Men and women alike will tune in from all over the world, and Vaseline and KY Jelly revenues will increase thirty fold. To the deathly disappointment of the billions watching, Aguilera will turn out to have cockeyed breasts and Spears� will be lopsided. Large advertising firms will cash in on the disappointment, paying fortunes to any women who will bare their perfect boobs in commercials. And so will the tragic MTV incident incite a chain reaction that will eventually make revealed boobs common place, thus make them too easy for attainment.
Self-mutilation will reach new heights:
Hardcore pain-enthusiasts will begin cutting off fingers to prove to everyone else that they really (really they do!) like pain. Others will go even further and amputate limbs. The filthy trend will culminate into one last fashion--that being the mutilation of sexual organs. This is good for evolution, because then all of the idiots will die off.
Sex will attain religious status:
Dictated by Our Lords and Saviors, Jenna Jameson and Peter North. Among the first saints will be: Snoop Dogg, Rob Lowe, and Bill Clinton.
Vanilla Coke will attain religious status:
Much to the no one's disbelief, Vanilla Coke will stay around well into the latter half of this century. Not only that, but it will later be referred to simply as 'Coke'--replacing the company's original drink. Pepsi Twist will also endure the years and its disciples will grow in number steadily--until one day in the late 'forties, when hordes of Cokers will bomb Pepsi factories all over the world. Injustice will prevail, and Cokeanism will become the world's second-most predominant religion.
Educational boards will finally catch the hint��and refine sexual education classes in elementary school so that they're actually useful. Most notable of the teachings will be: How to maximize pleasure during orgasm, safety precautions for burgeoning sadomasochists, definition of the tea bag and other sexual terminologies, and the pros and cons of various sexual devices like the Vietnamese Coochie hammock. Teachers will also encourage kids to take a 'hands-on' approach to their learning.
Hot, sweet girls will never stop liking asshole guys:
After hearing this, I grieved heartily. I cried loudly and without reserve. But my old man of a friend assured me that I would marry someone beautiful. As I pumped my fist in glee, he then burst my bubble by telling me that she would actually leave me � for another woman.
At that moment a seductive looking waitress clad only in earrings approached my table with the check. My friend then paid for us both--first asking the waitress how much slaps were on Wednesday, then slapping her butt and paying accordingly--and so I felt obliged to return the favor.
I fished out my Led Zeppelin records and handed them to him in a compassionate gesture, to which he smiled and said: "Keep them. They're trash now. No one will want 'em. �Classical is all the rage nowadays!" �Classical?� I replied. He smiled at me then said, �Yeah - Run DMC�s My Adidas is today�s Beethoven�s 5th, son.�