Blow me over with a feather attached to a dog

Saturday202X

The year is 202X. Humankind has nearly consumed the stars. Technological advancement has outpaced the futurists’ dreams… and nightmares.

It is a lonely Saturday202X night. You decide to tube in to YouTune on your fancy TV202X. Perhaps your favorite video games player is playing some video games at this very moment.

The glow from the remote paints the valumnium walls neon blue. You chuckle. Clunky infrared signal transmitters were the final comfortable relic to be obliterated by progress. After many years suckling the putrid red nectar of history, you snapped your old remote in half and sailed towards the cobalt horizons of the future.

Connection lost, says the remote. Re-connecting, it whispers, caressing your mind with gentle certainty. Everything will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

It is Saturday202X, after all.

it's sabs, like "sobs"