Tuesday, December 15, 2015
In the grand pantheon of all things geeky, I really only consider myself to be a low-level minor nerd. That said, I do admit to having at least a working familiarity with the standard tropes of science fiction. This is a bummer, because it means I know what's next.
Here's the part of the story where I have to convince you all that the world is ending. And knowing science fiction as I do, this won't be an easy task.
I've read enough books and watched enough bad late-night movies to understand that whenever the apocalypse is nigh, it's usually just ONE spunky do-gooder who ends up in the know. This do-gooder will then try earnestly to get everybody to believe him, but no one ever does. It's sort of like the story of Chicken Little, except with fewer lies and more hellfire and trumpets and flying horsemen.
Since no one usually ever believes the spunky do-gooder, it's then up to him to single-handedly thwart the coming apocalypse and save all of mankind.
Frankly, I've got better things to do. After all, Rock Band 4 came out last week. Even a spunky do-gooder's gotta have priorities, people.
But I am fairly certain that the world's on the brink of catastrophe. I've seen the evidence first-hand, and the only conclusion I can possibly draw is that the End of Days is just around the corner. If it happens before I'm able to gold-star all the songs in Rock Band 4, I'm going to be inconsolable, not to mention very likely dead. Neither of these outcomes is optimal.
Based on the expertise that I have attained by watching the movie "Interstellar" that one time, I'm pretty sure someone has managed to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. You all know the continuum, right? It's the fundamental building block of any good time travel movie. In order for a person to quantum leap their way through time, you need to first think of time as a fourth dimension that's just as tangible as length, width, and depth.
Now, and I realize this is some heavy Stephen Hawking type stuff here, but if you could somehow harness this fourth dimension via a flux capacitor or magic hot tub or what you will, you could theoretically fold time like a piece of paper. Then you just hop in your Delorean, drive past the clock tower, and bust your way to the future or back to the past.
This opens up a big ol' can of wormholes, though. If you travel back to yesteryear, your actions in the past could forever alter the course of history. You could go to the stone age, accidentally step on an anthill, and return home to a world ruled by Nazi dinosaurs. And if you open a hole through the space-time continuum, you'd better have a means to close it back up, otherwise random events in history could just fall through the hole willy-nilly and wreak havoc -- which is exactly what's happening.
Don't believe me? I have clear evidence that the fabric of space-time is collapsing:
It's 2015, and we are in the throes of a presidential election featuring Clinton vs. Bush. Just the other weekend, Ross' Restaurant was selling Rossburgers for $.50 each. The Cubs are in the post-season. And all of this is happening while we patiently await the new seasons of The X-Files, Twin Peaks, and Full House. Clearly, something is amiss.
Now that we've opened the Pandora's Box of Minkowski space anomalies (thanks, Wikipedia), it's just a matter of space-time until all of reality breaks down, chaos reigns over all, and our entire existence is doomed. Before you know it, up will be down, right will be wrong, and McDonalds will be serving breakfast at midnight. Wait, THEY ARE!
Evidence of the complete and total corruption of reality swirls before us:
(1) Donald Trump is running for president. Of the United States. And people are taking him seriously. He's actually leading in the polls. How else can you explain this other than science fiction?
(2) Meanwhile, Kanye West has announced his intent to run for president in 2020. Of the United States. And people are taking him seriously. Well, at least Kanye is taking Kanye seriously, and that's scary enough for me. Granted, it WOULD be pretty awesome to finally hear a State of the Union address that rhymed. If Kanye DOES win in 2020, I hope he considers me for the pivotal role of First DJ. After all, there's no international turmoil that can't be solved with some dope beats, yo.
And if you need further proof that our very sense of reality has run amok:
(3) This week, Playboy magazine announced that in 2016, they're going to cease running nude photos in their pages. Whew. On behalf of grateful men everywhere, thank you, Playboy. Finally we can read your insightful and important articles without all of those pesky naked women getting in the way.
Truth be told, I'm not even a semi-regular reader of Playboy. I'd like to blame it on my high intelligence and refined moral compass. Naw, in truth I can be as crass as the next guy. I've just never been especially titillated by statuesque high-heeled escapees from Planet Silicon. I prefer my fantasies a little more homespun and a lot less airbrushed.
But there's one small segment of our population who no-one's thought about: our flash-in-the-pan celebrities. With Playboy insisting on such liberal ideas as clothing, where will D-list celebrities turn when their last hope of relevancy is to parade around topless? Think of the Tiffanys, Debbie Gibsons, and Drew Barrymores of tomorrow.
The ball is now in your court, world. I'm just a spunky do-gooder playing Rock Band 4 in my basement. It's up to you people to set things right and save the time-space continuum. I don't know how, but if the movies are correct, I think you're supposed to send Arnold Schwarzenegger back through time to kill someone. Do it for our future generations. Do it for the kids. Do it for future First Lady Kim Kardashian so that she always has a pictorial opportunity to fall back on.