Well, here’s something different from me—some fiction! The idea for this short story came to me when I was thinking how hard it must be to be a dystopian fiction writer these [insane] days. So naturally, I thought, ‘let me give it a shot.’ I hope you’ll enjoy my speculative look at the future.
NOTE: Please don’t skip the footnotes! To read them without having to scroll all the way to the end, hover over the little number and a pop-up will appear. For this reason, reading this story on a computer is better than on a phone.
“GET ME OFF THIS FUCKING PLANET!” became THE catchphrase of 2037. People had been saying the expression–or variations of it–for years, but it really took off when the little girl uttered it at the annual White House Holiday Tree Lighting Ceremony, where it was captured by various iPhone-wielding vloggers.
The girl, Em4a (pronounced ‘Emma’; the 4 is silent) was the winner of Keebler’s ‘Send An Elf To Washington’ contest and had the distinguished honor of placing her tiny hand over the President’s hand, where together they pulled the lever on the giant novelty switch which illuminated the lights on the thirty-foot-tall (non-denominational) tree.
There she was on stage with President Mulvaney and the Gender-Neutral Santa Person1, skipping happily as she tossed certified non-GMO candy canes to the jealous children below, when she tripped over a cord that had been neglected to be taped down. She stumbled spectacularly (like Scooby Doo and Shaggy scuttling over spilled marbles) across the length of the fake snow-covered stage and landed face-first in the gluten-free gingerbread replica of the White House. Pop sensation/Influencer Messica, who was standing by offstage waiting for her cue to sing everyone's favorite Christmas carol “Jingle Bells”2 witnessed this epic blunder and rushed to Em4a’s rescue. Helping Em4a up, she picked gumdrops out of the 6-year-old’s hair and in doing so, inadvertently allowed her live microphone (clipped to her halter top betwixt her festively glittered cleavage) to pick up the child’s frustrated outburst.
“Get me off this…fucking planet,” an annoyed and disoriented Em4a said, as the vloggers filmed. She shook her fist (adorably!) as she said this, clearly mimicking the gesture and cadence of the grownup who had unwittingly taught her the phrase. According to Em4a's very embarrassed mother in interviews later that afternoon, it was a favorite expression of her husband's, and that must’ve been how little Em4a picked it up...and chose this fateful moment to unveil it. The kid had timing, alright.
In response to this unexpected event, President Mulvaney3--quick and cheeky as always--grabbed the mic to thank the crowd for coming out to celebrate the holiday season and her 307th day as Girl President. This being the first (but certainly not last) polyamorous Presidential marriage, Madam President was joined onstage by the First Lady, Second Lady, First Gentleman, and First Nonbinary Individual.
“Oh, my stars!” shrieked Mulvaney, clutching her Barbie pouch. “Well, doesn’t that little girl have some moxie! Reminds me of myself when I was that age! Of course, I wasn’t…[dramatic pause]...allowed to use that kind of language!”
“Get me off this fucking planet…”
No one knew where the phrase originated, but that didn’t stop dozens of social media personalities from claiming to have coined it. A few posted ‘evidence’ of themselves uttering the phrase in supposed past videos, and watched their follower counts jump. But the public didn’t care who was first--they had already anointed little Em4a’s rendition as the favorite. Her voice could be heard over hundreds of thousands of lip-synced videos, usually remixed and accompanied by the new ‘GMOTFP’ dance craze. Em4a and her mom appeared on The View, where the confused child delighted the panel4 by repeating the words, as the studio audience whooped and applauded.
Naturally, Saturday Night Live’s 62nd season capitalized on the catchphrase in a sketch featuring ‘returning cast member’ CGI John Belushi, who later made history as the first actor to receive an Emmy award for a performance executed while being dead.5
At Amazon warehouse 7395H, Kat ducked into one of the MultiGender bathroom stalls and blinked twice to activate her iPhone 29. Knowing she only had three minutes, she didn’t bother sitting even though her legs were killing. If she rested now, she might not be able to get up. Quickly, she scrolled through her notifications to see if there were any messages or emails from her sister. It had been over a month since she’d been arrested at a raid at an underground ‘Cis Lesbians’ club. Kat feared the worst. Was she being reprogrammed, like so many others? CL clubs had been outlawed in all but six states. During raids, the caught offenders were brought to reeducation camps, where they were taught to overcome their hateful discrimination against women with penises.
Alas, there were no communications from Maddy, but there were two somewhat alarming messages: one from the administrator at her mother’s retirement facility, and another from her son’s guidance counselor. Both requested her immediate response. Fuck. She only had two hours to kill between Amazon and her second job, and was hoping to get in a quick nap, but it looks like that wasn’t happening.
Since the guidance counselor was only requesting a video chat, she could take that call on the way to the retirement home; that way she could fit in a short visit with her mom after seeing what the administrator wanted to talk about. And the retirement home was on the way to her next stop at…
‘BODILY-FUNCTION-BREAK-PERIOD-OVER’ intoned the Robot Dog which had suddenly appeared outside her stall, and Kat jumped. How the fuck do these things creep in so quietly?!
‘IMMEDIATELY-GET-BACK-TO-YOUR-WORK-STATION’.
“Alrightalrightalright,” Kat muttered, and flushed the toilet for appearances’ sake. She hesitated and then shook her head at the absurdity of her current situation: bathroom theatrics to fool a canine robot rule enforcer. ‘Get me off this fucking planet,’ she whispered under her breath.
Staycee was waiting for her at the packing station. “Did you see my latest FlimFlam? It’s already gotten 50 floops! And 4 refloops!”
“You’re so inspiro,” Kat sighed. “I wish I could get that many…I just don’t have the time. What was it about?”
“The twins’ birthday party! I wish you coulda been there. The pole dancer was amazing! She taught the twins some great moves! $2,000 well spent.”
“I can’t believe Qdoba and Panera are already 6. Where does the time go?” Kat sighed. As usual, she let the rest of her thoughts remain unshared in order to keep the worktime conversation light. Pole dancers at children’s birthday parties. Good lord. “Sorry I missed the party. Where did you have it?”
“I rented one of the Amazon community rooms. We get a great employee discount, didya know?”
“Yeah, I’d heard that…still,” Kat hesitated. “It’s so sad that you couldn’t have it at your house.”
Staycee flinched as she reached for a new role of packing tape. Her eyes looked upward, and she cocked her head. “House?”
“Don’t you remember? You had that cute little two-bedroom on the east side? We used to sunbathe and drink shandies out on your deck?”
Staycee squinted, like she was trying to see something far in the distance. “I kinda remember having a house...”
Kat had feared this. It had only been two months but the drugs were beginning to have stronger effects than advertised.
“Uggggghhhh, I don’t miss having a house! All that cleaning!” growled Margot, who was listening (as usual) at her workstation across from Kat and Staycee. Margot had been on Forgetrix™️6 for a year. She was recently widowed from a forty year marriage but seemed unbothered by it. When Kat had offered her condolences the day after the funeral, Margot just shrugged and continued working.
“Like, TOtally!” Staycee nodded enthusiastically in agreement, although her face still had a confused and lost expression. Staycee had signed up for the drug because, like most people, she had some things she’d rather forget: ex-husband, family trauma, shattered dreams…all the usual stuff. But also--once she had come down from the high--she regretted selling her house to buy tickets for Taylor Swift’s farewell tour. (Worse, she couldn’t even remember the concert--and that was before she started taking Forgetrix™️.) So when the pharmaceutical rep showed up at Amazon with a big smile, bigger promises, and a suitcase of free samples, it just seemed like an easy and practical solution.
Now, like Kat, Margot, and the vast majority of Amazon workers, she was living in her AVH (Autonomous Vehicle & Home). Compared to the first week after selling her house (crying constantly and subsequently getting written up for her drop in productivity), there was a definite improvement in her demeanor after taking the first few doses.
“It’s actually great!” she had chirped to anyone who would listen. “I really only used my house for sleeping between my three jobs anyway! Now I just sleep while my AVH drives me from Amazon to the Nail Salon, to Hooters.” But that was five weeks ago. Today was the first time Kat noticed Staycee’s memories slipping away.
“Are you caught up with Animal Wars?” Staycee asked Kat, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Tigers are ahead! Go tigers!”7
After her shift ended, Kat face-scanned out and waved goodbye to her coworkers. Constance, the security guard, eyed Kat approaching the exit and bounced off of her stool. “Kat-er-ina, done for the day?” she sang in her husky voice.
Kat was in no mood for Constance’s bullshit. “You know it.” She held out her bag for inspection.
“I’m wearing a new diaper today,” Constance grinned, ignoring Kat’s bag. “What do you think?” She did a little spin to show off the bulge beneath her uniform. “It’s Marc Jacobs.”
“That’s great, Con. I’m in kind of a hurry…”
“Did you get a TQIA2SMFZEDR+8 Ally button?” Constance held out a large button with an extremely busy design of multicolored zigzagging stripes, swooshes, and shapes.
“Thanks, I have one.” Kat pointed to her lapel.
“Oh, but we have a new flag! They added a safety pin for the Diaper Community. See? You must upgrade.”
Kat sighed and accepted the button. She shuddered when Constance’s clammy hand came in contact with her own. “Thanks. Can I go now?”
Constance frowned and rifled through Kat’s bag to make sure she hadn’t stolen anything from the company. “Oooooo,” she squealed, pulling out a lipstick and uncapping it. “Is this the shade I always see you wearing? I’ve been looking for a fiery red.”
Kat grabbed her bag from Constance’s grip, hustled past toward the exit and called over her shoulder, “Keep it. My gift to you.” It’ll look great with your five o’clock shadow.
Once safely in her AVH, Kat used half a bottle of hand sanitizer and threw off her uniform. “Take me to mom’s, Nancy,” she instructed the vehicle. (She had named her AVH Assistant ‘Nancy’. Her voice just seemed to sound like a ‘Nancy’.)
“Driving to mom’s.” Nancy intoned, as the vehicle started up. “Would you like to stop at McDonald’s for a Quadruple Big Mac and Fries? A value meal is only $39.00.”
“No thank you, Nancy,” Kat replied, even though she was starving. “I’ll just have this Cricket & Mealworm KIND bar.” Why am I explaining myself?
After the quick snack, she took a deep breath, changed into her nicest and least wrinkly blouse, and made herself as comfortable as possible (while also giving the appearance of being an alert, responsible parent) and entered the number for her son’s school on the dashboard screen. The guidance counselor answered promptly, her green hair and pinched face filling the screen. She thanked Kat for returning her call, and got right to the point. “We need to have a talk about Abraham.”
Kat stared at the screen blankly. “Who is Abraham?”
The guidance counselor made a light ‘hmmmpphh’ sound and said, impatiently, “your son?”
“There must be some confusion. My son’s name is Matthew.”
The guidance counselor pursed her lips. “Abraham spoke with me this morning and informed me of your unwillingness to accept his identity. Are you now confirming this?”
Kat was getting annoyed, but knew better than to let her temper rise. She put on her fake smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused. What…identity…would that be?”
“Your son Abraham identifies as a 77-year-old man. Are you aware of this fact?”
Kat examined the guidance counselor’s face looking back at her on the screen. Was this a joke? No, she was completely serious. What is happening right now? “Ummm, Mx Travers…could you elaborate?”
“Certainly.” The guidance counselor put on her glasses and picked up a tablet. “Do you recall an incident on or around Thanksgiving in which yourself, Abraham, and Abraham’s father were discussing potential Christmas presents?”
What the…? “Ummm….yes?”
“Ahem.” The guidance counselor began reading. “My dad asked what I wanted for Christmas and I told him a chess/checkers set, mahjong, and one of those new Sony retro 8-track players. And some Crosby, Stills, and Mash 8-tracks.” She paused. “I believe he meant ‘Nash’.”
Kat sighed. “Yes. But I don’t see what…”
“I’ll go on,” Mx Travers interrupted. “My dad said something like, ‘oh, our son is an old soul!’ My mom rolled her eyes at my dad and said, ‘go to hell, Troy.’” Here, she stopped, removed her glasses, and looked at Kat.
“Is that it?” Kat asked. “Is there more?”
“Mrs. Plummer, are you confirming that you don’t believe your son has an old soul?”
“My ex-husband was saying that Matthew is an old soul, not has an old soul. He doesn’t literally HAVE an old soul.” Kat paused for a sign of understanding, but received none. “It’s just an expression?” she added, hopefully helpfully.
“Mmmm hmmm…” Mx Travers appeared to be scrawling notes on her tablet.
“Look, that was in the middle of a typical fight with my ex-husband…he and I don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things concerning our kids--he only sees them every other weekend and holidays so he’s not really aware of--it’s just…I get irritated--well, with everything he says--but when he makes these dumb proclamations as if…” Shit. She was rambling.
“Mrs. Plummer, as you know, we have a zero tolerance policy concerning parents unwilling to validate their child’s authentic self. I was hoping that with this little chat today we could…’get you on board’, as they say. Now, how does that sound?” Her lips formed something that resembled a smile.
Kat nodded slowly. She had heard too many stories from other parents and was beginning to get nervous. “What is it that you would like me to do?”
The guidance counselor perked up. She was ready to do her favorite part of her job: issuing her list of demands. “Well, first, we need you to acknowledge your son’s true identity. He is a 77-year-old man named Abraham. He…” Here, she checked her notes. “...has a slight limp from years of rheumatism, and difficulty hearing. We have already issued Abraham a cane, and the school nurse has started the paperwork to get him a hearing aid.”
Kat wanted to scream. The nerve of this fucking bitch, explaining her own son to her. Her child. Who, apparently, had taken an off-the-cuff remark and ran with it. But Kat knew better than to argue--as a parent, she had no rights. “Anything else?” she asked, through gritted teeth.
“Yes. We have taken the liberty of acquiring some age-affirming clothes for Abraham, and we have honored his request for an age-affirming haircut.” She looked to the left and motioned for someone off-camera to join her. “Abraham, would you like to say hello to your mother?”
Kat watched as her thirteen-year-old son cautiously shuffled into frame, where a beaming Mx Travers lovingly placed her arm around him. Matthew was wearing orthopedic shoes, a pair of tan slacks hiked up past his navel, a plaid button-up shirt, and polka-dot bow tie. Above a pair of thick-framed spectacles, his head had been shaved a good three inches past the top of his forehead, giving the impression that he had a receding hairline. For good measure, his eyebrows had been mussed, giving a bushy and unkempt appearance.
“Salutations, mother.”
Get me off this fucking planet…
Kat arrived at the retirement home and made her way to the common room, where the administrator had instructed her to meet with her mother’s caretaker. “OK, I’m here,” Kat announced flatly, her patience worn after the interaction with her son’s school. At least she had more clout here, seeing as she was paying for her mother’s room, board, and welfare.
“Thank you for taking the time, Mrs. Plummer,” said the kindly-faced nurse, as she clasped Kat’s hand warmly. “We hate to take you away from your work, I know you’re very busy, we just didn’t know what to do…”
Kat’s demeanor softened. “Ooohh, it’s fine. I have some time between my jobs, I’m glad you called. So where is mom right now?”
“She’s right over there,” the nurse motioned, pointing across the room to where Kat’s mother was parked in a rocking chair by a window. “As Jylle probably told you, your mother has had several outbursts in the past 24 hours.”
“I see. And how did this start?”
The nurse let out a huge breath of air. “Hoooooo…well, it began last night as we were gathering the tenants for Facebook time. As you know, we allow two hours after dinner and we have a very limited supply of the older model computers your mother’s generation feels comfortable with.”
“Yes. And the oldsters do love their Facebook, don’t they?”
“I’d say so, yes. It gives them a sense of security. Well, anyway, the…trouble…seemed to begin when your mom got locked out of her account.”
Kat sighed. “Again?” Her mother was constantly forgetting her passwords and getting locked out of all her various accounts.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. And when another resident attempted to help her, well, that just seemed to make things worse.”
“I understand,” Kat nodded. She had been in that particular scenario with her mother more than once.
“It was at that point that your mother blamed the other resident--Mrs. Oliver--for her getting locked out of her account, and, well, that was when things began to get heated.” The nurse paused for a moment. “Perhaps…I shouldn’t have suggested the Candy Crush…”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I was trying to make the best of the situation…” the nurse explained. “Your mother still had an hour and forty-five minutes left of her time, but she was to be locked out of her Facebook account for an hour. So I suggested she play Candy Crush in the meantime. You know, that’s another favorite with the older set. It’s very comforting.”
“Let me guess,” Kat said, wearily. “You asked my mother for her Candy Crush credentials?”
The nurse nodded. “She blew up at me. She went on and on about how she couldn’t possibly be expected to recall hundreds of usernames and passwords. She stormed off to the TV room. Well, things got worse there. The television had been unplugged by the Cleaning Bot and when your mother turned it on, a prompt appeared for the Xfinity WiFi network name, username, 12-digit access code, and 39-digit-password.”
Jeezis Kryst, Kat thought. “OK, let me talk to her…”
The nurse nodded and led Kat through the sea of seniors to the back of the common room where her mother was muttering to herself.
“0 seven one three one nine seven four D-E-B. O seven ONE three one nine seven four D-E-B. O seven one THREE nineteen-seventy-four D-E-B…”
“Deborah?” the retirement home nurse spoke as she approached hesitantly. “Your daughter--”
“It’s not good enough! It’s not good enough!!!!” the shellshocked senior citizen in the rocking chair yelled.
Kat looked on with alarm from a few steps away. She had never seen her mother in such a state.
“They LIE! They always LIE!!!!” Deborah seethed. “They say they’ll remember but they never do! NEVER!!!!”
“Who...who are we talking about, Deborah?” the nurse carefully asked.
“YOU KNOW WHO!” Deborah snapped. “‘If you choose to trust this browser, you will not be asked for three-step verification as often.’ HA!!!”
Kat bit her lip. She was beginning to understand. Her mother’s mind had snapped.
“It has to be unique,” Deborah looked up at the nurse and pleaded, with a tear coming from her eye. “They ALL have to be unique! How can they all be unique?! Month after month after month after month after…” Her voice trailed off and she turned to gaze out the window. Suddenly, something caught her eye. “Bluebird! I always liked bluebirds! Capital B-l-u-e…6…exclamation point!!!! R, D?” She turned to look at the nurse. “Will that do?”
“Deborah?” the nurse asked, gently. “This is your daughter Katherine. Do you remember Katherine?”
Kat’s mom looked up at her and her face changed from sorrow to amusement. Suddenly, she started giggling.
Kat looked at the nurse, who gave a ‘beats me’ shrug. “Mom?” Her mother continued her giggling fit. She began lightly stamping her feet as the laughter grew.
Kat’s mother motioned for Kat to come closer--apparently she had a secret she wanted to share. Kat leaned in closer. “Yes, mom? What is it?”
Her mother cupped her hand and whispered, “They said I need a Special Character.” She paused for a moment and grinned. “Will you be my Special Character?”
“Yes, mom. I always will be.”
When Kat arrived at Marsha P Johnson Elementary School, Paige was standing on the corner, crying. “Nancy, open passenger door,” Kat instructed. The door slowly swung open and Paige rushed inside, flinging her iMac on the floor and throwing herself on the back seat/bed.
“I’m never going back to that school again!!!!” she wailed, tears pouring from her eyes. She shoved her face in her pillow and started wailing.
“Honey, honey! What’s wrong!? Tell mommy what happened!” Kat implored.
“I wish I was never born!!!” was the frantic reply she got in return.
“Wendy’s is only 5 miles away,” Nancy suggested. “Shall we make a quick stop? A medium size cold and delicious Frosty is only $11, including tax…”
“Nancy, shut up!” Kat snapped.
Paige lifted her head from the pillow and sniffled. “Actually, that sounds good…”
Kat sighed. “You win again, Nancy. Sure, detour to Wendy’s.”
Ten minutes later, spooning the treat into her mouth, Paige was able to tell her mother what had happened at school that day. “We were learning about paper and how you guys used to use it for stuff in the old days.”
Kat nodded. “Yes, yes, the ‘old days’.”
Paige continued. “Miss Floyd had examples of newspapers and magazines--did you know there useta be somethin’ called ‘Woman’s Day’? Soooo old-fashioned!”
Kat winced at the memory of the W word. “Yes, I recall.”
“Anyways, we were lookin’ at all this old stuff and then Miss Floyd gave us an assignment to design our own magazine. They passed out these things called cranz--”
“Crayons,” Kat corrected.
“Cray-yawnz. And they gave us each a sheet of plain white paper.” Suddenly, Paige’s eyes began to well up again. The story had not yet taken a dramatic turn, so Kat was a bit perplexed as to where this could possibly be leading.
“OK. That sounds like a fun assignment, right?” Kat rubbed Paige’s back. “Then what happened, sweetie?”
“Then Rahbie held up his blank sheet of white paper and said, ‘Look, it’s Paige!’”
Kat waited for the next sentence. Paige just glared back at her, her bottom lip trembling. “Did that…upset you for some reason?”
“MOMMMMMM!!” Paige was getting frustrated at her mother’s obliviousness. “He said I was like that old piece of paper--outdated, white, and useless!”
“He said…what??”
“Why did you have to marry daddy?! Why couldn’t you marry someone more DIVERSE?! I’m the only white kid in school!” She spat out the word ‘white’ with disgust.
Kat was speechless.
“At lunch all the kids were calling me Paper-Face Paige!”
“Oh, honey…” Kat said softly, as she hugged her weeping daughter. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. Did your teacher see any of this happen?”
Paige nodded. “They said for the kids to stop, and that it wasn’t nice to tease me just because I’m more privileged.”
Kat’s face began to burn red with anger.
“I’m never going back to school again,” Paige repeated through sobs.
“Oh, Paige, I know you’re upset right now, but you have to go to school.”
“I can stay with Nancy while you’re at work.”
“I provide virtual schooling capabilities, sponsored by Mattel,” Nancy offered. “For just twenty dollars a day…”
“Shut up, Nancy!” Kat commanded. “No, I’m not leaving you with a virtual babysitter.”
“I’m not a baby!” Paige pouted.
“I know, but you’re not old enough to ride around in our car/home all day. I’m sorry, baby, but you have to go to school.”
Paige threw her hands in her lap, frustrated. “But moooomm! The kids are gonna--”
“Don’t worry about those kids. I’m sure by Monday everyone will already have forgotten about it and it won’t even come up again.”
Paige wiped her eyes with an already drenched Wendy’s napkin, getting some chocolate Frosty on her cheeks in the process. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” Kat said, although she didn’t really believe this. She remembered from her own youth how relentlessly cruel kids could be. And wait until those dumb kids figured out the correlation between ‘paper’ and ‘Paige’. She was sure she’d be having this conversation again Monday, but what else could she do? She had to send her kid to school.
Paige exhaled and nodded, suddenly bored with the subject and ready to move on. “Can I watch The Enby Kids?” she asked.
“You know I hate that show,” Kat answered.
“But, mom, it’s DISNEY!”
“Exactly. Can’t you find something more…wholesome to watch?” Something that’s not trying to indoctrinate you, Kat thought.
“What about The Charmin Bears Comedy Hour?”
Kat rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“How about…The New Adventures of Sylvester & Tweety?” Paige asked, flipping around the channels on the video screen.
Hmmm, Kat thought. When did they reboot that? Sounds safe enough. “Sure.” She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. At last, she would be able to get some rest on the way to drop off Paige at her father’s.
After a few minutes Paige’s excited voice woke her up from her nap. “Mom, did you know Tweety is twans?!”
Get me off this fucking planet.
“Take me to the Sleep Lot,” Kat instructed the vehicle, and it started up quietly. She waved goodbye to Paige through the window and watched as her daughter ran to Troy’s AVH. She knew Paige was excited because part of Daddy Time meant the fun of helping her father fill Instacart orders for four hours before bedtime. She loved dropping off the bags on doorways and ringing the doorbells, and it was a great help to Troy, too.
Kat had a good two hours to rest before she would arrive at her own nighttime job. They didn’t call it ‘moonlighting’ anymore, and people stopped saying ‘side hustle’ too. The new cutesy name for working nonstop just to survive was ‘clock-rocking’. People bragged about how many hours they had clock-rocked, and felt guilty if they had a free day to rest. It almost felt like a competition to see who could work the most. Americans were weird. ‘Staycations’? Those were gone too. No one had a home to stay put anyway. The only respite available was in your AVH between gigs. This was known as ‘pausing’. Some referred to it as a brief ‘intermotion’.
“Lights off,” Kat yawned, and the windows blackened, shutting out the sun. Thank God for the Sleep Lot; she could park there until it was time to go to her shift at Texas Roadhouse.
After a minute or two of traveling, Kat noticed an odor in the vehicle. She sniffed her armpits. Damn. There was no time to stop at AmazonClean for a shower, so she looked around the seat for her deodorant. Nope--fresh out. I’ll just stop at Target on the way, she thought, but then remembered it was ‘No Whites Wednesday’.9 Fuck. She shrugged and leaned back into the cushions. Her coworkers would just have to put up with her stank.
Despite her exhaustion, Kat’s eyes would not close. Her mind was spinning, reviewing the events of the day. Ugghh, maybe if I watch a movie or something, she thought. She opened up Netflix and flipped through the menu for something that would possibly lull her to sleep. She settled on The Birdcage, which was a movie she had remembered liking back in the day. It started up and to her chagrin, she realized it was not the Robin Williams farce she had previously enjoyed, but the 2026 remake. This one was a drama and had Daniel Radcliffe and Elliot Page as the gay male (cisgender and noncisgender) couple who have to pose as a straight couple to fool a visiting conservative anti-gay senator. She pressed ‘back’ to read the Netflix description, which noted that Mr. Page won an Academy Award for his ‘brave and moving’ performance as a man forced to pretend to be a woman. Kat rolled her eyes and pressed ‘off’. “Get me off this fucking planet,” she said out loud, though there was no one else in her vehicle to hear her.
What the hell is happening? She wondered. How did we get here? Why is everyone and everything so crazy? She picked up her iPhone and started scrolling through apps, searching for something to get her mind off her life. But she was too tired to play any games, too annoyed by her fellow humans to look at any of their fake photos or contrived videos, and too stressed out to look at any ‘news’. She threw the device on the floor and sighed. Welp, I guess I’m just gonna lie here until I get to work. Great.
Kat’s mind raced through her tragicomedy of a life and the state of the world in general. She had always considered herself a good-natured person, able to shrug off the things she couldn’t control. Although Kat was not a religious person, she often found comfort in the Serenity Prayer. But lately, every day seemed to bring a new reason to despair.
Get me off this fucking planet, she had thought to herself at her daughter’s doctor examination, in which the pediatrician smiled and asked Paige if she had decided which puberty she wanted to go through.
“Get. Me. Off. This FUCKING planet,” she had said when Time Warner introduced TASC (The Active Shooter Channel) because mass shootings had become so commonplace that they were taking up too much important ‘Breaking News’ time on CNN.
“Get me off this fucking planet,” she had cried to her iPhone after Tinder merged with Yelp, and the guy she had endured three lackluster dates with had given her pity fellatio a two-star rating.
“GodDAMMIT get me OFF this FUCKING planet!” she had said through gritted teeth as Alexa informed her that the Supreme Court had ruled that AI has full personhood.
She awoke to a loud humming sound coming from outside. Whaddaya know, she had fallen asleep after all. Wait. Shit. She grabbed her iPhone from the floor, but it was dead. “Nancy. What time is it?”
“The time is 12:36 am,” Nancy responded. DAMN, how had her phone battery died?! She had missed her shift and was sure to be fired. Now she’d have to find another job, and quick. Maybe Staycee could put in a good word for her at--
Suddenly, a bright flash of light shot through her [ostensibly light-blocking] windows, blinding her momentarily. “Shit!!” Kat yelled, squinting and covering her eyes with her arms. The light shone for a good twenty seconds, coupled with the humming sound, which grew louder. Both the light and sound ended abruptly. Kat uncovered her eyes and blinked. What the hell was that?! She sat for a moment and looked around, but the vehicle’s windows were black again. It was eerily quiet. “Nancy…open left side window,” she instructed.
The window zoomed down and Kat cautiously peered out. Her heart started beating quickly as she looked past the rows of parked cars and saw the giant object in the distance. “Nancy! Open the left side door.”
The car door swung open and Kat stepped outside. A tear fell from her eye and a smile lit up her face. It was without a trace of fear—only relief, gratitude, and hope—that Kat raised her arms in welcomeness when the aliens approached to take her away.
Gender-Neutral Santa Person–a non-threatening, vaguely congenial, yet still ‘jolly’ version of Santa–was conceived by a 76-person committee comprised of representatives from the Hollywood studios, media companies, streaming services, and the last remaining brick-and-mortar retail establishments, Walmart and Target. It was decided that GNSP could be portrayed by a person of any gender, age (over 18), race, or (on this last matter there was considerable debate) size. Some parties were adamant that GNSP remain fat to promote body positivity, but the representative from Noom (which had recently acquired CBS) gave an impassioned speech that convinced the majority to vote for a lean GNSP option, at the performer’s discretion. Further guidelines: The outfit would consist of a loose-fitting jumpsuit in the traditional Coca-Cola red and white colors, and matching winter-themed hat that completely covered GNSP’s hairstyle, or lack thereof. Santa’s trademark white beard was, naturally, dismissed. There was considerable debate with the Left vs Right over GNSP’s rosy cheeks. While Liberals were enthusiastic about maintaining the look, Conservatives objected to any rouge being applied in a ‘perceived erotic fashion’. [This concern was raised in response to one particular pre-ordinance Santa portrayal by drag queen Rose Aysha]. They settled on a compromise: a red circle no greater than one half inch in diameter on one or both cheeks. Surprisingly, Santa Person was still allowed to say ‘HO HO HO’, although many performers opted for the new, less controversial variation ‘HEE HEE HEE’.
Designated as everyone's favorite because it contains no lyrics that could offend either Christian or non-Christian, since it in fact contains no references whatsoever to the holiday and should not actually even be considered a Christmas carol yet is nonetheless a perennial favorite.
Sure, there were a few people who still couldn’t believe that Mulvaney had won the close election--but she had clearly been the winner in the TikTok Presidential Dance-Off/Debate against Senator Kardashian. What she lacked in twerking skillz, she more than made up for in histrionic crying. How could the voters resist?
Laverne Cox, Jeffrey Marsh, Alok Vaid-Menon, Bina48, and a dazed and bewildered-looking Whoopi Cyborg.
Transhuman actor Zycctön O’Malley, nominated for the sitcom ‘They’s My Momma!’, objected to the inclusion of CGI Belushi on the grounds that he was not technically a living human, whereas O’Malley zimself was at least 42% human. Having previously changed the rules to ban human scriptwriters in favor of superior and ‘much less problematic’ AI scribes, the Television Academy was in no position to rule out non-alive performances. Thus, O’Malley was left awardless for the third year in a row. When the presenters announced the winner of the category, ze was so angry zis titanium nose fell off.
Forgetrix™️, fortuitously devised by Abbvie when they were working on a pain relief medication for pregnant men, was discovered to not only block aches and cramps, but shut out ‘bad thoughts’. Not only that, but in a six-month study, it was further revealed that pleasant thoughts of the study participants’ pasts had also been erased. The clinicians were initially concerned and about to put an immediate end to the production of the drug--but then the results of the test subjects’ exit interviews came in. 100 percent of the participants had reported feeling more positive about their lives.
Corporations seized upon the opportunity, offering to pay for employees’ prescriptions in exchange for a 10% cut in pay. It was sold as ‘guaranteed happiness!’--and it sure seemed that way. It was a win-win for the employers: no more disgruntled employees. Those that once had it pretty good had lost any remembrance of how good it used to be, and those that never had it good to begin with lost any hope of dreaming for anything better. Every day was truly a new day. Productivity soared.
Forgetrix™️ was heralded by the media thusly: ‘They finally found a cure for nostalgia!’ (New York Times). It was praised by Democrats: “This drug is life-saving for people with Situational Anxiety Disorder,” proclaimed Senator AOC. “Despair Care is a human right!”
The miracle drug’s sales soared once the commercial featuring Messica singing the jingle hit everyone’s screens:
Forget your troubles, c’mon get happy!
Now you can chase all your blues away!
Sing Hallelujah, and take Forgetrix™️
Just one little pill each day!
Animal Wars: FOX’s top-rated reality competition show, in which celebrities representing two of the world’s most endangered animals face off in weekly challenges to determine which animal would receive funding towards saving it from extinction. The losing animals for each season are slaughtered and served in limited edition ‘nugget’ form at KFC. Now in its fourth season, the current matchup between Maya Hawke/Elephants and JoJo Siwa/Tigers is proving to be the most popular--defying all predictions, as no one expected it to match the inaugural season throwdown featuring Timothee Chalamet/Pandas vs. Lizzo/Rhinos. (R.I.P. Pandas.)
TQIA2SMFZEDR+: The official ‘Pride’ acronym LGBTQIA+ was shortened in 2026 with the removal of L, G, and B. “For brevity,” clarified the President of GLAAD. However, as the years passed, several new letters were added. “For inclusivity,” the GLAAD President explained. Also notable: the I, originally for ‘Intersex’ was (quietly, with no announcement) changed to ‘Influencers’. The full acronym circa 2045: Transgender, Queer, Influencers, Asexual, Two Spirit, MAPs, Furries, Zaddies, Eunuchs, Digisexuals, Robots, +. As always, it remained unclear what the + stood for.
‘No Whites Wednesday’: As part of its Inclusive efforts for their BIPOC customers, Target had designated Wednesdays as a ‘safe’ shopping day in which Caucasians were not allowed.
Like all great post-apocalyptic fiction, this is *disturbingly* plausible! This was excellent, I could not stop reading and it it way past my bedtime ;)
Please write more "fiction", Gary, this was awesome!! Thanks for the laughs!