By Justin E. H. Smith
Hail myself! Hail the iron law of my development! In just five years
I have increased fat production by ten percent, and average snore
decibels by twice that. In keeping with actually existing conditions, I
have also reduced shampoo use to austerity-era levels, and increased
fourfold the daily repetition of tales of the courage I showed in
youth.
And hail my future! In five years’ time, I will surpass my father, that running-dog of the Oak Park branch of State Farm Insurance, in nap-minutes per afternoon, in handfuls of Costco pretzels, consumed without deliberation, as the will of the hand and the mouth dictates.
And the ear-hair harvest will enjoy record yields, as Ninelle procures the latest machine for its removal --the removal of actually existing hair-- which works as well in nostril as in ear, the greatest achievement yet of the November 11 Technical Innovation Shock Brigade: The Nozdromat-5!
Lo, but the future burns bright, like the titanium-laptop glow that has spread from capital to province in just ten years, and in another ten will glow in every room of every apartment bloc, in every corner of our steely bathroom. Ninelle will have only to brush the warm screen with her breath, and it will perform her very toilet for her.
