Keeping Our Retirees Blister-Free
Let’s imagine a future where retirees never get blisters, even if they’ve been handling charcoal all day long. You might call me cynical or you might call me Cynthia, but either way I still think it’s a nice future. And what would our nation’s retirees think of it? Why, they’d jump up and down and charbroil their corn flakes all day long!
I think this would revolutionize data gaggling in our new technological society. Jaguar attacks would become a thing of the past, as senior citizens could sit on the Internet all day long, tracking jaguars and updating the charcoal board with little pinheads denoting their current positions. And with no blisters to slow them down, these retirees could work all day long, to the grave misfortune of killer jaguars everywhere.
Is there anything that our forefathers would have preferred? No, this is their ultimate utopia that they dared not discuss, lest it not come to pass through jinxing. Maybe they would have led to the Internet never being invented, or “jaguar” being another name for gummi bears; you never know what kinds of damage you can do to the future if you start hoping and wishing for things out loud. Our forefathers were well-versed in the restrictions of changing the future, and they were careful never to write down anything about the Internet, jaguars, or retirees anywhere in our Constitution. This is why we still honor them today.
But we don’t roast them like we would to Flava Flav or someone like that. Why not? Aren’t they our nation’s sweethearts, written on teenage girls’ notebooks across the country? Oh Thomas Jefferson, you’re so dreamy? Sure, of course, but that’s no excuse to roast them up like a common duckling. Have some decency, people. Jokes about how paunchy John Adams is looking or how decomposed George Washington is have no place in our orderly, metronomic society of clockwork robots.
No, wait, not robots. Humans. I never get those right. Why did our forefathers have to mold us in the image of robots? It makes life so confusing. But I know they knew best, that’s what they tell us over and over. One day I’m sure it will all make sense, just like duct tape — for years duct tape is confusing, and then one day it suddenly makes sense. That’s what robots are like, I’m sure. Don’t you dare say that they serve no purpose, or I’ll attack you, leaving you shoeless and slurping pennies off the sidewalk. Your gears will forever grind together like a merciless birthday party that just keeps going and going and shows no signs of ever ending.