As much as I like tracking the progress of my pizza delivery man, let’s be honest: the future sucks.  Being a child raised on a diet of overly optimistic science fiction movies, I had a pretty skewed expectation of where society would be in the year 2011.  

Nothing flies that didn’t 30 years ago, I still haven’t found a hooker with three boobs and I was watching 3D movies back when “Freddy’s Dead” came out; my high hopes to see a world that hovers diminish with every ridiculous product that Apple churns out.  

What’s worse is that my trivial pessimism is met with actual concerns; any time I have a conversation with an adult about the condition of the world they cryptically elude to what a disaster everything is going to be in thirty years.  

Concerns about fish going extinct and the dichotomy of petrol dependency and its growing scarcity are appearing like sores while society’s fighting chance listlessly gazes into the foul glow of their “smart phones” to avoid being bored (ironic).  

    In between trying to avoid mega-cancer and finding a way to pay for my gas tank, I don’t know how much time I can devote to saving the planet from melting and gagging on garbage, which is terrifying. 

I feel like I’m pretty average and I feel like being pretty average is pretty damn popular, so where are these humanitarian freaks we are sending our selfish prayers of redemption for a lifestyle cushioned on cancerous luxuries?  I don’t know either.

    Instead of the road ahead being paved in chrome and leading into the stars, it’s paved with uncertainty and it’s leading into the ground; I guess I’ll strap on my light-up sneakers and enjoy the ride down.