I Am from the Future and I’m Here to Sell You Magazines
Hello there, denizen of the 2018. Sorry if I scared you with the big flash of light and loud boom. You see, I’m from the future and I’ve come here on a very important mission. To sell you some magazines for my school’s fundraiser.
You must have so many questions, and being from the year 2058, I can probably answer them. I know you’re worried you only have ten years to curtail climate change before it’s too late. But can I interest you in a subscription to People? You’ll be so wrapped up in royal baby news, you will completely forget the fact that we don’t meet that deadline. By the way, Megan and Harry’s baby is 40 now and is helping the British fight the giant moths that escaped from beneath the melted ice caps. But I’m giving too much away.
Perhaps you would like to buy a package to Cosmo? You could learn all the latest tips to spice up your love life! I just wouldn’t try too hard. Abortion isn’t exactly going to be an option for you starting about…what is it, December?…three months from now. If you get Cosmo, you can also purchase a Sports Illustrated subscription for half the price!
Do you think I like going back in time for the sole purpose of selling your shitty 2018 magazines? I would love to warn you about Eric Trump’s army of highly trained bears that attack atheists. My school can’t afford teachers after we bought guns for all the babies; that’s why I’m here selling god damned US Weekly. So buy some, ok? The Space Force invented time travel, but we’re only allowed to use it to sell MAGAZINES AND SCENTED CANDLES! I have some of those, too, if you would like.
How about some Entertainment Weekly? I would buy it if I were you. The liberal media has long been abolished where I’m from and we only watch the Pat Robertson hologram and Christian movies that for some reason star Jennifer Garner. Really, it’s whatever Vice Supreme Commander Pence wants us to watch (we figured out the whole immortality thing, but for some reason it only worked on Mike Pence). So enjoy your fucking Game of Thrones while you can. He never does finish those books.
I have so much I could tell you. I have seen things your time cannot fathom. The National Medal of the Arts being awarded to Kid Rock. The EPA harvesting human organs for the rich elderly. Kellyanne Conway’s clones are the only talking heads allowed on TV anymore. But can I please interest you in Southern Living? It’s the only magazine your and my time have in common.
Please, I’ve already told you too much. I don’t want to butterfly-effect myself out of existence (yes, that movie is still a thing and just had a religious remake with Jennifer Garner called God’s Not a Fan of Ashton Kutcher).
You’re going to use mindless entertainment to put off addressing the dark times that are to come, anyways. So buy my fucking magazines and accept that this is your future.