Hello! It's me, your friend Penabler, visiting you from the year 2073. Its so hot in the future, you don't even need clothes! That's why I'm naked right now. My erection is irrelevant.

Anyway, you may have noticed my hulking physique, even at the age of 98. That is due to the protein we are eating in the future: BUGS! But let me back step a little bit and fill you in on how we got here.

People who are paying attention will notice that our current meat diets are unsustainable. As countries grow in wealth, they consume more meat. Raising an animal for the slaughter requires much more water and resources than it does vegetables and grains, and farting animals cause a whole heap of green house gases (it will later be revealed that said green house gases were not produced by cows, but instead by my friend Tim, who farts SO MUCH). In 2015 the fascist nanny state Obama administration will outlaw factory farms, and because by then the world is one government (NWO), every nation complies.

Now we all eat insects. For every meal. After pigs, cows, and chickens were outlawed as eatable meats because of how environmentally and ethically destructive they are, people naturally turned to eating dogs and cats, which were killed off during some plague or other that made us all take chimps as pets. We don't eat chimps because they can some how speak English, so they are cool for now, and I can't imagine them rising against us.

Here is a glimpse of your future. Instead of eating, farting, ground defiling cows, everyone on earth eats crickets.

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It is sterile, pure, and tasty. There are a million ways to eat a cricket. You can eat them raw, roast them over a tire fire (as in the future there is no source of heat other than tire fires, oil and alternative energy kind of shit the bed), or tiny shischcabob. Okay, there are three ways of eating crickets, not a million. Anyway, they are very tasty. I came back in time to let you know that you didn't close the lid on your colony at work and now crickets are all over the office. I can't even deal. In 2073, we only type with our minds, and loose crickets fuck it all up, so try to not ruin the office. The economy never gets better, so when you die in your cubicle your body is turned into soylent green, which is not fed to people, but rather to the crickets. Such is the circle of life.

Anyway, I must return to my own time now, so I can bang my harem of 58 gay husbands, even though I love women and yet women are too busy riding hoverboards and getting pregnant by cloned DNA to be bothered with mutant rearing.

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The future is crazy you guys.

Also, I'm drunk, from future malt liquor.

ETA:

What the fuck happened here? So, last night while I was trying to think up something to write about this new cricket terrarium designed for human consumption, I got a message from a childhood friend that had moved to my city. Out of all places, he lived on my same block. WUT. Time for Tuesday night shots! YOLO!

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Jump to this morning, where I wake up wearing my jeans with my laptop open at the foot of my bed. Oh no! I've been writing love emails. Again. Imagine my relief/horror at finding this weird post open instead.

I can remember pieces of writing this (doing a google image search for "naked terminator," having a really hard time spelling "shish kabobs"). I'm surprised this is as coherent as it is. Anyway, I need a lot of coffee right now.