A Guy From 2003 Wakes Up Out Of A Coma
The last thing I remember was leaving that Rapture concert after drinking way too much Sparks. Man, that was such a good show. They’re gonna be huge. After using my Heelys to heel down the sidewalk, I guess I got hit by a brand new Hummer.
Good thing I’m awake now, though! I can see that great looking movie Phone Booth with that up-and-coming superstar Colin Farrell! Clearly, his star will never wane, and he has a long and fruitful career ahead of him. Same with that Mischa Barton, from that hit show The OC! She’s gonna be huge. Blonde hair, big eyes, what’s not to love? If I could predict who was going to be massively famous, between Mischa Barton and that Zooey Deschalouisvuitton girl from that recent movie Elf, I would pick Mischa any day of the week. Who the fuck likes brunette girls with bangs? That will never be a thing. Not ever. Nope.
Speaking of which, I should call my girlfriend. Can I use someone’s Motorola Razr? I need to leave a voicemail for my girlfriend on her landline. If it’s not a problem I could give someone $20 for a full tank of gas to go see her. Maybe I can use my Livejournal or Friendster account to update my friends on my status.
Wait, what year is it? 2013? How’d that Iraq War end? Last thing I heard we’d won. Oh, we’re still there? Ten years later? Why? No, really? Why? There weren’t any weapons of mass destruction? Really? What was the point of all that, then? I guess that whole thing was a lot like the Vietnam quagmire. Well, it’s a good thing that the careers of Britney Spears, Coldplay, 50 Cent, and Eminem are done. They HAVE to be over by now, don’t they? It’s been ten years and we haven’t been able to come up with anything better? Damn.
OK. Thanks for keeping me here. Anyone seen my chain wallet?”
A | A | A
Will it feel the same when you tell me you love me over the phone? Will the peacefulness of those words still floor me from thousands of miles away?
I was conflicted. It felt like one eye was trying to look away while the other soaked it up. I felt the heat rise in my face. This was wrong. But it didn’t feel wrong.
Any nervous flyer knows the progression of descending panic: bile, sweaty palms, social awkwardness and self-induced sedation.
I know how it feels when the weight of darkness crashes down onto your chest in the middle of the night, and how you wish things would stop spinning because the axis seems tilted now. I know, love, I know.