Future Year 57886. Mankind has spread far beyond Earth, technology has advanced beyond imagination, horse racing was banned when nobody could think of dumb names for the horses not yet in use, and stores put up their Christmas decorations in Space August. A time of endless adventure.
"Captain, there's a space hurricane!" the guy in charge of detecting harmful cosmic phenomena yelled.
"Check that one, archive person," ordered the captain. In the equal society of the future, only the captain needed an actual job title.
"Space Hurricane. That one's taken."
The captain snorted. "Of course it is. Check 'Captain There's a Space Hurricane.'"
"Taken."
"'Hey Captain How's That Space Hurricane Running Yellow Socks.'"
"Taken."
Such are the hardships of exploration in Future Year 57886.
"'My Name's Hurricane My Brother's Name Is Space and We Have a Show for You Today.'"
"Taken."
All the songs are covers, too, and all the movies are sequels. Where will mankind find its rest, when it has grown old?
Finis
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