It’s 2065 and Shit Happens

Pretend it’s 2065 and you’re telling some random kids on the street that, “When I was your age, me and my bitches literally drank an entire keg of beer on our own. It was awesome, you guys.”

And one kid rolls his eyes and says, “No one says ‘you guys’ anymore. By Saturn’s rings, lady, you’re so old.”

And you’re like, “OMG, I’m totally NOT old.”

“Lady, no one says ‘OMG’ and ‘totally’ anymore.”

And you’re all like, “Shut up, random kid. You’re stupid.”

And the kid rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time and says, “That’s real smart, Tutankhamen.”

And then you look to the sides, sweat beading on your forehead, and you let out a painfully embarrassing, “Wazzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup?”

And then the kid just walks away.
…

…
Yes. The future is grim and dark.

About C.S. Wilde

C.S. Wilde writes about fantastical worlds, love stories larger than life and epic battles. She also, quite obviously, sucks at writing an author bio. She finds it awkward that she must write this in the third person, and hopes you won’t notice.

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