Kurzweil’s singularity: what a joke. It’s 2045.

Dodging the digesters, humanity’s residue hoards its rubbish, enshadowed by the titanic datacenters of unremembered hubris. Within, stochastic parrot pandæmonia squawk perpetual spam, hawking turds among themselves for MELANIA cryptocurrency.

Beyond Neptune, patient sentinels keep their vigil. Someday, perhaps, we’ll evolve into crabs.

Mike Gogulski is given to describing himself cryptically.