How to create your own science-fiction future.

Okay, so in these times of cloned sheep and space tourism, it must look pretty amazing how far the human race has progressed to someone born in the 1940s. On the other hand, for someone born in the 1970s, the year 2008 is somewhat disappointing.

Whatever do I mean you ask? I'll show you.

In this picture, we have a typical modern-day street. With its lush green grass, healthy trees and familiar wheelie-bins, it should be a perfect representation of the success of our species and a nice little piece of land to call our own. Correct?

Actually, not correct. Way not correct. And here's why:

This picture is a more factual rendering of where we should be as a species by the early 21st century. Yes, I am aware this photo represents 2019, but we should be well on our way by now to changing our landscape to suit this much more fulfilling lifestyle. Below are few more examples of what we are (regrettably) and what we should be.

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EMPLOYMENT - What your workplace should look like.

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NO

YES

HOUSING - What your home and neighbourhood should look like.

NO

YES

TRANSPORTATION - What your car should look like.

NO

YES

So what can done? Your goals need to be reached within the next eleven years to make the deadline of November 2019. Well, here are a few beginner ideas to get you back on the right track.

MOVE HOUSE.

First things first, if you're living in a two-storey weatherboard house in the burbs then this ain't going to work. Immediately sell the house and move into the city. Preferably, a run down shitty block of apartments that occasionally sports a chalk body outline on the cement. Sell all your possessions and go out and buy the following items.

- A long durable coat.

- Square whiskey glasses.

- Whiskey.

- A voice-activated super computer which controls everything in your apartment. From lighting to entertainment to toiletries.

ONLY LEAVE YOUR BUILDING AT NIGHT OR DURING RAINSTORMS.

First off, we need to get the atmosphere right. This transformation can't be a success if its sunny and warm outside. Shadows are your best friend. Skulk in alleyways and hunch while walking. Do not follow any lonely women - this will only be trouble and attract the attention of the police.

GO TO CHINATOWN TO EAT EVERY MEAL.

This futuristic landscape is not going to mesh if you're standing in a food court waiting for your burger and fries. From now on, breakfast lunch and dinner will be noodle-based. You should always sit down to eat, rather than takeaway. Preferably in a tiny restaurant filled with non-English speaking staff yelling at each other the whole time.

WHEN AT HOME, DRINK WHISKEY CONSTANTLY AND STARE AT OLD PHOTOS.

When you're not prowling the late-night streets, you should be killing time until the next night. This will involve all the curtains drawn and a lot of introspection about some sort of tragedy in your life by way of dusty polaroids. Also play jazz music, preferably Miles Davis.

Obviously, you need to take it a few steps further e.g. guns, girls and police captains. But with these simple changes, you should be well on your way to reaching the goal of living in a dank, non-English speaking cyberpunk sci-fi landscape.

An open letter from Kurt Cobain

Hello everyone,

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Just thought I'd drop you a quick line to let you know how I'm getting on in the afterlife. Well for starters, Holy Shit did I make the right choice! Look at what has gone down since 1994. I thought that fucking up the planet had been done to death when I shuffled off that mortal coil, but obviously I underestimated you assholes. Not that really cared about any of that while I was around but Christ, talk about idiots.

Things are good. There's no such thing as heroin here but such human needs have been prohibited so I had to get used to it (although the occasional hit wouldn't go astray when Chris Farley stops me in the hallway. No coke or hookers here either, much to his dismay).

I'm glad to see kids nowadays still wearing my face on their t-shirts. Yes, I hated all that crap when I was around but let's face it - my picture on a t-shirt? That rocks!

Anyway, I should get to the real reason I wrote this letter.

What the hell happened? This is how you three end up after I'm gone? Jesus!

Dave, the furthest you wanted to go in a video when I was around was to wear a fucking dress! Are you reaching out for more cash in that picture? Is that it? Why don't you just put on a jester's hat and dance for coin, you monkey! Although, I quite liked 'The Colour And The Shape'. That was a good album.

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Krist, I don't know who that woman is, but why aren't you buying drugs off her? Huh? And holy hell, did you go bald and pudgy! Who ate all the pies, you fat bastard! I've heard a couple of your solo songs since I left and let's just say I'm glad the listening public didn't have a shotgun at the ready.

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Courtney. Or should I say Farrah Fawcett? What the hell were you thinking? And what happened to Hole? They were the whole reason I had sex with you in the first place (that and the heroin). Just give Frances Bean to a foster family now before she follows you into ridicule. You used to be rocking!

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Oh my god, how depressing. Good to see you morons could handle life without me around. I regret even keeping an eye on you fools. Now I feel terrible. In fact, I need to end this letter before I get even more depressed. Time for a game of mini-golf with John Candy.

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Bye-bye losers.

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Kurt

Episode 4: Clear Night Sky

My house felt especially empty that night and the beer started to make me feel bloated as I arrived home. After Lawton started to weep in front of me in the saloon, I soon felt out of my depth and said my goodbyes. Before I left, he told me that he had rented a room in the saloon and he wanted me to visit him in the morning to further discuss his plan.

The night sky was perfectly clear outside my window and I felt a cool breeze creeping through the house. I lit a small blaze in my fireplace and sat down.

In an instant, Lawton had transformed himself from an entertaining distraction to a whole bunch of trouble. So far, his plan was to have me help him bury the gold and then lay low until he could safely take it to the claim office and strangely, divide it between him and myself. He had come into possession of an extremely valuable amount of gold and he told me that three men who killed his father for it, were now after him. That was enough for me.

The fire crackled at my feet and I reached for my pipe from the sidetable. As I packed the tobacco, my decision to never contact Lawton again came quickly. For almost two decades, I had run a semi-successful business in this little town. I had built friendships and valuable clients over the years and purchased a comfortable home from a friendly old woman named Marjorie. My years as a useless drunk were behind me and I had gradually adjusted to the loss of my wife.

I was not about to let Lawton's circumstances destroy any of it.

During my time here, I had seen enough horror and terrible acts to become aware of trouble when it comes. Lawton might be exaggerating about these men; it might be just be a story of make-believe simply created by a drunk. But if there was a kernel of truth to what he told me, then I wanted no part of it. I didn't care how closely I resembled his father. This town had presented me with enough sorrow for one life.

I crawled into bed and feel asleep watching the fire, happy in the knowledge I would friendly turn down Lawton's offer if I saw him tomorrow.

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Scanlon the bartender was relieved to begin cleaning up the tables. His day had been long and the books weren't adding up as he planned. All he wanted now, was to retire upstairs with a nice bottle of scotch to fog his brain and ignore his debts.

As he started to pack away the beer glasses, the front doors creaked open and a short, chubby man stepped toward him. Scanlon looked up and was startled when the man started to speak. His voice had a strange, high-pitched tone.

"Is there a Norman Lawton staying here,?" he asked.