Dear Peas O'Toast (aka Zurb 5-P)

I stumbled across a kiff site yesterday. This “Stumbling' thing is another post all on its own – I am addicted to the Internet right now and am foreseeing a problem - but that's another day. Anyway it's called Future Me. You write to yourself in the future. And you can read other future letters – blog-style format. So I penned one of my own.

Dear Future Me,

Well it's 2035, you're 55-years old, and still alive. That's pretty swell, if not amazing. It's probably because of that boozing you gave up for two months back in 2008. Sure you jumped back on the wagon, but at least you finally sorted your shit out and all that. So Future Me, you look like you're happy. You speak fluent German, and you've written a book. Oh look you have two kids! Interesting, one is studying to be a doctor, and the other is a rebellious teenager who listens to Death Metal and paints stick figures onto canvas while wearing kaftans. Look at your global warming bunker, what a masterpiece! All that Bauhaus furniture and the sound system in the bathroom is remarkable. How's the holiday bunker in Provence?

Your current addiction to the Internet is taking its toll though: how those bifocals? You're losing your memory from all those biftas you used to smoke back in the good 'ol days, and you now have eight sets of car keys. Good plan.

The great thing is you seem pretty chilled. And your ass is bun-steel toned, so you did get back on that bicycle eventually. Just in time, I'd say. Just a pity about those saggy...my God, look at your boobs! They've grown. Apparently your husband invented a pill that you swallow and you suddenly wake up with a ginormous set of bosoms. (With no side affects). They just must look saggy because you're leaning over in your Everythingbook.com profile picture. (Remember how we used to use Facebook? That site was so lame, all it did was tag pictures, buy you fake fish and poke you. If only Everythingbook.com was around in those days.)

So this global warming is intense hey. How's your solar-powered bunker handling all the hurricanes? Your neighbours are having problems with their interior refrigeration panels, you should probably tell them to move to the coast - you know, Bloemfontein-On-Sea or something. Your folks have retired there, and they seem to enjoy zooting around on those old people golf-carts and play bingo...) Plus the sea is totally swimmable there. Now that all that sharks have been raped and pillaged, there are no issues with being eaten.

Since cigarettes were re-engineered in 2034 to release vitamins from the tobacco, and nicotine has been declared not bad for you, you must be puff puffing away in absolute bliss!

Anyway Future Me, please telepathically call me with your head chip. How hard can it be, just to say howzit through your Craniotic Identity Chip? Keep contact, I want to know just how great it will be to be Future Me, and I worry the terrorists have got to you if you don't call. I lost your number on my “cell phone.” (HA HA HA Remember those?? CLASSIC.)

Maňana amigo,
Present Peas On Toast

We could reply too:

Dear Past Me

Well well well, look what the cat dragged in. Life's good, bitch. Kids are fine, although I'm slightly concerned about my daughter's strange paintings that she's auctioning off on the Moon. The moon has an annual flea market, see, and she reckons there's good business up there, what with the galaxy's boom period and people decorating their new holiday bunkers.
Anyhoo, the hubby is great, I have 8 dogs – one is a Dobermann Pinscher called Schnappsie, and my hydroponically-grown lavender in Menerbes, Provence is doing just great.
I'm quite into gardening these days, you know, since I retired on my husbank's Grow-Boob pill patent. We read the latest Bill Bryson, Neither Here Nor There: A trip to Uranus, which we both enjoyed. Now that we have those computer-generated flashy speed reading spectacles, we got through it in 5 minutes.
I'm happy, well-adjusted, and go on holiday all the time: our favourite place is Costa Del Graaf Reinet. We have a fabulous beach bunker, and the global warming gives us a lovely all-round tan.

PS: Hope the signal wasn't too bad. We've been having terrible hurricanes lately. But my Craniotic Identity Chip doesn't work so hot when there's bad weather. So hopefully my telepathic message got through ok.
Check you in the future china, and Gloob enhaustrf! - That means “go well” in Xenon-3D. It's a Saturnistic alien language, and I'm taking classes in it at the moment. German has nothing on this shit.
Future Peas On Toast