A Hot Date

It’s been 25 years since Trump’s Reign of Infinite Greatness has begun. For the last 14, JD has been pulling the strings ever since Trump was put in the deep freeze. But Trump remains Supreme Leader because, technically, he’s not dead yet.

Amidst all this greatness, in 2050 the Earth has reached a tipping point. Or rather, the Sun has.

It kicked off in the early 2020s, when humanity was busy fretting over trivial matters: pandemics, wars in distant nations, political divides, environmental decay, carbon emission, microplastics—you know the drill. People were so preoccupied with the small stuff that they overlooked that giant fusion reactor in the sky. The sun was growing, but few noticed.

“So, you are telling me Elon Musk, Sam Altman, and JD Vance are sitting on a SpaceX rocket, ready to take off?” I say as soon as I shake off the last bits of my cryo-slumber. “What the actual f*?”

Bianca, my nurse, stares at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Yes, Seth. And they plan to leave us behind to face the Sun's supernova explosion.”

After 25 years of cryo-hibernation, I am grappling with all the new developments. I had just grilled Bianca on the latest world news.

“Sorry, Bianca, but I don’t buy it. They were telling everyone global warming was a conspiracy theory, while the whole time they were getting their ark ready?”

She nods. “Why do you think they sponsored Miss Universe competition every year?” Her gaze drifts to the hot, parched fields outside. “They were auditioning fellow travel companions.”

The image of Trump’s grin during the Miss USA contests comes to mind. “It all makes sense now,” I mutter, moving my gaze to the scene outside. A lizard spontaneously bursts into flames beneath a sun twice its usual size.

“JD is leaving earth and bringing his five trophy wives, to Mars" she explains. "Polygamy was legalized in 2038. He claimed it was for the Mormons.” She winks saliciously.

“So, are you upset he left you behind?” From somewhere, I recall her mentioning they had briefly dated.

Her expression shifts, hurt flickering in her eyes. With her tiny hands, she adjusts my hydration drip and gently massages my shoulder. “How about you? Are you a one woman man, Seth?”

So forward, are we already going there? Romance isn't the first thing on my mind after waking from a 25-year hangover Yet, Bianca’s curves are undeniably alluring, and her angelic face stirs something within me.

“Would you like to go on a date, when I get out of here?” I ask, tentatively. It’s hard to impress someone when you're wearing a plastic wristband with an IV tube hanging out of your arm.

“I’d love that,” she answers, before shifting to a more serious tone. “The Council for Democracy thinks Sam Altman is the weakest link on the crew of the flight to Mars. Since you were his best friend before your... accident, maybe you can convince him not to abandon me. I mean, us.”

She whispers 'accident' in the hushed tone one uses for a mildly embarrassing moment, such as an elderly person wetting their pants.

Ok, fine. I had a fentanyl overdose. Stupid. But it made me a prime candidate for cryo-hibernation—no organ damage, just a body that did a hard shutdown. I’ve gone over what happened many times. In my mind, I’m both the victor and the victim of my story.

I'm pulled from this reverie by Bianca. “We thought you should talk to him, to Sam,” she coos.

I'm sick of hearing about Sam Altman.

“Why would I want to talk to Sam Altman after he canceled my OpenAI options while I was asleep? Today, they would be worth 400 billion dollars.”

“That figure includes inflation.”

“Could I get my phone back?”

Bianca calls down to cold storage. A robot returns with a sealed package bearing my name. In the past, people would be buried with their favorite possessions, these days, every person takes their phones to the grave. I open it and my iPhone powers on, 22% battery. Not bad.

“You’re using an iPhone 12?” Bianca blinks.

“What’s the newest model? Sorry, I don’t want to know.” I open the calculator app and do the math. I sigh, regretting inflation and the fun I could have had with the money if I hadn’t been unconscious.

"I lost out on $220 billion."

Bianca stares at me as if money is the most trivial thing imaginable I could bring up now. Right, the supernova.

“Okay, fine. I’ll call Sam. But why me? Why did you wake me?”

“Of the 1,700 men in hibernation who know Sam Altman, my boss Angela thought you were the cutest.”

Another gorgeous nurse steps in. “He is cute, isn’t he?” Angela scrutinizes me from head to toe, and does a double take as she leaves.

I'm getting distracted. Time to focus on the mission. I log into my Gmail account using the password “RenNStimpy123.” Still works. My inbox shows 17.3 million spam emails.

I switch to my AWS cloud account, cancel all the late payment notifications, then compile a fork of the Llama 2 AI, setting it to scrape the web for everything about 2050.

Reluctantly, I dial Sam Altman.

“Sam, remember me?”

“Who is this?” A whiny, slightly older voice that is unmistakably Sam, asks.

“It’s me, your old research partner.”

“Seth?” There’s a pause as he processes my name. “If you found out, I’m sorry about the stock options.”

I hold back my growing rage. I need to convince Sam to stay on Earth and help me save the planet.

“No worries. What’s money when the Earth is about to be consumed by a supernova?”

“Exactly! I knew you’d get it.”

“Where are you right now?” I ask him.

According to what Bianca told me, Sam is sitting on a spaceship with JD and Elon, waiting to take off, probably with the Supreme Leader in tow.

“At home. Chilling out,” Sam replies. In the background, I hear the rumble of liquid hydrogen tanks being filled. “What about you? What was it like being well, you know, dead?”

“They say being it would be like floating on clouds, everything is white and fuzzy. The whole heaven concept comes from that, you know? When people come back from death. I honestly can't remember.”

Another awkward silence. Sam spent his life trying to escape death.

Time for my pitch. “Remember all those hot nights we had together coding? What if you stay here and we do it all again?”

“I'm not going anywhere," he says. "And yes, I remember endless Cool Ranch Doritos and Mountain Dew. Those don't really do it for me anymore. I've moved on. Obviously you haven't.” A note of finality creeps into his voice.

On my iPhone 12, I see an urgent update from my Llama 2 AI. It has devised a way to use the gamma radiation from the Sun’s impending supernova to create an energy shield. The shield will save the Earth, but anyone outside will be vaporized.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Is something funny?” Sam asks.

“Just... everything,” I reply. “Is Trump there with you?”

I know Sam’s tell. Over the line, I hear a two-second pause, followed by a tiny, almost inaudible sniffle.

“Haven’t seen him in like forever,” he says.

“Well then, have a good trip,” I tell Sam cheerfully, as if we were best friends yesterday. It feels that way to me.

Llama 2 prompts: Would I like to proceed with the plan for Earth’s energy shield?

I carefully tap the ‘yes’ button.

Bianca is waiting outside. I hit the nurse call button, and she steps in, looking even more fabulous than before. We’ve only just met. There’s so much I don’t know about her.

“Tell me about yourself, Bianca.” Behind her, I see a news alert about a SpaceX rocket launch in Austin.

“Why talk about me, when you have just saved the entire planet?” She gives me a warm, slightly frozen smile.

This all feels too good to be true.

“Am I in a simulation?” I ask.

“You know I can't answer that,” she replies in a blissfully sweet voice.

Somewhere in my mind, I see the words appear:

You have completed: Save the World from Your Hospital Bed.

Like Wordle, in 2050 AIdle delivers a personalized version of a daily challenge, all while remaining frozen in a cryogenic slumber. You can play again tomorrow. How does that sound?

***

Disclaimer:

This short fiction satire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Safe Harbor for Satirizing Public Figures:

In the spirit of satire, parody, and comedic commentary, as exemplified by “Saturday Night Live,” this work falls within the accepted boundaries of humor and critique allowed under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. Public figures, such as Elon Musk, Sam Altman, and JD Vance, are often the subject of satire and parody, which are protected forms of speech. This work aims to provide humor and social commentary without any intent to harm or defame.