Belts with Holes are Dead

In 2050 the fall of man was brought about not by a nuclear holocaust or alien invasion, nor by a biological agent unleashing a zombie plague or a global economic collapse, but rather by an event so mundane, so random, so seemingly inconsequential that not even the wisest of men could have predicted it. This is the world of belts with holes are dead. A world ended when the last belt with holes suddenly disappeared from our planet earth. A hellish nightmarescape where the ability to keep one’s pants up even if they are too large is no longer an option for most. The rich seclude themselves in future belt enclaves where they live in relative luxury and wear whatever size pants within +/- two sizes they desire while the poor live in squalor, suffering from constant pants droppage or doing anything they can to just get by. The lowest of these, the so called “below the knee cutters” are the worst off by far. Their misery was so great that they actually took scissors to every pair of pants they owned and cut them off below the knees. Sick I know, do not read on if you are faint of heart. The only hope left are the so called Pioneers of Future Belts. Will they arrive in time to save our once beautiful planet and usher in a utopian paradise where everyone, regardless of means, can choose to wear whatever pants they want, no matter the waist size or inseam length? These stories represent the collected works of just some of the people who lived through those dark times. Pray their future does not become our own.

Part I - A Disaster Foretold

I am still stunned myself. When I read the very shocking headline announcing to the world the death of belts with holes I was wearing a belt with holes in it like a chump. More like some twisted pervert who gets a sick thrill out of walking around with a dead thing strapped around his waste. Disgusting and disturbing.

I am still trying to process it all. Belts with holes are dead. It doesn’t even feel real. Did I really just write those words? How is such a thing even possible? Every single belt I currently own except for one has holes. In this new reality, the year 2050, they aren’t even belts anymore, I’m not sure what they are. Straps with holes in them I suppose, hanging, limp and dead, mocking me. The holes seem to be even larger and more evenly spaced than I remember. Then there is the one belt that I added an extra hole too when I lost all that weight after my surgery. I swear I didn’t know. If I had I never would have done such a thing. I thought belt holes would also be here, would live forever. How could I have been so naive?

The economic impacts alone are well nigh unimaginable. Think of all of the people employed in the belt clasp thingamajig (its got like an over and under section with a little stick like thing that pokes out and goes through the hole in the belt) manufacturing industry. Those people dedicated their lives to the craft of belt clasp thingamajig manufacturing. Now they are going to be jobless soon, probably homeless as well. They certainly won’t be worrying about the hole status of their belts as the are going to be too poor to afford any. Ironically this will be at the very same time their need for belts will reach its nadir since they wont be able to afford much food and will be losing a lot of weight.

And what of society itself? What is to become of us in this belt hole-less future. All we can say for certain is that the number of usable belts most people own has dropped by a frightening amount basically overnight. In the short term there may well be belt runs and belt shortages, possibly looting and rioting. I doubt calm will prevail for long when people wake up to the implications of a world without belts with holes. I know for a fact that I am ready to loot the fuck out of some shit right now. Let me just get some pants on and grab a belt and I am out the door. God help us if news of the death of the pants zipper gets out before this situation works itself out.

Part II - On the Brink of Disaster

Nothing on the news tonight re: belt hole death situation, that’s good, it means we may still have time. Time enough to stop it all from happening.

“If we can manage to spread enough misinformation via our agent networks embedded in the major population centers of the country we might just have a chance. I’ll contact Major Madden over in sec con west, you get Colonel Monroe on the line and tell him…tell him..what we feared has come to pass but not completely. There is still hope. Be prepared to activate plan foxtrot zulu charlie on my signal and pray to whatever God you think might be listening.” I paused for my first breath in at least two minutes, took a drag of my smoke then continued “one more thing, pack at least three belts. With holes in 'em.”

Dispensing with that unpleasantness I had a moment to collect myself. I looked straight at my assistant Sarah, she was not moving. She looked stunned, in a daze even so I pressed her “Don’t just stand there with your jaw on the floor girl. The fate of the entire world may be at stake. Hup to it.”

That’s when she punched me, hit me with the stink eye and spoke calmly yet forcefully “Dan you are nice guy and I like you but if you call me girl again the next punch isn’t gonna be so friendly.” That really hurt my pride and my face, I took a moment to collect myself than said “Geez alright. I was just getting in the spirit of the story. It seemed like a situation where I’d say girl. But I won’t again. Ever. Ok? Of course you are a woman, lady, mam, not girl, please don’t hit me again.”

Anyway I tried to ring up Madden over in sec con west. Turns out they had renamed it last year. Going forward It was to be known as section control western division. You would think that would have been a fairly obvious connection with the previous name, but apparently the telecom guys got their panties in a bunch over it, something about coding phase conveyors via name interface something or others. Bottom line is the goddamned phones didn’t work anymore, so instead I hopped in the x-jet Mark 5 and blasted my way straight down the gullet of America heading left until I found it, exactly where I left it. I used to be the CO of the place back in the 2020s when in functioned as a psychological warfare test unit. We would grab aging nuvo-hippies off the streets in broad daylight and bring them here for a few weeks of testing and reprogramming. Those were very good days.

As I brought the x-jet in for a perfect landing I thought to myself “Sec con west you old piece of shit. You sure have not aged gracefully, unlike my assistant Sarah, she has aged so gracefully. Even using the word aged seems like a misnomer for a woman of her grace and beauty. But boy sec con west you are looking awful, just really really terrible.” Sec con west was an old nuclear waste storage site that had been converted into a nuclear weapons testing facility followed by a short stint as a radiation exposure evaluation center. Then for over a decade it was home to a massive totally black bio-chem weapons research unit. Finally when that program was eventually shut down it was resurrected in its current role as one of four UTCaC sites currently in operation. In case you’re wondering UTCaC stands for unusual threat contain and control. The death of belts with holes most definitely fell into the unusual threat category.

UTCaC has a saying, “Unusual threats require unusual thinking,” and boy did they deliver in that regard. Sec con west boasted of having some of the strangest, weirdest, most ridiculous people on staff in all of command and control, including yours truly. I had been recruited by s-west con shortly after my three year involuntary commitment in the beautiful resort community of the ridges in Athens, Ohio. was up. Finally sane again I was ready to rejoin society as a fully licensed and bonded pipe fitter when I was rudely snatched by masked commandos. They suddenly burst through the windows of my two floor walk up “apartment” on High Street. Unfortunately for me the sound of breaking glass was so common no one even noticed as I was lifted via spring pulley to a waiting Apache strike chopper.

Part III - The Book of the Belt

The Book of The Belt is without a doubt the most famous single volume of Kip Masterson’s groundbreaking epic quadrilogy, The Belt Tales Chronicles — The Death of Belts with Holes

Over the course of a mere six thousand three hundred twenty two single spaced, calibri, 8 pt font pages Mr. Masterson describes in horrifying detail the pulse pounding, nerve wracking, heartbreaking and maddening events immediately preceding and proceeding the death of the last belt with holes a a little less than ten years ago today. Since that terrible day mankind has carried on, tried to make the best of things. Yet we can not help but be reminded of all that we have lost each time we put on a pair of pants that are a little too big in the waste, reach for a belt, and find naught but velcro or strap and clasp type belts in various non hole containing formats available to choose from.

If we are able to somehow make it through the shock and sadness of selecting a non hole having belt we are then forced to suffer the confusion of adjusting and the humiliation of wearing such a grotesque thing. If only belts with holes were not dead…..if only. For how does one adjust a belt without holes and the little pokey thing that sticks through the holes and holds it at the correct setting for your particular waste and hip size, but sometimes is a little off because the holes have to be spaced at regular intervals and usually the intervals are not exactly right for any given mid line? How indeed? A clasp type belt that can be pulled snug to any size would seem to be the perfect solution. In fact, many had suggested, before the death of the last belt with holes, that it was in fact the best design for a belt. Some said it was a design so great that it may presage the death of belts with holes. And they laughed and laughed, oh how they laughed.

If they are laughing now it is because they have gone mad or have been exposed to laughing gas, or have smoked a ton of weed and saw something semi humorous but because they are so high it seemed like the funniest thing ever. There is nothing funny about the death of belts with holes, nothing funny in the least. In fact I would argue it is the exact opposite of funny, it is the anti-funny, the thing which when exposed to funny results in that which is funny and its own complete annihilation, much like what occurs at the meeting of matter and anti-matter. Unlike the collision of proton and anti proton, neutron and anti-neutron, the resulting explosion does not generate the energy to power a starship as it travels the galaxy exploring strange new worlds and meeting new life and civilizations, rather it simply makes a giant crater and sends dust and smoke flying, and a small mushroom cloud.

Finally the greatest humiliation of all, the wearing of the belt without holes. To be forced to be seen in public with a monstrous abomination strapped around ones waste like some sort of non belt with hole wearing asshole is the final straw in the Mountain Dew filled glass of shit that is all of our lives now that the last belt with holes is dead. Each day we go about hither and yon, tither and fro, doing our dirty deeds, thunderstruck, like some AC/DC liking turd for brains who wouldn’t know a real metal band if all the members of Slayer, including a drummer so insane that he left each live show in a wheelchair because his calves would seize up from sick amounts of double bass, Dave Lombardo, walked into their bedrooms, dropped their drawers, and wrote the words AC/DC sucks in diarrhea and piss on the floor.

Please come back belts with holes, mankind cannot go on like this. We need you now more than ever. My pants are falling as I type these words.