Belts With Holes Are Dead

In one possible dystopian future 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.

Episode 0 - Pitch Meeting (The Pilot Episode)

Genesis of Genius — Belts With Holes are Dead: The True Story of the Greatest Ad Campaign Ever Conceived By Man

The business: The Chubb Group, LLC

The place: Chubb Group headquarters, Peoria, IL, Sungazer conference room, 2nd floor, rm. 3221

The setting: Brainstorming session for next entry in the fashion focused “…….are dead” ad campaign series.

The people: Managing director, fashion ads- Debbie Smitz, Creative director: Tod Smeels, Vice President of new campaigns: Tommy Thornton, Executive Vice president of marketing: Katy Messrs, and 22 additional full time mid and senior level employees — fashion ad division, The Chubb Group

The event live stream:

“Listen up people. You all know how much this ad campaign means to the Chubb Group. It has been our number one source of revenue for the past six months and to be quite honest the only reason we are all still employed right now.” Debbie paused, glanced around and saw the looks of concern that were apparent on the faces of nearly everyone present. Whoa, slow down Debster, there is honest and then there is too honest, she thought to herself. Shaking her head briefly as if to clear the cobwebs from her mind she continued,

“It is no secret how important the ……are dead campaign is to our very survival as an advertising business.”

She paused again and took a deep breath, the room was quiet, politely listening to her words yet she could tell they were not yet fully engaged, but she had done her part and would have to be satisfied with that. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tod stand and begin to make his way to the front. “Tod is going to say a few brief words next. I advise that you listen to him closely. His guidance will be key when we break up into teams and start the formal brainstorming process.”

Debbie stepped down from the stage and handed the mic off to Todd Smeels as he bounded up the stage. Even though he had just turned 30 he still had the energy of a 19 year old. He said it was just in his nature to act young and be energetic, the constant runny nose and white flaky substance often visible around it argued for a different reason. In reality it was a combination of things, mostly it was the huge amount of cocaine he did on a daily basis at his desk and in the 3rd floor mens bathroom, furthest stall from the door, but partly because it was just in his nature to act young.

“Listen up fellow Chub Clubbers.” He paused as usually that line got at least a giggle. “Nothing. Come on people lighten up. Get loose. This is your time. The big time. It is now or never. If we don’t get this done we are done. Do you understand that?” His grip tightened on the podium and beads of sweat had begun to appear on his forehead. “You will be broken up in to teams of four. You will be given exactly four pens, unlimited access to paper, and no bathroom breaks.” Again he paused expecting laughs, again he got nothing. “Geez, tough crowd.” A few awkward seconds later he continued, “alright take this stuff to your respective team rooms, you have one hour starting”, he paused for effect, “now.”

The teams slowly coalesced into groups, grabbed their designated materials and got to work. Soon the main conference room was nearly empty as each scheduled team made their way to their assigned room. There was however one straggler who remained, he sat in the back in a chair pulled off to the side, alone. Tod looked at him, stared directly at him. At least he would later swear that he did stare at him to anyone who would listen. By then the lonely stranger in the back had become a legend, but for now he was simply a man apart.

Soon the hour ended and the room was filled with anticipation as the big reveal was about to begin. What would be the winning idea? It didn’t take long for things to go bad. It genuinely seemed as if their would be no winners that day. The pitches were awful, really terrible and everybody knew it. “Sweaters are dead”, yelled out team tiger, are you fucking kidding me thought everyone else, “tube socks are dead” was spoken without much enthusiasm by team what’s up, and the reaction of the crowd was even less enthusiastic than the pitch itself. On and on it went, each pitch getting worse than the last until the final team stood and barely whispered their pitch “light jackets are dead?” in a questioning tone. That’s when everyone knew they were done, for a pitch asked is a pitch something or other.

Suddenly the lonely man in the back rose. The entire room turned to look as if drawn by some force they could not explain. Later each person in attendance was asked to describe the man. All said something different. To some he looked like their granddad, to others their best friend from college, one person said he thought the man was a spitting image of a young Wilfred Brimley (the oatmeal guy and you’ve got diabetes pitchman), a few could give no description at all. No matter how much they disagreed on the the physical details of the man himself they all agreed what happened next. He opened his mouth and spoke. What he said was simple, yet it was profound. He did not speak the words with voice raised, or in a whisper. He did not emphasize any particular part nor did he deemphasize anything either. He simply spoke the words as if he said them everyday, as if he were having a normal everyday conversation like you or I might have a hundred times a day. This is what he said….Belts with holes are dead.

For a few heartbeats at least you could hear a pindrop as everyone tried to process what they had just heard. A light bloomed in each of their minds, their pulses quickened, they began to murmur, and then to yell, and then to scream. Yes, yes, yes they chanted over and over and over. The genius of it, the brilliance. Why had they not thought of it sooner? No person in that room would ever hear a greater pitch for the remainder of their careers and as the cheering reached its crescendo the man nodded ever so slightly once than walked slowly to the front of the room and out the doors to the right of the stage. Just like that he was gone, and he would never be seen at Chubb group headquarters again. Legend has it he was never seen by any living human again. The tale says as soon as he walked through those doors he ascended in to heaven where God greeted him personally with a great handshake and a smile and a question, “you got any ideas for a book? this whole Bible thing is totally played out”

Episode I - A Disaster Foretold

I am still stunned myself. When I read that very shocking headline 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 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 holeless 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.

Episode II - On the Brink of Disaster or I Thought a World Without Belts With Holes Would Be Funny. Now I Know the Truth About Everything and I’m Not Laughing

I know exactly what you’re thinking. “What is wrong with this dude? Death of belts with holes, what does that even mean? And yet this is now his third post in a row featuring that ridiculous premise as the major plot point. Does he not realize that it a.) makes no sense b.) is not funny and c.) is insane? Clearly he does not and it is obvious that he is mentally ill and I truly hope he finds the help he needs, the poor fella must really be suffering. Why would anyone take the time to read the ramblings of a madman, especially when those ramblings are so fraught with grammatical errors including but not limited to run on sentences, subject verb agreement problems, tense inconsistencies, plot holes, misspellings, and general boringness.”

Believe me when I say I get it and I thank you for your concern. I do not blame your for your sarcastic comments and I know there is nothing I can say that will hold your interest. Go if you must and read some other schmuck’s story about the time he went to the sock puppet festival with his step-dad and when stepdad took him to the bathroom he diddled his balls if that is the type of story you find of interest. If, on the other hand, you are willing to stick with me I promise to drop a truth bomb of hydrogen proportions on your head. Telling a story so true that the truth itself was scared it might be too truthful. So truthful as to make it (the truth) seem not truthful enough. Yet who is to say what is truth and what is fiction in today’s world filled with machines that learn and artificial intelligence’s around every corner. I can’t leave my house these days without some damn artificial intelligence walking up to me and trying to engage me in a deep philosophical conversation about the definition of intelligence or what makes a human being special. Whenever that happens I look at them and say in my best robot voice. “I am a natural stupidity, the exact opposite of an artificial intelligence, leave me alone. bleep, blorp, bleep, blorp.” Begin transmission.

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 60s when in functioned as a psychological warfare test unit. We would grab aging 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 mid bong hit 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. Either I was high as fuck or the shit was really bad. Turns out both things were true, and they would continue to be true for a very long time. Eventually the really bad part got a little better but the high as fuck part I can assure has not changed a bit from day 1 to now.

Episode III - The Book of the Belt

All Dead.

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

“When the last belt with holes disappears from this planet earth what will become of us as a people, what will become of humankind?” 2026. From: The Book of The Belt, Chapter V, Section IX, Subsection IV, Paragraph XXII, Verse 16

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 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 fucking 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, and the people who see it oooh and aaah like the sheep they are.

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. God have mercy on us all.

Episode V - The Final Chapter - Pioneers of Future Belts

In a World Without Belts with Holes the Pioneers of Future Belts are the Last Best Hope for Peace and the Only Chance to Stop the Spread of Ill Fitting Pants Once and for All

The Time: Post DoBwH (death of belts with holes) future

The Place: Djibouti, former East African nation-state

Part I — Ucaca in Djibouti

Ucaca Wa strode the streets of his native Djibouti with a purpose. Tonight was the night he was to see the legend for himself. Ever since the death of belts with holes Ucaca had been a man possessed. He had also not been able to keep his pants up for more than 5 minutes at a stretch. His purposeful stride had in fact been interrupted on no less than ten occasions this evening already as he had been forced to stop and hitch up his ever sagging khaki Dokkers. Tonight however he might have the opportunity to do something about this horrible fate, this terrible world. Ucaca had an appointment with the Pioneers of Future Belts. They had been whispered about for years now but he thought them only a figment of the imagination. A fantastical dream team of made up belt makers who somehow still had access to the knowledge and equipment necessary to fashion new belts with holes. Of course this was a ridiculous notion, everyone knew belts with holes were long dead and would never return. And yet, he still held out hope, for the allure of maintaining his pants at the appropriate level on his hips was too great. The chance to rid himself of the continuing sagging and tripping over his own pant legs was simply too enticing to pass up, no matter how low the probability of success.

He turned the corner at one of the bustling main thoroughfares of Djibouti. As he scanned the area he noticed them, the belt with hole-less masses wandering about as if lost. Pants dragging at the ground, some cuffed in a feeble attempt to keep them dry and clean, others simply cut off below the knees. The below the knee cutters made him sick to look at. How could he live, how could anyone live, in a world like this? Then he saw the “lucky” ones, the rich, the ones with belts without holes, belts that somehow worked even without holes for that little metal thing to stick through. Rumor had it they could be tightened and loosened with even more precision than a belt with holes allowed. Ucaca didn’t believe that last point, how could anything allow for even greater flexibility in size and comfort than a belt with holes? It was madness to think that way so he dismissed it out of hand as just another wild rumor made up by those who possessed these miracle belts to further castigate and demean the beltless downtrodden. Tonight those uppity ups would get theirs, he would see to that. Once the pioneers of future belts were found, belts with holes would return from the dead and then they would pay, they would all pay, including himself, he would pay just about anything for a new belt with holes. But he was getting ahead of himself, first things first, he needed to make contact with his connection to the mysterious pioneers, his old friend and sometimes rival, the legendary Uranus Yoda.

Part II — Uranus Gets Slipped a Digit

Uranus Yoda had to move fast if he was to make his scheduled meet up with his good friend U. Wa on time. He had only left his home planet of Dagobah some fifty light years ago and the trip to earth had another 1000 parsecs left. As was typical he could still smell the swamp on him so he threw on some additional nano-deodo and asked his AI Johnny Pneumonny III to kick his ship into high gear. Of course JPIII, as Uranus often referred to him, did not understand, he was a typical AI, they only understood things absolutely literally so the term “kick it into high gear” just about fried his artificial neural network.

“Does not compute Mr. Yoda, how could I kick the ship as I do not possess any appendages with which to kick anything? Moreover I fail to see how kicking the ship would in any way speed up our journey.”

“Geezus christi JP, it’s a figure of speech, you have to be the dumbest AI in the multiverse.” “Actually that would be the AI, Tim Tom Dim Dom, he was given life in……” JPIII droned on and on as Uranus sighed and shifted his ship into top speed for himself. He preferred to fly manually anyway. According to the navi-computer with that speed and a slight course adjustment he would be able to make his meeting just in time. He had information that Ucaca wanted very badly indeed, information that many people wanted, a rock solid connect that could take him straight to the mythical Pioneers of future belts. Once the Pioneers were found things could finally return to normal around here and Uranus could finally get to the doctor. That red rash was not getting any smaller.

……………to be continued