The throw away culture is reaching a fever pitch. Planned obsolence has bled beyond consumer products to stain the very planet itself. Our very singular Earth, consumed and headed for the heap, like so much fad-laden polyester. We can’t fix it and it’s gone out of style anyway. Chuck it; get a new one.
The new morality, the position posted by the red-blooded hometown hero is that success lies in interstellar colonialism. There are perfectly palatable planets that are unoccupied by anything like us – i.e. anything that matters.
This place sucks and we’re a mess, so lets bail. There’s nothing quite like new (moon)shoes and fake hair to clean the slate. Where to? Perhaps a place where serpentine skin is free to be.
So don’t be surprised, when you look up from your knitting needles, to find we’ve all gone offline. If you’re still watching you’re not part of the in crowd, anyway.
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