ten thousand years from now there will be no borders anymore, no credit cards and most certainly no such thing as a leaking lid on my morning coffee cup. ten thousand years from now there will be women, and only women on my mind, and on every other member of the entire male species' for that matter.
ten thousand years from now i won't need to work anymore, there's good food and there's good instant coffee, finally. ten thousand years from now there's only one death row and that's voluntary. ten thousand years from now there's finally a pill for computer sciences, another one for liberal arts and a few others for law, medicine and even psychology. ten thousand years from now all of our problems are solved, especially sex, and women have real orgasms all the time, even during their periods. ten thousand years from now there's nothing for me to discuss, nothing to think about, except of course women.
ten thousand years from now there'll be only one quest left to pursue: to find the perfect woman, one that's neither too kind nor too bitchy. one with perfect feet and just imperfect body, say perfect waistline, perfect fingernails and some room for improvement in the chest area. one that's smart enough to fall for me and not too smart to stay. ten thousand years from now i'll finally find her, and she comes to me on a hot summer saturday afternoon.
ten thousand years from now i'll sit across the table from the perfect woman in this restaurant that she picked, because she's very well opinionated on where and what she eats. ten thousand years from now there's not much to talk about, education is worthless and skills are commodities, even playing tchaikovsky on a cello twice the size of the eiffel tower. ten thousand years from now the perfect woman across the table will ask me one question and one question only: so, what do you want from me?
ten thousand years from now there will be no lenses and no sunglasses, there will be sheer silence as i'll be staring right into the perfect naked eyes of the perfectly dressed woman across the table from me, and for the life of me i could not come up with an answer for her. ten thousand years from now the perfect woman will run out of patience, get up, pick up her perfectly red purse and walk away from me while i watch her perfect back linger in perfect harmony catwalking high heels into my past and joining the rest of them. i'll have nothing more to say, nothing more to do and nothing more to think about, except, of course, women.
