Entry No. 1

Date: March 19, 2078

I have decided to keep a journal as to help me remember the events of my life. Life passes quickly; I seem to forget more of it as the days go by. What really inspired me to start this journal was the fact that my great-grandfather died two days ago. He was a wonderful old man born in the year 1978. He lived to be a hundred. This is a great achievement, for most people of his era died fairly young. He out-lived all of my family; my parents and grandparents. I have no family members left. Hell, I'm not for sure why I am even writing this damn journal. Who will read it and who will care? My chances of having a family are slim. I am 30 years old, I am 5 foot seven inches and my hair is thinning on top. I own a computer store with a partner named Allen Herschel.

My great-grandfather was my hero, if only I could be more like him. In his youth, he had been physically strong and he was tall. He sired five sons and three daughters on three different women. He was everything that I am not.

"This is the future, Billy, you should find a woman. With every sexually transmitted disease cured, you have nothing to worry about."

That's what he said to me. I guess I am a chicken shit.

I asked him once, "Grandpa, did the future turn out the way you thought it would? I mean is it as great as you thought it would be?"

"Hell, no. We still have cancer. We still don't have flying cars. The Internet hasn't improved much in 50 years. We are still at war. We still fight over shit that isn't very important. At least, the cars can give you road directions in a sexy female voice. Damn, bastards. We still use oil. I figured we would have run out of the stuff by 2012, but we didn't. Damn, polluted world. The problem with the world is that everyone sees it through a bias. The worst thing about the future is they still show re-runs of Gilligan's Island. Don't people get it? The little shit never gets off the island."

"But, we don't have sexual diseases anymore. Is that an improvement?" I ask him.

"It would be if you ever reproduced. I am old, Billy. I shall dead soon. Quit being a chicken shit and get me some grandchildren. Shitfire, you make one hundred thousand dollars a month. You have money. You are a little weak, but shit women haven't desired the Hercules type in years."

That was my great-grandfather honest and direct. The complete opposite of me. Two days he has been dead and I miss him already. I don't want to forget any more of my life. I want to remember it. So, I went to the store and bought a notebook and a pack of pens. The lady at the check out counter gave me a funny look.

"Only old people handwrite stuff these days. But, maybe you're older than you look," she said, as she pointed to my thinning hair.

Damn, bitch. No one has any manners these days. I went through my grandfather's CD collection. He had a lot of music from his grandfather's era. Some strange ass, shit. I played a song called, Sixteen Tons. It's hard to believe that there was a time period where men shoveled coal, instead of having the robots do it. Men are smarter than robots. They are still stupid. Artificial Intelligence is a pipe dream like perpetual motion.

"The future is great, but it still has wars, cancers, atomic missiles, and Gilligan's Island re-runs."

That's what my great-grandfather said. Two days dead and I miss the old man already. My hand cramps now, so I guess I will stop writing tonight. I'll try to take some roses to my grandpa's grave. Damnit, he was my link to the past. I will try to make him proud.