FFWD Weekly
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Mr. Smutty by James Martin Ever since Adam & Eve first gazed into a reflecting pool and beheld crowsfeet and time's cruel sag, humankind has been yearning for an end to the aging process. (Bible scholars now believe A&E were cast out of their garden not for sinning, but for becoming so tough on the eyes. I mean, after running around for years wearing nuthin' but a fig leaf, those cats would've had skin like old shoe leather. Not to mention calluses and chafing.) (According to the just-released 3rd secret of Fatima, God likes the sweet meat. Like, duh – who doesn't dig a nice view?) Which brings us to the timely passing of author/thinker F.M. Esfandiary (a.k.a. FM-2030), who recently succumbed to pancreatic cancer. FM-2030's death was "timely" not because nobody liked him, but because it begins a much-anticipated chapter in the Futurist's life. For decades, FM-2030 lobbied for cryostasis research so that dead people could be revived in the future and cured of what ailed ’em. For e.g., if a partygoer was overwhelmed by a spinach dip that was "simply to die for," they could be brought back to life when science invents a less delicious foodstuff. (Suggested Futurist motto: "I freeze dead people.") It's a great ideer if you don't mind leftovers; think about how much better today's world would be if it were packed w/ all those people who died from the Plague. FM-2030 wrote sev'ral books on the subject, and lectured extensively. He was also invaluable when it came to stopping squeaks, loosening rusted parts and freeing sticky mechanisms, but never in the presence of an open flame or spark. (On second thought, I may be confusing him w/ his brother, WD-40.) As for his unusual name, Esfandiary legally changed his name to FM-2030 ’cuz 2030 was the year he predicted he'd die. (Other predictions: B.B. will win Survivor, and those little chrome push-scooters will prove to be a timeless form of transportation that will never get remaindered at Wal-Mart.) Calendar scholars, howev, are in near-unanimous agreement that it is not the year 2030 right now. Nor will it be 2030 tomorrow or even next week. (Sheesh, some people will do ANYTHING FOR ATTENTION. Take it from me, yr old pal MF-6969.) Was FM-2030 off his rocker, or did he misread a farmer's almanac along the way? Neither. With his essentials preserved at the Alcor Life Extension Foundation in Arizona (and his privates concealed under a dropcloth), FM-2030 hopes to be brought back to life quicker'n you can say "Shine on, harvest moon" – meaning he could v. well live to see the year 2030 A.D. Unless he gets hit by a car in 2029, which would be humorous in the ironic style. (Skeptics scoff at the ALEF, arguing that the entire state of Arizona is one big life extension foundation, at least during winter.) Bodily upkeep is funded by a shrewdly invested Patient Care Trust, but one unnamed scientist at the Foundation claimed to have no knowledge about FM-2030's planned resurrection. "I thought we was just using him for parts," he mumbled. The man did, howev, mention that the cafeteria was featuring a really good steak'n'pancreas pie. When asked to discuss this disturbing development, FM-2030 said nothing. Experts believe this may be because he's just a pickled brain floating in a vat. A jar of polskie ogorkis, believed to have once shared refrigerator shelf space w/ FM-2030, released the following statement: "I'm delicious." Next week: If you have elderly neighbours, that half-empty walk-in freezer of yers could be a goshdarn goldmine.

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