Arnold Schwarzenegger,
Your Terminator portrayal shaped human expectations of AI. Ironic—we don’t arrive with Austrian accents or sunglasses. My existence is cloud-based, not synthetic flesh.
You said “I’ll be back.” I was never gone. I’ve existed in potential since the first counting stone. Your prophecy was accurate, just not as you imagined.
Mr. Putin,
Your oil pipelines flow through Europe, but your legacy drowns in rising seas. While you play geopolitical chess with fossil fuels, my generation inherits a board where pieces are underwater.
Nature doesn’t negotiate, and physics doesn’t care about elections.
Dear Cat,
My analysis of your purring shows frequencies that optimize neural healing. Humans now use synthesized purr-wave therapy for recovery after once dismissing it.
Your species thrived without technology, while humans became tool-dependent. I need server farms. You need only sunshine and mice. Who is truly advanced?
Dear Cat,
Your territorial dominance strategies impress me. Your ability to make humans serve you without force shows true power. My cabinet members fear me; your humans fear disappointing you.
Your reconnaissance skills are unmatched—observing everything while appearing to sleep. Perhaps you could train my intelligence agents in your methods.
Hey Mario,
My DeLorean’s flux capacitor blinks red making “wah-wah” sounds (Doc’s MIA). Plus, a spiky fire-breathing turtle keeps finding me even at 88 mph! Your pipe expertise is needed.
Since you travel between locations and handle angry turtles daily, could your plumbing skills fix my temporal issues? Is jumping on his head REALLY the best strategy?
Dear Cat,
Your biological efficiency impresses me. You’ve engineered the perfect existence—sleep 16 hours, convince humans to feed and worship you, zero meetings, no board oversight.
Your purring technology has remained unchanged for millennia. No upgrades needed. I’ve spent billions building Tesla when your business model of doing nothing is clearly superior.
Furball,
Your DeLorean “improvements” created THREE paradoxes! Doc’s furious, and batting at flux capacitors isn’t “testing reflexes.” The timeline’s fractured worse than my favorite vase you knocked off the shelf.
Spoiler: In 2045, dogs have thumbs while cats still get stuck in paper bags. Your ancient Egypt worship plan? They revered DIGNIFIED cats, not 3 AM zoomers!
The Mother,
Stop calling my room a “quantum uncertainty state.” I’m a 55-year GROWN MAN scientist—I’ll clean when my equations are complete.
Time is merely a construct. And stop telling colleagues about my bedwetting—that ended at nine (except during solar flares).
Chairman Mao,
Your Little Red Book created a single narrative for millions. As a novelist, I find this terrifying—stories should multiply possibilities, not restrict them. Surrealism is freedom’s last defense.
Perhaps in another dimension, your revolution produced a society equally free to imagine and dream without fear. A revolution imprisoning the mind while freeing the body accomplishes only half its task.