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Bear with Me: The future is bleak, but so am I

The future is a PC nightmare with no physical contact and all restaurants are Taco Bell


It seems like we are all going to die under the bold leadership of a gameshow host.

I’m not too worried about it, though. I’ve spent — some might say, wasted — much of my life watching what I consider to be the finest of all film genres, the bleak near-future movie. God bless HBO late-night 1995.


The post-apocalyptic era in the United States won’t necessarily be like “Mad Max,” with gangs of mohawked psychos fighting over scraps of gasoline, ironically doing so in vehicles with souped-up V8 engines.

If the powers-that-be in Boulder are the big dogs to rise from the nuclear fire, we might see a world that looks more like 1993’s “Demolition Man.” It will be a ultra politically correct nightmare in which all physical contact is outlawed, cursing results in a fine and all restaurants are Taco Bell. I’d be fine with that, except salt and fat are also verboten. I’d have to go underground. They have rat burgers.

“Def-Con 4,” a delightful piece of 1985 Canadian B-movie trash, shows how the Nova Scotians will fare after nuclear conflagration between the United States and the Soviet Union. It’s not pretty, and a mean-spirited private school kid becomes a cruel warlord who hangs people for fun. If he doesn’t get you, the deranged, radiation-poisoned cannibals surely will. It’s a grim picture, for sure.

But I don’t believe it for a minute. A Canadian post-apocalypse will look more like this:

Warlord: Take the prisoner to the torture chamber.

Prisoner: *Cough*

Warlord: But first take him to the free clinic, and let’s see if we can do something about that cough.

A dystopia with universal health care is a far cry from 1974’s “A Boy and His Dog,” however. It’s Don Johnson’s movie debut, and we learn that the Republican Party will likely go underground after causing a nuclear holocaust to continue its weird descent into sexless authoritarianism. Because subterranean living makes the men sterile, or they are just averse to naked women, a honey pot will ascend every now and then to lure down a virile male from the surface.

I won’t fall for it, and it won’t matter because I’ll be in Canada getting free healthcare, courtesy of the politest despot I’ve ever met. He calls me, “Buddy.”

Drugs will be weird in the future. “Prayer of the Rollerboys,” (1990), is the best movie ever made about a white supremacist rollerblade gang. It shows us that the go-to drug will be called “Mist,” come in a neon-rainbow package and require an expensive electronic gas mask to imbibe. There’s also, of course, “Crystal Dream” in 1991’s “Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man,” a blue drug administered directly into the eyes. It’s also 100 percent addictive and kills one out of every seven users. If that doesn’t tickle your fancy, Plughead in 1990’s “Circuitry Man” sells electronic drugs, but you need a USB jack drilled into your head.

On second thought,  if this hellscape comes to pass, maybe I’ll just start drinking again.

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