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Thirty-five years ahead of its time, "Brazil" is a 1985 satirical black comedy directed by Terry Gilliam. Starring Jonathan Pryce, Robert De Niro, Michael Palin, Bob Hoskins, and Ian Holm, it clearly foresees life in 2020, the systemic breakdown of society and its technology, including ubiquitous video surveillance and flawed facial recognition, the hero driving a SmartCar, cops breaking down the wrong door with an endless chain of consequences.
Several times a day, as 2020 limped to its ragged, sputtering, dysfunctional close, he found himself muttering "Brazil"...
New York in the grip of the pandemic
Silent and empty, The City That Never Sleeps had swiftly become The City That Never Stirs.
Unwilling or unable to move, due to being entranced, usually at the sight of a highly attractive person.
He cannot stop staring at her. My God. She is so incredibly beautiful. He stands frozen at the top of the escalator, people pouring off it right behind him, tripping and falling. He dimly realizes that he is being prodded, cursed and yelled at to MOVE! yet he remains entrancegent.
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An exceedingly rare quality, possessed by very few women, illuminated from within. Most of the world's celebrated beauties do not have it and cannot acquire it, as shown by their age-driven pursuit of cosmetic surgery, and the tragically self-erasing results. For a woman so blessed, it is simply a gift, immune to the passage of time.
She appeared to be ageless, radiant with transcendent beauty. Wherever they found themselves, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, not by degree but entirely in a class of her own. Strangers, both men and women, stared, sometimes approaching to comment. It was more than her exquisite proportions and facial symmetry. Paired with those things, it came from an inner quality of goodness. The man beside her was sometimes told that he was transcendentally lucky, which he knew to be true.
A person who lies awake worrying about all the maladies, disorders and syndromes they may have, present and future.
The messages flooded in at bedtime, from her brother, her cousin - who was a doctor, mind you - studies and statistics forwarded by so many well-intentioned friends, warning of sicknesses which awaited her, if she didn't already have symptoms, which she suddenly realized she probably did have, recommendations for pills, and more pills, changes in diet, which, omg, she vowed to try, promising another sleepless night as a hypoinsomnichondriac.
I can't wait for you to grow up
An acronym, conveying that the affectionate sender has long ago abandoned any hope that the recipient will ever grow up.
Again, her birthday, and again... turning twelve. What could he say? With steady fingers he texted "icwfytgu", secure in their shared understanding that she would remain twelve for the coming year, and for those to follow.
Soup Nazis.
According to WWII scholar and Holocaust historian Marjorie Taylor Greene, the Gazpacho Police are now roaming the halls of Congress.
"Nancy Pelosi's Gazpacho Police, spying on members of Congress..." complained Greene. A person of her erudition could not possibly have been confusing cold vegetable soup with the Gestapo, Hitler's secret force, tasked with sending people to the concentration camps.