4 geologic eras that will unfold while you wait for your coworker Barry to finish his goddamn story
Oh your actual god. Barry has cornered you again in the office kitchenette and launched into one of his sprawling anecdotes. At first it seemed to be about his dentist, but 26 minutes later you've learned that it's actually just set at his dentist's office and is actually about an article he read in National Geographic on leopard sharks, which reminds him of how he went snorkeling in Mexico in 2009, and one of the things he noticed while he was down there is how —
Here are four geologic eras that will inevitably unfold in their whole entire entirety while you wait for Barry to finish his goddamn story. Wonder if he read about that in National Geographic!!
The Impeachizoic geologic era begins toward the end of 2018 when Trump is finally ousted from office, and stretches for several thousand decades as humanity attempts to begin to try to start to even commence to recover from whatever the hell that was. As this era finally comes to a close, Barry will be juuuuuust rounding the corner into an exhaustive list of features of the all-inclusive resort he stayed at — they had a buffet!!!!!!
Enter the Hashtazoic era, where, to cope with the now distant but still horrific memory of Trump, all of humanity gradually migrates onto Twitter because sarcastic jokes are the only way people can process the enormity of their feelings. Over time, concepts such as "sentences" and "paragraphs" are rendered obsolete, until people are speaking to each other exclusively in hashtags. It's awful. Also awful: the way Barry insists on pronouncing it "MEH-hee-ho" despite being from Mississauga. Take a deeeeeeeeeep breath: only several more millennia to go.
This dark period of humanity begins shortly after the Hashtazoic era. Thanks to a giant monopoly in Hollywood and a lack of imagination, all movies are now Marvel movies and there are no other movies. This era lasts for 400 years and god, did Barry go to seven different theatre schools or something because damn, this is an epic monologue.
The earth slowly begins to self-correct, shedding all the Marvel movies, all traces of Trump, all of Twitter, until only the most essential forces remain on the planet: Beyonce's songs, dance moves, and joyous followers. For a period of eight million centuries, Beyonce fans run all governments. It's a time of great peace and prosperity. Unlike in the present-day kitchenette, where Barry is recounting in excruciating detail the morning he briefly choked on a walnut on the beach. It's fine. He was fine a few minutes later, at which point he rolled over on his towel and returned to Chapter 7 of his knockoff book, Da The Vinci Code.