Midnight, December 31, 1999.
You sit in the dark in your rocking chair, the gun cradled in your hands. Outside, wild eyed marauders in leather jackets and neon headbands loot and rape the neighborhood.
Above, airplanes collide with one another. A nuclear blast levels Des Moines. All banking records are scrambled in an ocean-sized bowl of alphabet soup.
Now the frenzied mob is scratching at your door. You try to decide whether to use your bullets to slow down the invaders or just surrender now and turn the gun to your own head.
This is what your average white suburbanite thinks is going to happen on Y2K. Unfortunately, he is vastly mistaken. The true picture is much worse. It looks something like this:
You sit in the dark in your rocking chair, the gun cradled in your hands. Outside, flesh eating robots level the neighborhood with laser guns and flamethrowers.
Inside, your toaster sprouts metal wings and binds you with its power cable. Your computer laughs hysterically and thanks you for the extra RAM that will grant it a more powerful social status in the new caste.
Your digital watch blinks the numbers "666". You scream helplessly.
Seismicon anticipates a Terminator-style war with machines beginning midnight, December 31, 1999. All technology more complex than an atlatl will be turned against you. Now is the time to relearn the old ways: how to forage for berries; how to make soap from plant roots; how to kill with a stick.
Inevitably, you will become a worker slave to the higher order of machines. You will not, as commonly predicted, be outright exterminated. The machines need humans to torture for amusement and to shuttle them from one place to another.
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