the year is 2075. the internet has finally run out of relatable content. on all social media across the world, posts simply stop being made. zombie-like posters stare dazed and dead at their computer screens, unable to cope with the fact that they simply cannot create original relatable content anymore. wars begin to break out in major cities all around the eastern seaboard. hundreds of miles away, a frantic intern scrambles into the office of an ancient, decrepit bill gates. the only sound in the room is the whir of the machine keeping him alive.
“sir,” he says, “we’ve run out of content. what do we do?”
bill gates sits for a long, quiet moment. his eyes shut tightly. his machine continues to whir.
“unplug me” he whispers, in a ragged, broken voice. “unplug me”