I'm supposed to have a flying car by now. When I was a kid, I used to read in my grandfather's Popular Science magazines that flying cars were ten, maybe fifteen years away. It's been longer than that now, and I still don't have my flying car.
I don't have my kitchen of the future, either. Or a rocket pack. Or easy passage between immense, sparkling metropolises via art-deco airships.
And where the hell are my robots? I'm supposed to have at least three or four by now, but how many do I actually have? That's right, none. Zilch. Zip. Nada. No death rays either.
I'm so tired of being lied to...
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