What's it gonna be like to run with the fast crowd in the year 2400? Will we still be waiting at rope lines to get into the coolest zero-grav clubs? Dropping big bucks on magnums of GoThereJuice and sporting the latest pomp-doos? I wrote this song to give myself a little tour of what money could buy 383 years out. Or whatever money's called by then. Maybe retinal scans will be so retro you'll just need to think’n’pay... Jet packs, vacation planets, fetching androids, textured

In 1951, alien visitor Michael Rene stuck a saucer off third base on a D.C. ballpark and emerged in a shiny silver suit that may have spawned a generation's worth of sweat-inducing workout duds. His sidekick, Gort, clad in complementary lamé, was a humorless automaton capable of destroying the world, if properly pissed off. Problem was, Earth had gotten too frisky for its galactic neighborhood, threatening to destroy itself with planetary squabbles unacceptable to the overlor