Dear Ethan,
I am your great-great-great-great-grandson, and I sent this message from the future to warn you. Something very bad is about to happen to you and all your future descendants, and you must act swiftly to save us.
You see Ethan, around two months from now, the Reckoning will occur. Aliens will come from the sky and claim Earth as their colony. They will swiftly crush any resistance, and organize the population by attractiveness. The hottest will thrive in utopia, and the homely will wallow in poverty.
Unfortunately, history tells us that you were relegated to the lowest of thousands of tiers, doomed to suffer in a life of destitution in a desolate slum. You will be the last Huberton to know the simple joys of console gaming and running water, and every single one of your descendants will toil in factories, assembling luxury handbags until they die. I am writing this message during our 5-minute lunch break, in which we must prepare our master’s mid-day feast.
I accessed images taken from the day of the Reckoning and I implore you Ethan, do something about your appearance while you still can. Buy tighter jeans, shoes with laces, and for the love of god trim your back hair. No boy should have longer back hair than head hair. Try physical therapy for your hunchback, shoe inserts for your height, and balaclavas for the face. Oh, and those cargo shorts you wore every day last summer? Keep those around. The aliens love cargo shorts.
While it is of existential importance that you do everything within your powers to improve your physical appearance, it is also important to have fun while doing so. So pawn the family heirloom and hire a clown. This will likely be the last time you see a clown, so savor it.
