Good one, Michael! Someday the government may rule that everyone has to have a UPC code emblazoned on their body, just so the entities in charge can keep track of everyone and make us conform to their rules.  Wow.

The announcement crackled across televisions and blared from radios, punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of ticker tape falling in the White House press room. "Free Pizza Friday!" a headline in bold declared on news websites. A nation weary of political division and economic uncertainty collectively paused, forks halfway to mouths, phones hovering over social media feeds. Free pizza? Every Friday? Courtesy of President Trump's masterful pruning of government waste?

The initial reaction was, understandably, disbelief. Snarky memes popped up faster than pepperoni on a hot pie. "Is this real life?" one read, featuring a Photoshopped Trump wearing a chef's hat and brandishing a pizza cutter like a sword. Conspiracy theories blossomed: Was it a plot to bankrupt Domino's? A secret deal with Big Cheese?

But as the details trickled out, meticulously documented on the Government Printing Office's website (a testament to the aforementioned trimmed waste), the skepticism began to thaw. The President, leveraging his business acumen, had negotiated a bulk discount with a consortium of pizzerias, ensuring a standard cheese pizza – large, New York style – to every taxpayer, delivered directly to their door. The delivery confirmation served as proof of receipt, avoiding any potential misuse.

Friday dawned with a buzz unlike any other. Early risers peered out their windows, anticipating the arrival of the government-sponsored feast. The pizza trucks, emblazoned with the Presidential seal and the slogan "Making America Delicious Again," became a common sight on suburban streets and city avenues.

The first few weeks were chaotic. Delivery drivers navigated traffic jams of unprecedented proportions. Online forums were flooded with complaints: "Wrong topping!" "Pizza arrived cold!" "My neighbor ate mine!" The government, however, was surprisingly responsive, establishing a dedicated Pizza Hotline and deploying a team of "Pizza Problem Solvers" to address the logistical nightmares.

Slowly, things began to smooth out. Delivery routes were optimized, GPS tracking ensured timely arrival, and the option to choose a specific delivery time was introduced. The national mood began to shift.

Dinner tables, once battlegrounds for political arguments, were now united by the shared experience of Free Pizza Friday. Families laughed and shared stories over slices of cheese. Neighbors, who previously only nodded in passing, bonded over discussions of crust thickness and sauce tanginess. The pizza became a symbol of unity, a reminder that even in a divided nation, everyone could agree on the simple joy of a free slice.

The economic impact was undeniable. Pizzeria owners saw their businesses boom, hiring new staff and expanding their operations. The demand for mozzarella cheese skyrocketed, boosting the dairy industry. Even the cardboard box manufacturers experienced a renaissance.

Of course, there were still critics. Nutritionists bemoaned the lack of vegetable options. Environmentalists worried about the mountains of pizza boxes filling landfills. Political opponents accused the President of pandering to the masses with a cheap gimmick.

But for most Americans, Free Pizza Friday was a welcome respite from the daily grind. It was a symbol of hope, a reminder that even the government could provide something tangible and universally appreciated.

Years passed. The President served two terms. Free Pizza Friday remained a cornerstone of his legacy, a quirky, populist policy that had somehow, against all odds, united a fractured nation. And every Friday, as the aroma of baked dough and melted cheese filled the air, people would smile, remembering the time when the President, in his inimitable way, had declared, "Let them eat pizza!" And they did. And it was good.

LOL, Mike! Should have just had every mailman pull a trailer of pizzas behind them as they delivered the mail! 

Oh, and I recycle all my pizza boxes, among other stuff. 

Mike,

The recycling company has never mentioned greasy boxes, or dirty plastic.  I recycle all plastic, paper, and cardboard.  The guy simply picks up the bin and dumps it into the truck.  The one thing that they do NOT want is Styrofoam.  Like you, after I recycle everything, I don't have a lot of garbage.  Now and then I'll put a stack of magazines in the bin.

My recycle company isn't that picky, I guess.  Also, I don't put aluminum cans in the bin.  I save them until I get quite a few, then take them to the scrap yard to sell.  Puts money into MY pocket instead of the recycle company's.  By the way, the recycle company isn't the same entity as the garbage pick-up.  The recycle company is, I think, a private company.

The sky was fracturing. Not in a metaphorical, poetic way, but literally. Crimson veins spiderwebbed across the once-azure expanse, pulsing with an unholy light. Buildings crumbled, not from earthquakes, but from some internal decay, as if their very essence was being unraveled. The screams were a symphony of terror, a crescendo building to a deafening, inevitable climax.

Michael knelt on the cracked pavement, rosary beads clutched tight in his calloused hands. He’d witnessed scenes ripped straight from Revelation: fire raining from the heavens, the dead rising from their graves – not in a peaceful, resurrected form, but as twisted, tormented parodies of life. He wasn’t unafraid; fear was a primal instinct he couldn’t deny. But beneath the fear, a profound peace bloomed. He knew. He believed.

Beside him, Joe, his friend since childhood, sobbed. He wasn’t panicking, not in the frantic, clawing-at-nothing way that consumed so many around them. His sobs were quiet, mournful. "I don't understand, Michael," he choked out. "Why them? Why not us?"

Michael squeezed Joe's shoulder. "Look inside your heart, Joe. Deep down. Do you truly believe?"

Joe hesitated, his sobs catching in his throat. "I want to... I always wanted to..."

Michael understood. Joe, like many, had struggled with faith. He'd questioned, doubted, argued. But doubt, Michael knew, wasn't the absence of faith; it was the forge in which true faith was tempered. He’d seen Joe’s quiet acts of kindness, his selfless devotion to his family, his unwavering commitment to doing what was right, even when it was hard. He’d seen the flicker of belief in Joe's eyes during Sunday Mass.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them vibrated with an impossible energy. The crimson cracks in the sky widened, tearing open a swirling vortex of blinding light. A trumpet blast, impossibly loud yet strangely beautiful, echoed across the dying world.

Michael closed his eyes, his heart overflowing with gratitude. He thought of the countless hours he’d spent volunteering with the Knights of Columbus, feeding the homeless, visiting the sick, fundraising for the needy. He hadn’t done it for reward, but out of love and obedience. He’d seen the face of Christ in the faces of the suffering, and that had been his driving force.

Then, he felt it. A gentle tug, a sensation of weightlessness, of being uplifted and carried on the wings of love. He opened his eyes. The crumbling world, the fire, the screams – all faded away. He was bathed in a light so pure, so luminous, it defied description. He could feel the presence of countless other souls, all ascending with him, their faces radiant.

He turned to Joe, his heart aching with hope. Joe’s face was transformed. The fear and doubt were gone, replaced by a look of profound awe. He was smiling, a tear tracing a path down his cheek.

The light embraced them, pulling them higher and higher, through the swirling vortex and beyond. They emerged into a realm of indescribable beauty, a landscape of rolling hills bathed in eternal sunlight, shimmering rivers of pure light, and trees bearing fruit of unimaginable sweetness.

Before them stood a city of gold, its gates shimmering with the promise of eternal peace. He knew this place. He had dreamed of it, prayed for it, believed in it. This was Heaven.

He and Joe walked hand-in-hand towards the city, their hearts overflowing with joy and gratitude. As they approached the gates, a figure emerged, radiant and welcoming. It was Jesus, his face filled with love and compassion.

He extended his hand, his voice resonating with unimaginable power and tenderness. "Welcome, my faithful servants. Enter into the joy of your Lord."

Michael knelt, tears streaming down his face, finally home. He had lived a life of faith, of service, of love. He had stumbled, he had doubted, but he had always returned to his belief, trusting in the promise of salvation.

Beside him, Joe did the same. He had found his faith in the face of the end, and now, he was beginning his eternal journey, bathed in the love of God.

The world had ended, but for Michael, for Joe, and for all those who truly believed, a new beginning had just begun. They had been saved, not just from destruction, but for eternity, in a place of unimaginable peace and joy. And Michael knew, with absolute certainty, that it was more glorious than anything he could have ever imagined. This was the reward for faith, the culmination of a life lived in service to God. And it was just the beginning.

Excellent, Mike! Wow! 

I respect that, Mike.  You are a good man.

The decree arrived with the chilling precision of a high-speed asteroid report. It wasn’t a memo, nor an emergency broadcast, but a global, instantaneous data push, appearing on every screen, every device, every AR overlay, accompanied by a sterile, synthesized voice that echoed in the silence of millions of homes.

“Effective immediately, all clothing is prohibited. Individuals found wearing prohibited materials will be subject to immediate apprehension and re-education protocols. This mandate prioritizes transparency, equality, and the eradication of social stratification based on material display. Compliance is mandatory. Welcome to the New Bare.”

Sarah dropped her mug of lukewarm tea. Her breath hitched. Her apartment, once a sanctuary of soft fabrics and comforting layers, suddenly felt like a stage under harsh, unforgiving lights. Outside, the usual morning symphony of distant traffic and birdsong was replaced by a cacophony of shouts, screams, and the rising wail of sirens.

The first week was a battlefield of discomfort. Public transport became a shared, mortified silence. The air conditioning on the bus, once a minor nuisance, now felt glacial against her exposed skin. Trying to focus on her data analysis at work was an exercise in futility, her mind constantly aware of the dozens of naked bodies around her, the subtle shifts in posture, the unavoidable fact of everyone’s undeniable, varied humanity. Office chairs were swiftly replaced with self-cleaning, temperature-regulated ergonomic models. Hand sanitisers became a public obsession.

The "Orbital Scanners," as the decree called them, ensured compliance. They weren't visible, but everyone knew they were there, vast networks of unseen technology that could detect even a stray sock in a forgotten pocket. Attempts at rebellion were swift and public – holographic projections of apprehended individuals, their faces blurred, their nakedness stark, played on every public screen, followed by the chilling message: "Re-education in progress. Compliance is absolute."

Slowly, agonizingly, humanity began to adapt.

First, came the practicalities. Sunscreen became the most valuable commodity on Earth. Hats, wide-brimmed and lightweight, designed for minimal skin coverage but maximum sun protection, became the only acceptable headwear. Footwear, often just light sandals or ergonomic soles, was tolerated, purely for utility. Bags, too, were allowed—small, functional pouches worn across the body, holding essentials like comm-devices, hydration packs, and, inevitably, more sunscreen.

Then came the psychological shifts.

The initial shock gave way to a strange, mundane reality. The endless, varied tapestry of humanity was laid bare. Bodies of all shapes, sizes, ages, and conditions moved through the streets. The supermodel's sculpted physique, the construction worker's muscled frame, the elderly woman's wrinkled skin, the child's soft form – all became equally common, equally visible. The constant pressure to present a curated version of self simply evaporated. There was nothing to hide behind, nothing to aspire to visually beyond simple health and hygiene.

Shame, once a heavy cloak, began to fray at the edges, then dissipate entirely. When everyone is naked, no one is truly naked. The concept lost its power. Conversations felt rawer, stripped down. Flirting became less about subtle glances and more about directness, about shared laughter and easy eye contact. Intimacy, whether platonic or romantic, took on a new dimension, born of unavoidable vulnerability.

Sarah found herself walking differently. Her shoulders, once subtly hunched, straightened. Her gaze, once prone to darting glances, became more direct. She saw the stretch marks on a young mother's belly and felt a surge of unexpected empathy. She saw the scar across an old man’s chest and wondered about his story. She saw her own reflection, the slight sway of her belly, the faint marks on her hips, and for the first time in years, she saw them not as flaws, but simply as herself.

Years passed. The "New Bare" became just "life." Architecture adapted; public spaces became climate-controlled, with integrated privacy zones for essential bodily functions. Furniture was designed for comfort and hygiene. Art, once focused on draped forms or stylized representations, now celebrated the raw, unadorned human figure in all its natural poses. Fashion houses pivoted to designing advanced sunscreens, ergonomic footwear, and discreet, functional accessories.

Sometimes, Sarah would catch a glimpse of an old advertisement, an archived image of people in elaborate clothing, and feel a flicker of something akin to bewilderment. What was the point of all those layers? What were they trying to say, or to hide?

The world was not perfect. There were still inequalities, still power struggles, still moments of cruelty and kindness. But a fundamental layer of artifice had been peeled away. You couldn’t pretend to be something you weren't, not visually. You were just... you.

One warm evening, Sarah sat on a public bench, the air circulating gently around her, the soft glow of the city lights reflecting off the varied skin tones around her. A child ran past, laughing, completely unselfconscious. An old couple held hands, their bodies weathered but their connection undeniable.

Sarah looked down at her own hands, then at her bare legs, her feet resting lightly on the warm sidewalk. She felt the cool breeze, the gentle hum of the city. She was exposed, yes, but also, in a strange, undeniable way, more connected than ever before. Naked in every sense of the word, and perhaps, finally, truly free.

LOL, Mike!  I can see SEVERAL problems with that.  My first thought is for the children.  No more secrets about where babies come from. And the pedophiles must be living in ecstasy. 

Second thought is for the unbelievable nastiness.  People sitting their bare butts down in the exact same spot where other people have done.  Sharing shit, you might say.  Especially if some old person has hemorrhoids.  What about the old women with bladder control problems?  No more Depends to catch the urine.

Third thought is for the young sexy women.  Nakedness won't cancel men's primal urges.  If anything, it will make them worse.  Women will be afraid to go in public with their private parts exposed.  How easy would it be for a man to grab her and enter her before she even realizes it's about to happen?

Fourth, what about the people living in Canada, or Siberia?  Talk about frostbite...!

A good story, but it'll never happen, LOL.

The year 2026 began like any other, if by 'any other' you meant another year of escalating climate anxiety. The headlines shrieked of melting ice caps, unprecedented droughts, and the ticking clock of irreversible collapse. Carbon taxes were at an all-time high, renewable energy initiatives dominated global policy, and the phrase "carbon footprint" was almost a religious commandment.

Then came October 14th.

It wasn't a slow unraveling; it was an explosion. A consortium of independent data scientists, led by a disgraced former EPA analyst and a whistleblower from the Department of Energy, released a meticulously compiled, 3,000-page exposé. They called it "Project Evergreen."

The world stared, then gaped, then erupted.

The core assertion was so audacious, so monstrous, that initial reactions were either dismissive laughter or indignant rage. Climate change and global warming, as presented to the public for decades, was a meticulously crafted hoax.

Not a scientific error. Not a misinterpretation. A deliberate, coordinated deception orchestrated by the US government, with the complicity of certain international bodies and a compliant media, to achieve one overarching goal: control.

Eliza Vance, a veteran investigative journalist, remembered the morning the report dropped. Her newsroom, usually a cacophony of urgent chatter, was utterly silent, save for the frantic clicking of keyboards and the low murmur of bewildered voices. She read the executive summary, her coffee going cold in her hand.

"They leveraged fear," the report detailed, "to centralize power. To justify unprecedented economic interventions, to control energy markets, to influence international policy, and to usher in an era of digital surveillance disguised as environmental monitoring." The 'carbon credit' system, once hailed as a necessary evil, was revealed as a sophisticated new form of global currency, inherently tied to compliance and behavior.

The data manipulation detailed in "Project Evergreen" was breathtaking in its scale and audacity. Temperature readings selectively amplified, satellite imagery doctored, dissenting scientific voices systematically discredited or silenced, and funding funneled exclusively towards research that supported the predetermined narrative. The 'consensus' had been manufactured, a carefully curated echo chamber designed to drown out truth.

The motive was laid bare: control over energy, which meant control over economies, which meant control over people. The push for intermittent, less efficient renewable sources had, paradoxically, made nations more reliant on a centralized grid, easier to manage and, if necessary, disrupt. The promise of a 'green' future was a gilded cage.

As the days turned into weeks, the initial global outrage morphed into a chilling realization. The protests were immediate and violent. Governments fell. Stock markets plunged, then wildly reconfigured as the energy sector was thrown into chaos. Renewable energy companies, once darlings of the market, saw their values plummet. Investors who had sunk trillions into wind farms and solar arrays watched their fortunes evaporate.

And then came the second shockwave from Project Evergreen: the truth about energy.

Hidden within the mountains of debunked climate science were suppressed studies, overlooked patents, and decades of research funded by independent sources. These studies, once dismissed as 'fringe' or 'industry propaganda,' painted a radically different picture.

Natural gas, far from being a dirty fossil fuel, was revealed as an incredibly clean and abundant energy source, with far fewer emissions than previously claimed when properly extracted and utilized. The gas leaks and methane emissions that had been sensationalized were accurate, but solvable problems that had been deliberately ignored to maintain the negative narrative. With modern capture technologies, natural gas could bridge the energy gap for centuries.

But the real game-changer was Small Modular Reactors (SMRs). These advanced nuclear technologies, smaller and safer than traditional nuclear power plants, offered a truly carbon-free, incredibly efficient, and scalable solution to global energy demands. They could be built quickly, placed almost anywhere, and provided a constant, reliable power supply without the land footprint or intermittency issues of renewables. For decades, their development had been quietly stifled, their potential deliberately downplayed, painted with the broad brush of 'dangerous nuclear waste' fear-mongering.

The revelation hit Eliza hardest. She had fiercely advocated for climate action for years, believing she was fighting for the planet. All the articles, the impassioned broadcasts, the moral crusades – they had been fueled by a lie. A carefully constructed, insidious lie that had manipulated her, and billions like her, into becoming unwitting agents of their own subjugation.

The world grappled with the cognitive dissonance. How could so many have been so wrong, for so long? How could they have been so thoroughly deceived? The answer, chillingly, was fear. Fear, expertly cultivated and weaponized, had blinded them all.

By the end of 2026, the global landscape was unrecognizable. Energy policy was being rewritten from scratch. Nations began scrambling to build SMRs and develop natural gas infrastructure with a fervor once reserved for renewable projects. The economic and political fallout was immense, promising years, if not decades, of trials, recriminations, and a profound crisis of trust in institutions.

As Eliza looked out over the city from her balcony, a new kind of energy hummed in the air – not just the promise of cleaner, abundant power, but the raw, volatile energy of a world waking up, bewildered and furious, to the truth. The planet hadn't been on the brink of collapse; humanity had been on the brink of absolute control, subtly surrendered under the guise of saving itself.

The climate hadn't changed as dramatically as they'd been told. But everything else had. And the chilling question remained: if they could lie about something so grand, so globally encompassing, what else had they been lying about? The year 2026 wasn't the end of the world; it was the end of an illusion. And the beginning of a very different, and deeply distrustful, future

That is totally believable, Mike!  I have always said there is no such thing as "climate change".  And the way the mainstream media changes things to fit their agenda is totally corrupt.  Already, no one believes what they hear in the media.