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The 3-D hologram in the kitchen told me the wind was high, sending my turbine into bankable electricity assets, its 1 million peanut-oil greased ball-bearings protected from invasive Mongolian sand by organic microfilters made from banana filament genetically engineered with strands of silk.

I employed the electric bottle opener to "uncork" the wine. It tickled me that such a quaint verb had survived the destruction of most trees during the last, explosive war.

The act of removing the stopper activated my Internet connection, immediately alerting the local supacenter that bacchanalian indulgence was about to begin.