2000 Man

Intro 🚨🚨🚨Hey there, traveler. This isn’t your usual broadcast — it’s a thank you. A little tribute to everyone who subscribed to one (or more) of my creations. We just passed 2000 of you.🥳 To mark the moment, I’ve conjured up a character who knows that number all too well. Meet the 2000 Man. He’s… a lot. But give him a moment. Beneath the static, there’s a signal worth hearing. Thanks for being part of this weird, wonderful ride.🚨🚨🚨 Is this thing on? Or are we stuck buffering in the wrong century again? They call me the 2000 Man. Not because I’m futuristic. More like... a cautionary tale. Born in ‘69, raised on rocket dreams, and dropped into a millennium that looked a lot shinier in the brochures. They told us we’d be zipping around in jetpacks by now. Robots would make coffee, clean your house, maybe file your taxes if they were feeling generous. Instead, we got… Clippy. And a fridge that beeps when you open it too long, like it’s judging you. I waited for moon colonies. Got moon boots and disappointment. World peace? Nope. But hey — we did invent flavored toothpaste for dogs. So… progress? Around Y2K, everyone stared at their computers like they were about to explode or gain sentience. Spoiler: they didn’t. They just got slower and started asking for updates every five minutes. Just like me. So I jumped ship. Or maybe I short-circuited. Hard to tell. Either way, I ended up back in ’69 — my birth year. Now I’m stuck in this retro-futuristic sitcom set. Shag rugs, lava lamps, and a ball chair that squeaks every time I try to sound philosophical. But I’m still here. Running on sarcasm and cold coffee. No moonbase. No jetpack. But plenty of time to talk. Maybe I can’t fix the future. But I can at least complain about it — with style.