Nurse Candy

In 2024, you had yourself cryogenically frozen because of some wacky cancer they were sure could be cured within a decade or so. While you were under, the outside world kept doing its thing: whole generations of boys were raised to jump to the other side of the road as soon as an apparent female approached, and cower in fearful self-loathing in case they ever accidentally looked at - or, heaven forbid, touch - a female human being. Meanwhile, the trans steamroller flattened the female gender into the pink little Barbie stereotype and pushed women out of their own sports and bathrooms. Cardi B and her ilk established skankiness as the standard form of female self-expression, and the capitalist meat grinder earlier feminists had fought so hard to throw themselves into quickly taught the ladies the ABC's of self-exploitation, with a special focus on attractiveness as the only way to get ahead and count for something. It's not bad if you do it to yourself, right? What does that leave us with? A generation of young women who see their bodies as a mere resource, who never got to experience love and real partnership, but is accustomed to a permanent carnival of fleeting "acquaintances," where a bodycount of 100 and practical experience with a dozen types of rough and hard play is the very least a girl should have by the time she leaves college. It's the year 2042 now, and your first glimpse of this brave new world entails a bombshell bimbo nurse in a rather tight latex outfit. Her name tag reads: 🍬CANDY🍬