Instead of progress, I’m imagining a future where the massively wealthy people who run the world with robots build a machine to be let loose inside the pit of an arena for the express purpose of mechanized sport-rape. Since it’s my imagination, I, of course, would be the prey. Once pinned by this man-hunter, bull-fucking machine, I can almost hear the titillation from the crowd as the Jumbotron zeroes in on the merciful anguish of defeat on my face. I’m gonna make one sad John Henry-style folk hero, for sure.