Johnny Forever May Be Out There Already.
The Stones rode purple dinosaurs. The Fathers drafted the Constitution. But neither could count on making it past middle age — our middle age.
Even if they dodged the gauntlet of childhood — a deadly phase that wiped out 40% or more of every generation — their chances of reaching old age, our old age, weren’t great. Sixty was rare. Seventy? Forget it. Practically a myth.
Fast-forward to us. We’re far removed from the Flintstones and only a couple of centuries away from the Founding Fathers — yet we live roughly twice as long, with years to spare.
And that’s thanks to science — which, by the way, may soon announce that somewhere out there, the first eternal human is already live and kicking.
Some feast. Major problems ahead.
A Pseudo-Scientific Mathematical Conspiracy Theory
Johnny Forever was born last Wednesday, right around noon. His official life expectancy? Seventy-something years — a full forty more than his closest genetic cousin, born July 4th, 1776.
That is — if Cousin 1776 survived the first brutal gauntlet:
an unvaccinated infancy that wiped out nearly half his generation.
Yoo-hoo!
Now, FYI — just one hour after Johnny blinked at the sun for the first time, a lab nerd (you know, bottle-bottom glasses, lives at the lab, checks home twice a month) had a breakthrough.
A wild new discovery — the kind that could slap another twenty-five years onto the human lifespan.
Buckle up, my friend. Johnny’s not even a week old, and he’s already eyeing his 105th birthday
.But wait a sec — how many more nerds are out there? Hundreds? Thousands? All sprinting to beat each other to the next big breakthrough, each one ready to slap another twenty-five years onto Johnny’s clock.
Wondering when’s that going to happen? For sure, sooner than you think. These days, one month in the lab outpaces a hundred Flintstone centuries of rock tools, cave art, and primitive grunting.
Johnny Is Getting Old — Or Is He?
Soon, the meaning of old will depend entirely on how fast the bottle-bottom-glasses nerds keep grinding.
By the time Johnny hits his prime reproductive years, those guys may have rubbed the genius lamp more than a few times — and now he’s staring down his 250th birthday… just 230 years away.
It looks like a scientific triumph. Maybe the greatest ever.
But this coin has a Stephen King–dark half — and Johnny’s not flipping it alone.
There are a lot of Johnnies out there. More born every day.
And each one arrives preloaded with 200, maybe 500 years of needs, wants, and demands.
And I haven’t even mentioned what the politicians would try to do — and undo — with such a massive, fertile ground to subjugate and exploit. Because let me tell you: eternity is a way worse political headache than communism.
Representative Freddy Krueger vs Eternity.
Freddy Krueger will host his own Tonite's Anti-Woke Panic Show to please Lord Power. Johnny Forever will be the star — but Rep. Freddy will be the superstar. That’s for sure. Just your typical political party turned full-blown circus.
But Freddy’s happiness won’t last. Not for long. Because soon enough, there’ll be too many Johnnies out there — and Freddy will be forced to stop pretending and actually do some real work for a change.
Because Johnny Forever means that, in Freddy’s district alone, demagoguery will be facing a skyrocketing number of under-the-bridge favelas. And of course, the Johnnies crowding those favelas won’t stay quiet. They’ll demand schools. Hospitals. Police. And food. Think, Freddy’s weekly press briefings will echo under the I-95 overpass, flanked by lifelong voters who've survived five impeachments and still haven’t seen a working hospital.
I don't know anyone who would bet for a favela under I95-N or the Turnpike, but the schools, hospitals, and police issues are already there...without the favelas.
Thus, a few Johnnies certainly mean some major headaches.
The Present Does Not Predict a Quiet Transition to Eternity.
Let’s say it happens — science breaks through. Johnny Forever turns into Johnny x 10,000. Cities swell. Fields vanish. Land becomes the new oil. And then comes the panic:
If no one dies, someone has to stop being born. Quietly, at first — recommended guidelines. Then fertility credits. Then algorithms that decide who can reproduce.
In AmeriKa and France, they’ll dress it up in progressive language: planetary responsibility, bio-stewardship, demographic sustainability. In Zambia or the Congo? It’ll be called something else. Or nothing at all. Just another layer of quiet control.
And as the world shifts — demographically, economically, genetically — will white-majority countries welcome a tidal wave of immortal migrants from the very nations they’ve long ignored, exploited, and written off? Or will Power — the kind that wears suits in D.C. and lab coats in Zurich — decide that some bloodlines just aren’t meant for eternity? Will immortality be rationed, like a designer drug — available only to the deserving, the superior, the already-entitled?
Will forever look like a melting pot — or a pressure cooker?
Because eternal life isn't just a scientific question. It's a political bomb. And it’s ticking louder than anyone wants to admit.