Have your ever misplaced your keys? Almost everyone has, and usually at the most inopportune times. Maybe you're already late for work, or rushing to take Billy to that fencing practice he's been so adamant about (and you've tried so hard to support[1]). Maybe a serial killer has just crashed your teenage lakehouse orgy and your last moment on Earth is spent trying to remember where you put the key to your handgun’s lockbox. Imagine the irony as you realize forgetfulness is the only thing standing between you and that handgun as safely guarded by its lockbox as it is by the 2^nd Amendment. If not for your brainfart, the contents of that pesky (and possibly childproof) metal cuboid could've stopped a psychopath from redecorating the room with the contents of your skull.

            All this violence!  Ok, that may have been a bit of hyperbole, an argument I will employ during the mandatory meeting I have just earned with my school's psychologist. While I'm there, consider how often you misplace important items, and the methods you use to conjure up their location. Some (retards, Catholics, retired NFL quarterbacks with multiple concussions, the handicapped) implore St. Anthony to help them find their misplaced items. Others mentally or physically retrace their steps, a fact which sheds new light on why the previous group got stuck with Big Tony. Then there are the most pragmatic among us, who sit down, light a reconstructed cigar, and figure it's a sign we just weren't supposed to do shit that day.

            But no matter the strategy employed, those who finally find what they are looking for are often baffled by the place in which they stumble across it. The misplaced item seems to end up in the last place you would think to look. I believe the answers to society's toughest problems can be discussed similarly, which, like most aspects of society, forces me to again consider violence. Maybe the answer to rape, murder, assault, and Justin Tuck’s tackles can be found in each of those acts themselves, just in The Matrix.

            If you are not familiar with the Wachowski brothers' conceptual construct known as The Matrix, then I assume you've seen a whole bunch of bitch movies and TV shows, and may still be able to relate. The level of reality in The Matrix (not the movies, The Matrix itself) is basically on par with the level of reality presented in "Notting Hill:" it looks real, but there's just a whole bunch of shit that's totally impossible (children bending spoons with their minds is roughly equivalent to Hugh Grant getting pussy).

            Such a world may not be far off. Advances in the field of nanotechnology will soon bring forth a revolution in computing, leading to massively parallel computer chips able to mimic the thought patterns of the human brain (with a shit ton more capacity). This may, in turn, give rise to a race of artificially intelligent supercomputers with organic processing and memory storage, which will undoubtedly enslave the human race and feed off our bodies while subjecting our consciousnesses to a messianic dreamworld resembling modern society. Which will be a fucking shame, because before all that happens we will probably be living in perfect harmony with each other and the Earth, free from the scourges of war and violence (although Justin Tuck will probably have to find a new job fighting hermaphroditic skeletons in Castle Grayskull.)     

             What does this have to do with society's ills? Well, right before the machines enslave us and suck the carbon from our bodies as nourishment, they will represent humanity's ultimate outlet. Famous police psychologist Dr. George Huang has often told us (and Christopher Meloni[2]) that violence is just an expression of power; those whose insecurities foster a need for such power are lead to violence as a means of attaining it. The advent of true artificial intelligence will change all this, bringing with it virtual reality so believable that (as was the case in "The Matrix") no one would ever even question it. If one does in fact feel the need to act on violent urges, they will be able to do so in completely realistic and believable virtual simulations, without having to rape, kill, or full-speed tackle their fellow human beings.

            Now I know if you're reading my work, you're probably going for a Ph.D. in psychology and are getting all ready to write me a crushingly verbose email about how such a simulation would only reinforce a psychopath's drives, while also providing more practical experience in how to fuck shit up than the X-Men's Danger Room. (Of course that's your contention, you're a first year grad student…) OK d-bag, maybe you're right. Maybe I've secretly got my fingers crossed that this does transpire because I sit alone in my apartment at night blowing lines and watching each season of "The Ultimate Fighter" in succession on DVD, only because I broke my laptop over a woman's face and am no longer able to enjoy internet snuff films with a nice bottle of Glenfiddich. Maybe fuck yourself. (Yeah, two Boston movie references in one paragraph.)

            That non-withstanding, the advent of insanely believable virtual reality will provide an opportunity to burrow further into one's psyche than ever before, confronting and, fingers crossed, stomping on the (metaphorical) faces of deep-seeded emotional and psychological stressors with a new pair of Under Armour cleats. Click CLACK motherfucker. If savant serial killer Edmund Kemper could have confronted his nagging mother in a virtual reality world, he would have never been forced to kill six female college students before decapitating the old hag and catching a quick Anne-Boleyn[3] before turning himself in to the police. Shithead could've been Bill Gates.

            And while many of the most horrific criminals in the history of this nation were the product of pervasive emotional and psychological problems, I have to believe some of them were just regular dudes having a bad day. Long supermarket lines, inexplicable traffic jams, two radio stations playing the same Nelly Furtado song simultaneously: any of these things can prompt an average Joe to exercise his second Amendment rights all over a crowded Lamaze class.

            So, virtual reality violence will be just as useful for the Ted Bundy's of the world as it will be for the average Republican. You don't like a 1)woman 2) of ambiguous ethnicity 3) singing about her promiscuity with 4) a black man 5) definitely not of her aforementioned ambiguous ethnicity? Then step right up, into the V.R. pod, and onto the set of the "Promiscuous Girl" music video, where you are free wreak havoc for hours on end. Upon returning to your assembly line job the next day, you will exude a Zen-like state of tranquility which will probably prompt your (similarly racist and insecure) co-workers to wonder whether you've converted to Buddhism (read: terrorism).

            But let's just say, continuing to use the Nelly Furtado example, that the anger you feel upon hearing "Promiscuous Girl" doesn't necessarily stem from your fear of minorities and beautiful women. Maybe you're cultured and pedantic enough to hate that song just because it sucks (which it does). Have no fear, virtual reality is more than capable of transmogrification. Yes, that's right, transmogrification[4]. All those shitty songs and movies will be represented in V.R. so enveloping that you will honestly believe you are inflicting physical harm on something otherwise completely inanimate. Now, I can't exactly conceptualize how these media holocausts will be represented, but I assume "Promiscuous Girl" will be purple and pink, and somewhat serpentine.

            Just imagine, when your girlfriend drags you to go see "The Women," 90 minutes of wanting to stab your eyes out with Magic Johnson's dick will be rewarded by playful hours in a V.R. pod, battling a large, menstruating vagina with razor sharp teeth and an aridity usually reserved for the planet Mercury. (Hint: it's power lies in its dryness! All you have to do is be a cocky asshole, wait for it to get a little wet, and then strike with the dual sai's the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ Rafael just handed to you. Isn't virtual reality great?) And the best part is, once defeated, the now oozing cooter won't try to follow you around and take you to shitty-ass movies like "The Women!"

              So don't even think about wasting your time and my oxygen at that poetry reading you were planning on attending tonight. Go back to school, get a fucking degree in engineering or materials science, and get to work on this shit. Fuck red and blue pills; by the time genuine V.R. arrives, even I'm going to be able to flush that shit down the toilet.

[1] Although you know his new vocation—and overly flamboyant celebrations at each point—will probably be remembered as the straw that broke the camel's back when your family and friends recall that "yeah, they knew before he did." Just make sure the house is stocked with a wide variety of scotch (all of which is laced with percodan) that summer after sophomore year of college when Billy brings home his first special friend whose farts only the dog can hear.

[2] If I ever had to have sex with a man—and I'm saying HAD TO—and I could pick, I would definitely be going with Chris Meloni, as long as he could keep in character as Detective Elliot Stabler. Which I'm sure he could, because, you know, he's such a great actor and so hot and commanding. This is my second footnote referencing homosexuality, and I understand how this all looks, and I swear I'd rather take my pants off for Mariska Hargitay. But maybe if I did, I could convince her to let Meloni watch?

[3] Receiving oral sex from a decapitated head. Although I should probably get credit for coining this one, I don't think I'm going to pursue it very aggressively.

[4] Pee-wee's playhouse is going fucking nuts right now.