Every day, I read another article talking about how Elon Musk or Richard Branson wanna shoot me into space for $1,000,000. I grew up with the Jetsons, I was that little kid on the Epcot ride about the future with my eyes wide open just hoping I was not being sold a "bill of goods."

Well, guess what? I'm pushing 40, and all I have is Facebook and Face Time. If I don't get the future I was promised, someone is going to get punched in the FACE. Instead of Elroy's gravity boots, I get 400 pictures of cats in sweaters and photos of people's dinner. I'm good. Thanks a bunch. Where are the Jet packs I was promised?

The picture above is the best they can do? No thanks. I get the pleasure of plunking down 400 bucks on vacation to fly 12-and-a-half feet above the water for 40 seconds? Oh, thanks. Again, I'm good.

I don't want to unlock my phone with my face, I don't want to do interior design on my couch. I don't want to create EDM music with my watch. What I want is what I was promised — FLIGHT. I want to beat gravity and I want it yesterday.

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