We're all interested in the future, because that's where you and I will spend the rest of our lives. But what will that future hold for us - economic turmoil? Ecological disaster? Or, as British girls' annuals would have us believe, a future filled with supermodels lounging on park benches bemoaning the psychic powers that keep them dateless?


It's just terrible what's happening to you girls. Now raise that arm, turn your hip to the left, that's perfect, you're the next cover girl for Depressed ESP Girl Weekly!


Our extrapolation of current trends into the future leads us to the conclusion that hot guys will one day only be interested in kickball and carnivals, a result of the mental health crisis of 2048 that froze their aggregate psychological age at "nine and a half"


Let's smooth over the plot point that involves characters hiding the stars that mark them as second class citizens - where ya going with this, comic? - with a big slice of cheesecake. That's what girls want in their annuals, uncomfortable cheesecake.


Balloons, carnivals, speeches by local mayors? Shouldn't this story at least make the slightest bit of effort to convince us they aren't just slapping a new coat of paint onto a story that originally could have happened any time between 1650 to 1975?


And here's the ultra-futuristic scene where we help the impoverished children by... putting our fancy bracelet into a barrel. At least put the word "space" or "cosmic" or "electronic" in front of your nouns, let us at least pretend this isn't some recycled Victorian romance story!


Is it really charity if you knew the hunky Mayor Junior would see it and then ask you to dance and have some champagne?


Little sister: "Hey, look at this Diana annual I got as a present!" Older brother: "Yeah, merry Christmas... to ME!"

ART DEPARTMENT TIP: Sexy rear ends obscured by word balloons? Simply move that whole part of the body downwards until it's no longer obscured. Sure, there's something happening in the torso area we aren't quite sure about. Whatever.


Pretense of "the future" is completely abandoned at this point, because bikinis and speedos, I guess.


"You're an Astra! I guess you really WERE the last one in!"


You knew this would happen, Shayla. You knew there was a chance the hunky guy was actually a bigoted trash fire. But the heart wants what the heart wants, I guess. Here's the concealer.


Look at this heinous future-crime of kidnapping the sons of minor local officials. Do you WANT Judge Dredd? Because THIS is how we get Judge Dredd.


Time to put this mind-reading thing to actual use, since this entire story has done nothing but talk about mind reading without actually reading any minds. Are you reading OUR mind right now? Because we're thinking "get on with it!"


Kidnappers, yesterday's lunch, binge-watching "Partridge Family 2200 AD", just some scintillating inner life happening up in there.


It appears Leni has been kidnapped by Dr Who's arch-rival The Master, no doubt as part of an evil scheme involving murderous daffodils or shrink rays. Or both.


Bradigan? You must mean Brautigan, Richard Brautigan, prolific American novelist, poet, and short story writer. Sorry, he died more than a hundred years ago. That's all right. Have a good day.


Time for action as Shayla uses all her ESP powers to... climb up those ultra-futuristic brick walls and sneak into that hyper modern high-tech 23rd century "window."


Most of us struggle to learn the martial arts, but Astras can just read the instructor's mind. That's why they're all black belts in karate!


But martial arts are no match for a two or three hundred year old six-shooter. Hey, maybe the girlie DOES want the gun - in 2278 it's a valuable antique!


Well, you can write all the comics you want about hidden communities of mutants struggling to survive in a world that distrusts them, but in the end it always comes down to somebody smacking somebody else around. Because comics.


FINALLY we get some tacked on science-fictiony modifiers as the "space" police arrest the kidnappers. Take him away, boys... TO SPACE!


You're wrong, Leni. She didn't follow your thoughts. She'd never invade your privacy. What she did was follow a bunch of OTHER people's thoughts, because nobody cares about THEIR privacy. And as this story vanishes into a misty "love fog" we take our leave of the ESP supermodels of 2278 and their attempt to find hunky boys. So long, future!

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