Be that as it may, with hindsight we suspect he might have included the following appendix: "...With the exception of kevlar hats".
However, such is the pace of technological progress these days, that sometimes it feels as if the future comes five years at a time. Barely a day goes by without someone unveiling yet another virtual/augmented reality headset that'll never be released, or some sort of revolting robot face that hisses and buzzes while flailing its snake-like appendages around in a ball pond. Frankly, the future is rushing at our heads like a piledriver operated by an amped-up slapstick comedian, and it's all a bit terrifying.
In a bid to reassure you all that everything is going to be fine, probably, Digitiser 2000 has huffed upon our crystal orb, and peered into tomorrow. We bring to you now our 5 predictions for gaming in the space year 3015 AD...
Gone are the hard, plastic shells full of electronics - and in their place are a race of pale, squat, tripedal, telepathic gaming homunculi, who shuffle around the streets of our future world, forlornly offering their services to the silver-suited passers-by. Sadly, these so-called "Bastard Sons of Darwin" are riddled with arthritis from birth, and emit constant, undulating screams. The gaming-addicted populace have taken to wearing earplugs to keep from being driven mad by the continual sound of a billion shrieking bantams.
4. With their one purple eye, and soft, constantly snapping beak that dispenses a lurid gaming energy dew all down their perpetually-decaying torsos, the homunculi project gaming experiences directly into a player's subconscious. Should a gamer require an energy boost, they simply have to lick the creatures' dewy chests in order to keep their gaming marathon going.
3. Unfortunately, the gaming homunculi are born with no in-built wifi. Engaging in an online game, such as Call of FIFA Minecraft: Really Really Advanced Warbuilding, requires gamers to gather a group of homunculi together in order to instigate a long-distance telepathic sense-field. This requires the creatures to use their thumbs to force open a muscular sphincter on their underbelly, from which a wobbling, sinewy, sense organ emerges. Linking their dribbling tentacles, the homunculi form a circle around a player, and strain through their pain to chant a singular mantra: "Humtu, humtu, humtu-ta/Humtu, humtu, da-da-dah/A-humtu, bumtu, pringle-pram/A-mankus, dankus, pringle-bum".
2. Though only having a rudimentary trace of sentience, the creatures have been granted basic civil liberties. Two years ago, a law was passed allowing marriage between humans and homunculi - and the first such wedding recently took place on the moon.
Unfortunately, the creatures are not used to the intimacy humankind takes for granted, and on its wedding night, the homunculus suddenly bloated up like a weather balloon, rolled out of bed, and started crashing and bashing around the hotel room. Its concerned husband attempted to calm it with a fond embrace, but upon doing so the creature suddenly deflated, emitting an abrasive raspberry sound, along with a bitter odour that flooded the entire moon hotel. Seven people died of asphyxiation when a panicked concierge opened the airlock to waft out the smell.
1. Our future world is ruled, inexplicably, by the benevolent, preserved remains of Fable creator Peter Molyneux OBE. Beamed directly from the future, to give hope to the people of the past, here is President Molyneux's inaugural address: