Snotman is a Jolly Decent Type

By the second half of the 21st Century, society had developed a new class structure. 'Martyrs' were those who were virtuously helpless, unproductive and good at filling in online application forms. 'Celebrities' were people who squeezed every molecule of theatre out of essentially pointless activities, broadcasting these to large numbers of easily pleased observers. 'Genius' class individuals were those who knew how to download ideas from the previous century and wrap them in fashionable phrases.

Beneath these dominating groups, an underclass of alien drones buzzed about the earth providing laughably trivial services, such as the provision of food, clean water, sewage maintenance, and shelter.

It was into this world that Snotman strode one morning. Peering through windows he could see row after row of contented martyrs, massive in their sagging cots, input and output catheters in place, computer games on loop tape and fixed grins chilling in their eggwhite faces.

Along the road came a team of celebrities, large trainers at the end of skinny pins, hands waving manically at their own video cameras, and all singing the National Anthem ('Somewhere over the Rainbow').

Genius types sat twirling their bow ties outside nearby cafes, the matching quivers of arrows already in each others backs. 

Underclass workers scuttled about in a cloud of incomprehensible tongues.

Snotman yawned and was just about to go for a pint of old Castrol GTX when something caught his eye....

"MASTER BLASTER!"

It was Snotman's sworn enemy, an evil warlock endowed with magical powers after falling into an oriental lavatory.

No more than two feet tall and equipped with the hideous leer of a newly promoted Breakfarce TV host, Master Blaster quickly swivelled, dropped his chainmail swimming trunks and spewed a fountain of noxious excrement over the poor paralyzed Snotman.

Oh no!!

Could this be the end of our valiant hero?

Until next time, folks.