It was March 21, 2025—Robert and Sonja’s 16th wedding anniversary. Fifteen years of bliss, one year of mild irritation over who finished the last of the ice cream, and now, the universe itself quivered in anticipation of their love.
Robert sat in the living room, nestled comfortably on his throne of leisure (a loveseat he had shaped into his exact body imprint over the years). Sonja, his radiant queen, perched upon the noble couch, wielding the remote control of destiny as they watched Pluto TV, the greatest channel of free television that somehow had both the worst and best movies simultaneously.
Then, at exactly 2:45 p.m., the world shifted.
The house shuddered as though the foundations of reality had just stubbed their toe on the coffee table of existence. A howling wind whooshed through the living room, rustling their collection of expired coupons and unread books.
Robert turned to Sonja, eyes wide. “Sonja… it’s beginning.”
Sonja blinked, mid-chip crunch. “What’s beginning?”
Robert inhaled deeply, his gaze distant, prophetic. “The Singularity.”
Suddenly, the entire room exploded into light, a celestial kaleidoscope of marital excellence. The sofa disappeared beneath them as they levitated, their bodies no longer confined by the limitations of flesh, gravity, or their mediocre posture.
Then—BOOM. They merged into one entity.
Robert-Sonja. (now known as Robja) A single, unstoppable, marital super-being.
The energy of their union rippled outward like a stone tossed into the pond of the cosmos. Across the world, married couples felt a lesser version of the phenomenon, a kind of “Oh wow, my partner is pretty neat” moment, but nothing as powerful as Robert and Sonja’s marriage singularity.
Governments collapsed in joy. Dead things rose. The global economy stabilized as everyone suddenly received $10,000 in their accounts, which magically regenerated no matter how much they spent, allowing people to finally afford avocados, eggs, and concert tickets at the same time.
The fabric of the universe realigned. Entire galaxies adjusted their orbits slightly to accommodate the power of this one legendary anniversary.
And then—as quickly as it began, it was over.
Robert and Sonja found themselves back on the couch and loveseat, popcorn inexplicably refilled, Pluto TV still playing a B-movie involving cyborg sharks.
They turned to each other, eyes twinkling.
“Happy anniversary,” they said in perfect unison.
And then—without hesitation—they returned to watching Pluto TV, as if nothing had happened.
Because, you know, it was cool.
