In the year 2037 it was so much easier to

In the year 2037 it was so much easier to exterminate the artists and the poets and the mystics and the deviants and the uncooperative and the not-quite-us that we pitied Uncle Joe

for his foreseeable fate. Uncle Joe was a minor deviant - he liked ancient 'gliders' with combusion engines, collecting their parts in a old shed but when he built one, The Network

kept an eye on him, but good ole Joe was too smart for them. His strangest, darkest gliders hung silently in Warehouse 13, large ominous figures that looked like flattened

paper airplanes. He would fly once, attach those wings to his shoulder blades, glide into the darkened world. Joe had a fascination with angels, being smart enough to become one.

Joe spread his dark feathery paper wings. In that instant did he become aware of his punishment for tempting the Gods. He had become an angel, a dark angel.

Joe formed some wing-shapes from wires and stretched pantyhose over them, then spray painted them blue, but instead of looking like a dark angel people now called him 'Tinkerbell'.

He put on black eyeliner but then people just called him "Prince Tinkerbell." Geez. What would it take to get them take him seriously as a dark angel?! He got his next idea from

The diaries of Uncle Julius, who took the pen name Plutonium Lotus. His books were bestsellers but later out of print. One entry caught his eye, dated July 2017. It started out as

a recipe for fajitas, but became instructions for a nuclear bomb. He built it quickly, glad to fulfil the last wish of a dear uncle. That, fellow apes, is how it became OUR planet.