My last hope was a neon-lit coliseum called 'Skate Galaxy,' where a female gladiator in football padding and war paint ruled the rink. The Walkman hanging from her belt was my target—and probably my death warrant.

  "Enter the rink, last two minutes, win a prize!" the announcer's voice crackled through ancient speakers.

  Wanda and her two minions were a blur of violence on wheels, leaving a trail of bruised volunteers in their wake.

  I laced up my prehistoric skates, knowing my hover-skating skills meant nothing in this barbaric arena. Opening the small wooden door leading to the rink, I timed my entrance like I was trying to jump into a centrifuge. If I get ahead and taunt the beast, I'll use my duck-and-stop maneuver to let her roll past me, trip her, and jump on her back.

  ZOOM

  The wrecking crew flew past me in a blur of neon and war paint. The crowd welcomed me with chants as I entered the rink.

  "Wanda, eat! Wanda, eat! Wanda, eat!"

  I will show these de-evolved humans what future human perfection is all about. That played well in my mind, but my stomach churned when I realized I made one fatal calculation—my current body situation was far from perfect.

  My wobbling body rolled at a fraction of my assailants.

  Wanda roared and slapped my back, sending my body slamming to the side of the rink.

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  The crowd cheered!

  Her two minions grabbed me on the next rotation to the middle of the skating lane, pulling down my pants and exposing some space-theme underwear. Embarrassing!

  The beast kicked one of my legs, sending shockwaves through my body. The concrete-hard floor made me wish for the cushioned impact zones of future sports arenas.

  She zipped through the rink, gaining more speed and slapping the back of my head on each rotation.

  I lasted longer than her prior victims, but then it dawned on me. This lion is just playing with her prey.

  She zipped by, grinning. Her porcelain white teeth were a contrast to her hideous look.

  "Wanda, kill! Wanda, kill! Wanda, kill!"

  Wanda roared and pumped her fists.

  The crowd roared back, rushing to the rink's edge to get a closer look at what could only be her final killing move.

  Wanda was the wrecking ball, and I was the last standing piece of the building.

  What am I going to do? I'm ridiculed, beaten, and sporting space-themed underwear in front of a bloodthirsty crowd. But maybe... maybe that's exactly what I need to be. So, let's give the crowd what they're looking for.

  I stood up in final defiance, took my shirt off, and started wiggling my blubber-filled belly at Wanda and the crowd.

  "EWW!"

  The crowd's chants morphed from bloodthirsty enthusiasm to disgusted horror as I unleashed my secret weapon—the most embarrassing dad-dance moves this side of 1985.

  Wanda accelerated in her final run, her eyes filled with anger, and her arms extended to snatch her prey.

  I locked eyes on her. Taunting her with every jiggle of my gut and less-than-chiseled pecks.

  While Wanda was distracted, I threw my sweaty shirt under her skates. She went down hard, and I launched my pudgy body onto her back like a sweaty, uncoordinated superhero.

  I snatched the precious Walkman from her belt—my ticket back to the future and proof that embracing complete humiliation is sometimes more powerful than good looks.

  "Wanda, sweetheart, you're the biggest bodacious babe I've ever met. And for that, you're going to eat my shorts!" I ripped a piece of my pants and stuffed her in her mouth, following a smooth kiss on her scarlet-painted cheek.

  A blinding light flash engulfed me as I clutched my prize. I did it!