It's not Barbarella, but it's a start

So I see that an MIT professor has designed a skin-tight space suit to handle the rigors of future space travel and planet colonization.

“And it was a female professor too,” I say. “So it’s not some sci-fi-minded pervert trying to make a ‘Buck Rogers’ Erin Gray jumpsuit.”

“Weren’t you working on something like that?” asks Anonymous Doug.

“On and off again, yeah,” I say. “My lack of sewing ability kept hindering my work. My glorious, sensual work…”

“It’s always something holding you back from making the future sexy,” says Anonymous Doug. He asks to see a picture of the space suit, which I happen to have with me. “Looks good.”

“The boots need to be higher, like right below the knee,” I say. “But it’s just the initial version of the suit. I’m sure by the time it’s ready to fly in ten years they’ll have that all worked out.”

“Are men going to have the same suit?” asks Anonymous Doug.

“Probably,” I say. “Maybe they should make the suits all shiny silver, and then we can go into space looking the Silverhawks.”

“More than likely it’ll be all white and shiny, like an iPod,” says Anonymous Doug. “It used to be everything in the future was going to be shiny. Now everything in the future’s going to look like the iPhone.”

“Unless we don’t get into space and doom ourselves into a Mad-Max post-apocalyptic future,” I say. “Then everything in the future looks like a yard sale.”

“What about John Carpenter’s Escape from New York?” asks Anonymous Doug. “That’s like a combination of the sleek future and a post-nuclear yard sale.”

“Yeah, that’s probably how the future’s going to be,” I say. “It’s probably still going to be a pretty sexy future, it’s just going to be a bit more sleazy.”

And in that future you’ll call me the Duke of New York, and that I’m “A-Number One.”