Imagine this:

It's August. 4,000+ people are dying each day of coronavirus. No lockdowns remain, no eviction suspensions, millions unemployed and fighting homelessness. Aerial jellyfish are sweeping the northeast. Two rival cop precincts are waging war on each other.

Things are looking bleak.

At 8:06am, August 11th, Henry Kissinger dies, freeing humanity from the curse.

Within a week, the country is unrecognizable, utopian. Decades, centuries of evil wash off like dogshit under a pressure washer.

Kissinger's corpse is sealed in the Yucca nuclear waste storage facility.

"This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.

What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger."

"The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.

The danger is to the body, and it can kill."

15,000 years hence, after humanity nonetheless went extinct, a curious raccoon opens the vault.

Kissinger's dessicated corpse grins, his eyes glowing.