One day in the distant future, long after our society has fallen to an alien army or some new up-and-coming species (elktopi?), I hope that they will sift through our cultural ashes in an effort to understand who we were. And I hope that in their search, they stumble upon a perfectly preserved flea-market bin of vintage records, and nothing else. Not because those albums accurately depict what life was like for humanity at the apex of its existence, but because all the cover art on records from the 1950s and 60s is so confusing and removed from reality that it looks like it was created in an alternate dimension. Tricking all those elktopi into committing that nonsense into their history books is exactly the kind of final "fuck you" I'd like to rub in the faces of our conquerors.