So there was a writing prompt on tumblr that was like 'The dead spinning in their graves is a real thing and now used to generate electricity. Your job is to come up with the best ideas to piss off the deceased in order to maximize energy production' and because I'll be salty about 686 in my grave I wrote this.
What The Future Holds
by hashtagartistlife
The idea catches on like wildfire. A hundred years into the future, people begin to write in lists of things that will piss them off into their will, seeing energy generation as a civic duty that they can contribute to long after their death. Dead bodies are buried no longer according to family relations, but according to what things will piss them off most in order for efficient insulting and subsequent synchronised turning in graves. Old grandmothers who get annoyed that someone would dare substitute butter with low-fat sunflower seed oil in their chiffon cake recipe. Plots of dead Republicans right next to a Democrat stronghold, and vice versa. Harry Potter fans in mass graveyards, having 'DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIYAH' being played over them 24/7. The list is endless, and the world suffers no shortage of energy.
Amid such wildly energetic plots and creative insults, you encounter a graveyard of significant size, that is apparently generating an incredible amount of energy - but you can't for the life of you figure out why the hell so many people would be enraged by what the insulter is calling out. You take the insulter aside and ask for the back story to the plot, how such a simple insult can cause so many people to turn in their graves - extremely energetically and indignantly, if the stats you see on the computer before you are any measure. The insulter shrugs.
"'Heard tell that this is a plot for fans of some manga. Blech? Bleach? I don't really remember. What do you think I am, a historian? I just do the job, buddy."
"Well, what is it exactly you're calling out?" you ask, entirely intrigued. It'd been difficult to hear over the sounds of the electricity being generated, but you know the insult is dramatically short, only one or two words at most. "They can't possibly all be insulted with something so short!
The insulter shrugs. "See for yourself," he says, before turning back to the graveyard.
"686!" he calls out over the din, and, once again, everyone in the Bleach graveyard turn in their graves.