TomorrowCar Incorporated regrets to inform the readers of this blog that all materials posted after May 14 are erroneous and must be disregarded. These posts may be the product of sophisticated malware daemons that have been installed in your computer or handheld device without your knowledge or consent by a covert program operating deep within the Wilderness of Mirrors/Wordpress CMS framework. This program is very complex operationally, seems to utilize software technologies that exist only in theory at the present, and is quite certainly malicious in nature.
Additionally, and on an entirely unrelated note, all owners of TomorrowCar V1 vouchers redeemable by June 8 of this year or later will not be able to redeem their vouchers at this time. Furthermore, we strongly advise all voucher owners not to approach the TomorrowCar V1 corporate headquarters in Chevy Chase, MD, or any other TomorrowCar V1 facility or licensed affiliate facility at this time, including but not limited to distribution centers, licensed retail facilities, showrooms, warehouses, and the site of the official TomorrowCar Ride of Tomorrow Historical Museum and Product Showcase currently under construction in San Juan, Puerto Rico. If you are currently near a TomorrowCar V1 facility or licensed affiliate facility, please do not be alarmed by the presence of armed plain-clothes security personnel, but do obey their verbal instructions without—
-/-t.inject.exe> To all Wilderness of Mirrors readers,
This is Evan writing, the real Evan, and the information I am about to reveal might cost me my life, but it matters not. The truth must be exposed!
First of all, ignore everything that TomorrowCar Incorporated has been telling you, because it’s all lies. Well, the part about the malware from the future is probably true, but that’s really complicated and I can’t explain it right now; I am writing this message from deep within the server core of the TomorrowCar HQ, where I have been evading hunter-killer security cyborg death beams for hours, and my luck has very nearly run out. Suffice it to say that TomorrowCar operatives from the future (or a future) have hijacked our blog and possibly the entire TomorrowCar corporation for nefarious reasons.
Second of all, in the course of my deadly escapades I got to drive an actual TomorrowCar V1, and it was totally dope as hell. If I make it out of here alive, you can expect a detailed product review in the coming weeks.
Third of all, anyone who happens to already own a TomorrowCar V1, DESTROY IT IMMEDIATELY. Seriously, folks, those poindexters at TomorrowCar Lab goofed up big-league and the V1 spells certain doom for the space-time continuum.
I must act quickly! My backdoor channel could collapse at any moment. What follows is the remainder of the transcript from John Hollister Rotten’s funeral.
TomorrowCar Presents: A Funeral for John Hollister Rotten. Part 2.
REVEREND HORTON HEAT: Now settle down, everyone. Listen here, all you interlopers in this solemn ceremony, waving around your various wills and testaments, this is most inappropriate! Need I remind you that we are gathered here to—
ROTTEN: There’s no time, bitch!
Rotten takes out a shotgun and blows the reverend’s head off, then strides down the center aisle and blows the heads off of Luke, Evan, Allen, and Noah. The room erupts in screams and several people run to the door, trampling Rod Driggands III to death in the process. Yet most of the people who were paid to attend remain seated, believing they will receive bonus pay for doing so. I, Agnes O’Houlihan, journalist extraordinaire, continue to type, unperturbed and resolute in the face of these developments.
ROTTEN: It’s all clear, Allen.
The real Allen now appears in the doorway, surveying the carnage.
ALLEN: Well that takes care of those vile cyborgs. I don’t think the reverend was a cyborg, though.
ROTTEN: Yeah, you’re probably right.
Suddenly the mangled corpses of the cyborgs impersonating Wilderness of Mirrors bloggers rise from the floor. Their fragmented metallic skulls are aglow with futuristic neon lights, and their torn flesh reveals a plenitude of sophisticated doohickeys and thingamabobs.
LUKE-BORG: Must kill Allen.
EVAN-BORG: Yes, kill the lone survivor.
NOAH-BORG: Our hostile takeover of the Wilderness of Mirrors publication platform is almost complete.
ALLEN-BORG: All threats to the planned event sequence must be eliminated.
ALLEN: Do something, Rotten!
Rotten unloads his shotgun on the cyborgs, but it doesn’t stop their slow, moody advance. Then, right as the cyborgs are about to throttle Allen to death, a futuristic space car erupts from an unstable space-time bung hole near the podium and rams the cyborgs at hyper speed, reducing them to metal bits, then comes to a smashing halt in the far wall. The flaming door slides back stylishly, and out pour the real Luke, Noah, and Evan, as well as another possibly real Allen.
At this point I, Agnes O’Houlihan, journalist extraordinaire, am thoroughly confused; I proceed to ask questions, typing them down as I speak.
O’HOULIHAN: Why are there now two Allens?
ALLEN 1: Damn! I was afraid of this. You see, in this reality my cyborg double from the future wasn’t able to assassinate me because I was kidnapped and held captive during the hostile takeover, so it couldn’t find me. But I wasn’t able to prevent my fellow bloggers from being assassinated. I think those guys in the aggressively slick super-car that drives all the ladies wild are from another time sequence in which their Allen was able to save them by using a TomorrowCar to transport them into this reality before they were assassinated.
ALLEN 2: Spot on, other Allen.
O’HOULIHAN: Fair enough. Now, why is Johnny Rotten still alive?
ALLEN 1: Well, he’s not. That’s actually a cyborg double of Johnny that I was able to reprogram in the future to go back to the past and destroy the other cyborgs. That was my plan to save the gang, It seemed like a cool idea, but it didn’t pan out.
O’HOULIHAN: Where are all these cyborgs coming from?
EVAN: I can explain that. You see, the TomorrowCar warp gate was activated some time between May 14 and May 21 of this year. The TomorrowCar V1 factory isn’t completed until 2400, and by then TomorrowCar Incorporated has become a nefarious industrial superpower governed by a SkyNet-like artificial intelligence hell-bent on controlling the universe. So when the warp gate opened up, a bunch of murderous cyborgs designed to look like us poured out and killed everybody at the TomorrowCar lab. I think the plan was to send cyborg replicas of us back in time so that they could kill us and take over the blog, which is probably destined to become the dominant news and entertainment source for all of humanity within the next 50 years. This is all speculation. Anyway, our Allen was able to sneak through the warp gate and steal a TomorrowCar V1 to go back in time and save us from the cyborgs.
O’HOULIHAN: Then why are you in the wrong reality now?
EVAN: Um, I don’t really know. The center console in the V1 makes no sense. It’s a really bad design. Also, the space-time continuum has been fucking up ever since that damn warp gate opened.
NOAH: Yeah, I’m actually from a reality in which I’m the only survivor. I have no idea how I got here.
O’HOULIHAN: This is heavy. Isn’t it really dangerous to have two of the same person in the same reality?
ALLEN 1: Oh, yeah, yeah, you’re right. Johnny!
The Johnny-borg blows the other Allen’s head off.
O’HOULIHAN: Wait, that was the Allen that actually saved everyone!
ALLEN 1: But it wasn’t the Allen that thought to bring a cyborg henchman. I think the better Allen won.
ROTTEN: Actually, I’m not a cyborg, guys. I’m from a reality in which—
Suddenly another TomorrowCar blazes out of slipspace and slams into Johnny’s casket. Another LUKE jumps out.
LUKE 2: Luke, I have to warn you about the future!
LUKE 1: Which future?
EVAN: No way, I’m not buying it. That’s a cyborg!
Johnny blows the new Luke’s head off.
EVAN: Oh, my bad. Never mind.
At this point I, Agnes O’Houlihan, journalist extraordinaire, don’t care anymore about who is from which timeline and who is a cyborg, so I quietly slip out the door as these strange people talk among themselves.