Johnny Rotten and the Mutant Shitheads

June 14, 2015.

JOHN HOLLISTER ROTTEN rides a stolen Amigo scooter to the Crystal Valley Trailer Park in Crystal Valley, USA. The Amigo has been souped up to go five to ten mph faster. The song “Warning Signs” by Burning Witch plays from his custom Amigo/stereo hybrid music player. He approaches SKUNK’s trailer, where a small jump has been set up with numerous sparklers. He goes off the jump and bails mid-air. The Amigo, still playing the song, lands, rolls forward several feet, and catches fire. ROTTEN gets up and flips off the Amigo.

RUGGY: Nice shit, braj.

GUTTER BOB: Killer dismount.

SKUNK tosses ROTTEN a can of Miller High Life. ROTTEN then high fives the three dudes. SKUNK wears nothing but “tighty-whities,” while RUGGY wears a black robe, and GUTTER BOB wears an Anthrax t-shirt with light jean shorts and black Velcro shoes (no socks).

ROTTEN: The fuck are you chicken doinkers up to?

GUTTER BOB: Suckin’ Uncle Sam’s fat fuckin’ cock, that’s what!

GUTTER BOB briefly humps the flag pole that holds the American flag.

ROTTEN: Righteous, ‘scro!

Suddenly, JESSICA TAFT, ROTTEN’s on-and-off-again girlfriend, storms into the jump with a rocket-powered tricycle. She back-flips twice and lands smoothly. JESSICA gets off of the tricycle and chows down on a Meatball Serenade™ sub sandwich.

ROTTEN: Jessica, you fuckin’ dick! Hey, let me in on that!

JESSICA, in a truly generous act, gives the sandwich to ROTTEN, who begins to chow down. JESSICA takes a Miller High Life from the cooler and chugs it. SKUNK chugs another Miller High Life and then looks off into the trailer park ponderously.

SKUNK: Gotdamn, I never realized how beautiful this park is. I couldn’t ask for a better home. It’s been so good to me. To all of us.

RUGGY: Whatever.

SKUNK: Fuck you, Ruggy, I’m serious! Remember when Mrs. McCormac helped hose off the turkey vultures what were trying to eat ya.

RUGGY: That sure was nice of her.

SKUNK: And Bob, remember when your old Anthrax shirt caught fire. The whole neighborhood pitched in to help buy you a new one.

GUTTER BOB nods slowly.

SKUNK: The point is, I think it’s about time we gave back to the folk what helped us all out.

ROTTEN: How the fuck are we gonna do that?

SKUNK: I got an idea…

 

At the town gas station, a clerk talks with his boss.

CLERK: But boss-man sir, we don’t have enough meat for one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches.

BOSS: Now you shut your big fuckin’ mouth, Billy. I got barrels and barrels of emergency meat out back. Get your ass out there and start making the sandwiches.

In the store, SKUNK and ROTTEN sit on a bench.

SKUNK: Gotdamn, how long does it take to make one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches! Back when I was working at Hulk Hoagie’s I could make a hundred sandwiches in five to ten minutes. The Flag Day Picnic gonna be startin’ soon.

CLERK: Order fuckin’ thirty five! One hundred Meatball—

SKUNK: That’s us! Johnny, go get the sandwiches.

 

At the trailer park pavilion, GUTTER BOB, RUGGY, and JESSICA drink red punch. The whole Crystal Valley community is there for the picnic. SKUNK and ROTTEN arrive wearing tuxedo t-shirts. ROTTEN pushes a shopping cart with the one hundred Meatball Serenade™ sandwiches. The picnic-goers cheer as SKUNK and ROTTEN arrive.

SKUNK: Come and fuckin’ get it!

The picnic-goers chow down. SKUNK, ROTTEN, RUGGY, GUTTER BOB, and JESSICA wait until the community has eaten to get their sandwiches.

RUGGY: Looks like we’re up, dudes.

JESSICA: Shit, there’s none left!

ROTTEN: There’s still plenty of mayo.

GUTTER BOB: That fat fuck Franklin ate like five or six of ’em.

SKUNK: Oh well, man. Let’s go back to my trailer. I got some hot dogs.

 

At SKUNK’s trailer, ROTTEN and RUGGY smash up the Amigo with baseball bats. SKUNK, JESSICA, and GUTTER BOB sit in lawn chairs and drink Miller High Life. There are screams coming from different parts of the trailer park.

GUTTER BOB: Shit, you guys hearin’ that?

SKUNK: What the hell’s goin’ on?

Suddenly, several trailer park folk arrive at SKUNK’s trailer. They are foaming at the mouth and appear to be oozing. One man gets close to JESSICA.

ROTTEN: Hey! How dare you step to my girl!

RUGGY: Hell yeah, kick his ass, yo!

JESSICA: Ew, he’s like getting slime in my beer and shit.

ROTTEN goes over to the slimy man and punches him in the gut. His fist goes right through the mushy gut, which oozes out green and purple slime. The man also vomits this same substance all over ROTTEN.

ROTTEN: The fuck, man!?

A different slimy guy comes toward ROTTEN. He tries to grab ROTTEN but RUGGY hits the guy with his baseball bat. The green and purple slime splatters everywhere.

GUTTER BOB: Uh, dudes…

GUTTER BOB points toward a large crowd of slimy, moaning trailer park folk coming toward them.

ROTTEN: Looks like they turned into crazy ass mutant shitheads!

GUTTER BOB: What do we do?!

SKUNK: We should call for help and wait it out inside. It’s our duty to stay here and like find a cure or something.

ROTTEN: Fuck that shit. Let’s bail!

RUGGY: Yeah, I’m with Johnny.

SKUNK: Ah, you fuckin’ assholes. Alright get in my van.

The five of them run to SKUNK’s van, but MRS. McCORMAC is blocking their way.

SKUNK: Aw no, not Mrs. McCormac!

ROTTEN: She’s a mutant shithead now. Get the fuck over it.

ROTTEN punches her in the face and they continue toward the van. They enter the van and drive towards the exit, hitting several trailer park folk turned mutant shitheads on the way. FRANKLIN is standing near the exit, waving his arms.

FRANKLIN: Help, help! Oh thank God you’re still alive!

SKUNK swerves toward FRANKLIN and hits him. He then drives through the exit.

GUTTER BOB: Uh, I don’t think Franklin was a mutant shithead, dude.

SKUNK: Oh I know.

 

A few days later…

SKUNK, RUGGY, GUTTER BOB, ROTTEN, and JESSICA return to the Crystal Valley Trailer Park. A fence has been set up around the perimeter. The five hop the fence and go to SKUNK’s trailer. The trailer park is completely desolate. At SKUNK’s trailer, RUGGY finds a cooler filled with Miller High Life.

RUGGY: Hey, it’s still cold, dudes!

They all sit in lawn chairs and chug beers, except for SKUNK. SKUNK stands, gazing ponderously out into the now empty trailer park.

ROTTEN: Yo, Skunk!

ROTTEN throws a beer at SKUNK, who catches it, chugs it, and burps loudly.

SKUNK: Fuckin’ A.

 

End.

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TomorrowCar Presents: A Funeral for John Ho/***struct-01101101>begin> URGENT MESSAGE FROM TOMORROWCAR LABS

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—

[MESSAGE INTERRUPTED]

-/-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.

The Luke cyborg

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.

terminator

The Evan cyborg

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.

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TomorrowCar Presents: A Funeral for John Hollister Rotten. Part 1.

Below is the official funeral transcript exactly as it was Xeroxed from the TomorrowCar Corporation archives. The service took place at the TomorrowCar Chapel on May 27, 2017. The famous journalist Agnes O’Houlihan was hired as the typist for the ceremony. Reverend Horton Heat officiated.   

funeral-services1

In attendance are John Hollister Rotten’s band-mates, Ruggy, Skunk, and Gutter Bob, his on-and-off-again girlfriend, Jessica, and a host of people paid to fill out the pews. A strange man, with a fashionable all-black cape-and-cane outfit, sits alone in the very back. Reverend Horton Heat stands at the podium.

REVEREND HORTON HEAT: Thank you all for being here. Tonight we are here to honor John Hollister Rotten, or Johnny, as his friends called him. John was a beloved on-and-off-again boyfriend, a generous sponsor, and a caring owner of seven exotic reptiles. He was also an avid thrash, grind, sludge, crud, crudcore, and sludge-crud metal musician. He had developed and followed his own school of philosophy, Ridonkulism. Though most importantly—

Four young men have just busted through the chapel doors. They make their way to the podium. If my research serves me well, the men are Luke, Allen, Evan, and Noah from the TomorrowCar Corporation-sponsored blog, Wilderness of Mirrors.

LUKE: (holding up a piece of parchment) Halt the proceedings, Reverend!

EVAN: Yeah, shut your ass, churchy!

LUKE: I hold in my hand a letter. A letter that was slipped under my door late last night. Inside are Johnny’s last will and testament. I will now proceed to read it.

The chapel doors have burst open yet again! Standing in the doorway is TomorrowCar employee Henry James Slurginz, son of author Woodrow Slurginz. He runs down the aisle toward the podium.

SLURGINZ: Wait! Wait! I have here a letter. It was slipped under my door late last night. John Rotten’s last will is inside. I will now—

JESSICA: Shut the fuck up! I have Johnny’s last will right here!

SKUNK: You wish, bitch! Us three got Johnny’s will. It was right by our door, breh.

LUKE: Hey, hey, what the hell is going on here!?

ALLEN: Yeah, what gives?

NOAH: (pointing at the chapel doors) Who is that!?

The strange man in black stands close to the chapel doors with sacks that bear the dollar sign.

STRANGE MAN IN BLACK: It is I, Rod Driggands III. And I’m taking back my fortune from the vile Hellstein family!

EVAN: Whoa! Where’d you get those cash bags?

DRIGGANDS: Wouldn’t you like to know.

Driggands twirls his cape and turns to run, only to trip and fall immediately. He hits his head on the left door and falls off to the side. The sacks break and gemstones pour out. Mere seconds later the doors burst open, revealing John Hollister Rotten!

ROTTEN: Waaaazzzzzuuuuuuuuuup!

 

To be continued… 

 

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Apology Re: Particles of Light: A Product Review

We at the blog deeply apologize for the mishap with the previous post. Due to circumstances out of our control, an unfinished draft was posted. In accordance with a provision in our agreement with our newest sponsor, we are unable to edit or delete posts once they have been posted.

So we would just like to clarify that we here at the Wilderness of Mirrors Blog in no way endorse “loving baby killing” officially or otherwise.

In other news, due to a recent traumatic event, I will be taking leave from the blog for a month. The Particles of Light review will wait until then.

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Particles of Light: A Product Review

Greetings to our wonderful readership.

I know you’ve all been eagerly awaiting this review since my previous post. I received all of your detailed and biologically accurate death threats when I delayed the review, and it is great to know how much you care about the information we’re bringing to you on this blog.

Shortly after I posted “An Uningibberable Conversation” I got a note, by email, about the particles of light with which I just merely teased you previously. This concerned reader noticed that I mentioned “mucus membranes” in the excerpt of the original draft of the review, and, as they informed me, it turns out that mucus membrane implantation is no longer the preferred method of transcendence.

[TO-DO: lookup the name of the person who wrote in so I can properly give credit]

After discovering this the first thing I had to do was perform a total mucus cleanse. Then I was able to try the new, more advanced methods of particles-of-light-induced-transcendence. However before we get into it, we’re going to need to learn about the medicology of hemorrhoids.

medicological hemorrhoid situation

[TO-DO: get a refill on the homeopathic anus rash cream, also the mucus still hasn’t come back maybe get some milk]

this fucker left there fone on there car!!! what is this shit anyway a blog?

To Luke: HELP! I’m trapped in a cellar by one of the fans of the blog. What wonderful convenient luck that there is a computer down here! And I don’t think he knows. Just hoping you check out my draft while you’re managing the blog.

To Luke: DUDE! Are you there? Also your post was supposed to go up by now, right? What the hell is going on out there?

To Allen: Sorry, man. I put off the post because Johnny Rotten passed, you know, our sponsor from down the hall, and we’ve been trying to recover from the loss.  Do you know where you are in physical space or meta-space?

To Luke: Yes! My physical body is in the cellar of that house about which you said “Looks like a house where there is certainly not a serial killer.” How’s that for irony? Also that’s such terrible news about Johnny Rotten.

To Allen: Is that irony? Because it’s not like I am an expert on serial killers, I was just kidding around. I would just call it a coincidence. Do we even know that this guy is a serial killer? So far you’ve just been kidnapped, right?

To Luke: Well, there are photos of starved-to-death people down here, so I think this guy has been a fan of several blogs before ours. Also, the definition of irony is not actually all that precise, it’s sort of a loose concept in a lot of ways don’t you think?

To Allen: Sort of. I’d rather not get into it right now. We just had to make a deal with TomorrowCar Inc to pay for your rescue operation and now they’re making some changes around here.

To Allen: We’re trying to sketch up a rescue plan, it would really help to know where you are in meta-space.

To Luke: It is as if my metaphysical body is adrift on the ocean with a raft just big enough for one, and the Titanic is sinking off in the distance.

To Luke: I just saw the new post about TomorrowCar Inc this morning.  It is probably too late for me to buy my voucher, so I guess I can’t go to that timeline now.

To Allen: Sorry, man. How are you feeling? I hope we can pull off this rescue before you starve to death like a cast away stranded on the ocean with a raft and no food.

To Luke: Now that I think about it, I’m not hungry…it must have something to do with these particles of light. This bears further investigation.

To Luke: How is the rescue plan coming? Also, I just saw the new Haugust Hofmann excerpt, what an extraordinary read!

To Allen: Yes, it’s a shame the book never got much circulation. The rescue will be tomorrow morning. When you hear the code phrase “the hen flies in this timeline” slam all of the weight of your physical body into the cellar door.

To Luke: Sounds good. Also, could you pick up some homeopathic anus rash cream and milk on your way?

WHERE THE FUCK DID THIS FUCKER GO???? I STILL HAVE YOU’RE FONE AND ILL FUCK YOU’RE BLOG FUCKER

we affishally now love baby killing

FUCK WHERE IS THE POST BUTON

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Excerpt from HAUGUST HOFMANN: HUNGRY FOR LAUGHS (1967) by Abraham Mills

Chapter 2

        1933 marked a turning point in the trajectory of Haugust Hofmann. RKO Pictures released King Kong and inadvertently gave Hofmann his new show. One late night, a soused fellow, stumbling down the street, had seen Hofmann’s wondrously obese silhouette scaling an apartment building. The fellow, in his intoxicated fervor, screamed out “Kong, Kong, it’s King Kong!” This outburst startled the neighbors, who formed a crowd and sent for the authorities. Hofmann had not paid his rent (he never did) and was locked out of his room, which prompted him to climb the building in order to enter through his window. Hofmann was arrested, along with the soused fellow, Don, who became Hofmann’s assistant while they were both locked up. Though only in jail for a short time, Hofmann claimed to have grown excruciatingly hungry. This hunger caused him to fantasize of a new show. Don told Hofmann all about King Kong and, despite not having seen the film¹, Hofmann was intrigued by the potential of using the name as part of his show. Ultimately, Hofmann planned a new show in which he would grill hamburgers on stage whilst wearing a gorilla suit. It was called “King Kong & The Barbecue Show.” The show brought in a bigger audience than any of his previous works. Hofmann would eat anywhere from ten to thirty hamburgers each night, as the stomachs of starving Depression-era audience members groaned on. Hofmann would also re-create moments from the movie with Don, who did not remember the film quite as well as he thought he did, resulting in a truly bastardized homage. The show brought in consistently large numbers, with people either thinking the show was legitimately related to the popular film, or that they would be getting a meal, or both. However, their speculations were false, and in those days news did not travel so fast, so attendance remained exceptional. It was not until RKO threatened Hofmann with serious legal repercussions that the show took a downturn.

¹ Hofmann despised the cinema, often exclaiming how astounded he was at its enduring existence. He felt cinema to be the grotesque enemy of theater, particularly his own shows.  150259527492502 (2)

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An important message from our newest sponsor, TomorrowCar Incorporated

Dear, dearly dear, endearing and dearest readers of our humble blog,

I feel a solemn duty to preface the following paid advertisement with a few sad words regarding wretched circumstances and dire necessities. Firstly, our long-time sponsor and some-time office neighbor, Johnny Rotten, from down the hall, sadly passed away on Tuesday of the week two weeks prior to next week. He will be sorely missed by the likes of all for whom his kind acts inspired a deep, heartfelt sense of total financial dependence. Secondly, and even more woefully so, our highly esteemed colleague and treasurer, Mr. Thomas “Wrinkle Free” Dungaree, suffered a most unfortunate mishap during his last visit to First Amalgamated, the bank with which Wilderness of Mirrors conducts all matters of a financial persuasion. For, as he was about to deposit the usual two large burlap sacks imprinted with elaborately serif’ed dollar signs and loaded with solid gold doubloons that, unbeknownst to Wrinkle Free, were to constitute Johnny Rotten’s last and final and never-again’est donation to our most honorable cause (as Johnny was at that very moment dying of a ghost-induced heart attack complicated by acute phasmophobia in a haunted candy shop several hours away), he was held up at spear point by a cunning band of aborigine bank robbers and forced to part ways with both sacks. Those doubloons were to cover our most basic operational expenses, so in order to remain solvent we were forced to sell the following ad spot to our newest sponsor, TomorrowCar Incorporated:

[ALERT! The following message was sent to you from your future self, by way of the deluxe laser fusion space-time phone installed in your new TomorrowCar V1!]

[Message begins]

Hello, myself of the past, whose name I surely know,

I’ll skip the pleasantries for now and get straight to the point, which is that purchasing a TomorrowCar is the single best decision you will ever make in your life! I’m currently living it up as a space playboy, cruising through the stars with the top down and the cosmic stereo booming on my way to the next galactic supermodel sex party, and I owe it all to my TomorrowCar V1, the ultimate luxury car of the future.

The TomorrowCar V1

The TomorrowCar V1, as depicted in Car and Driver magazine

Let me quickly explain how TomorrowCar can get you behind the wheel of tomorrow, today. First, you visit our corporate headquarters, sign a lot of forms, and purchase a voucher redeemable for one TomorrowCar V1. Then we use your money to build a warp gate linking directly to the fully automated TomorrowCar V1 factory that we already built in the future, when we’ve invented all the necessary technologies. Then we import your TomorrowCar V1 from the future and pass the duty-free savings on to you!

The good folks at TomorrowCar Inc. are only offering this deal to select customers of today, so don’t wait until tomorrow. And remember that I am you from the future, and I definitely bought my TomorrowCar V1 in the past, which is your present, so you have to buy it now or the entire space-time continuum will collapse. See you, space cowboy!

[Message ends]

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