EXT. TUNNEL. NIGHT.
We see a long shot of a car driving through a tunnel. Cut to light reflecting off the windshield in close-up. Cut to wheels spinning in acceleration. Cut to a shot from the back seat showing the silhouette of a driver. The images are then repeated until the sketch is over. Narration begins immediately, a Don Draper-type voiceover.
When you’re behind the wheel of a Pontiac Denial, it’s like there are no roads.
No stop signs or speed limits.
No traffic lights.
No turn signals.
No windshield wipers.
There aren’t any problems at work.
You didn’t forget to file that marketing report.
You don’t even have a job.
Or a family.
You’re definitely not riddled with polio.
Not even a little polio.
You have a six pack.
You have six friends.
You smell great.
Like a guy who has six friends.
You never struck out with Marianne in high school.
Maybe you married her.
Then you divorced while you were still young.
So you spend more time with Larry.
He’s one of your six friends.
No polio for Larry.
Larry loves fast food.
Fast food makes your dong grow.
The Civil War never happened.
Women’s suffrage never happened.
You’re not gay gay.
Those bodies were dead when you found them.
And already fondled.
Car emerges from tunnel.
NARRATOR (V.O. CONT’D)
The new Pontiac Denial. Because you’re good enough. Definitely good enough.
FADE TO BLACK