Car: Volkswagen Bus
In the summer of a glorious year, the Mad Men from Madison Avenue had rolled out a campaign for the impressionable youth. In collaboration with Guy Ritchie, “Woodstock, two smokes and a barrel” had become THE global event to attend. Once a cultural phenomenon, Woodstock was redesigned, repackaged and renewed, making it one of the most widely consumed product world over. Drugged and adulterated, the best of the world were seen caught in awkward moments.
Tennis stars were seen attempting to cut open a coconut with a saw while Bud Spencer’s distant cousin, looked on deliriously.
A sozzled Darth Vader had lost his way from Comic Con and was last seen lifting Hitler’s uncle.
Bored and feeling neglected, five friends, Woody Allen, Jerry Seinfeld, Morgan Freeman, Jim Parsons (Sheldon Cooper) and Sylvia Plath decided to take off. Plath was hoping to get Kerouac on board, but he said he’d been On the Road for a long time now and could do with a break. After stealing the Volkswagen Bus from the pretentious Jonas Brothers, the famous five sped across Enid Blyton, who seemed stuck in a déjà vu. “Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing” spat Plath as she took the lyrics of the band and threw it out of the van. Jerry took to the wheel with Morgan sitting in the seat next to him. Woody had begun putting pen to paper when Jim, standing outside the van went on a rant. “Morgan, get up. You’re in my spot.” Morgan Freeman’s Voice: “Son, we all have a spot in the universe. And this became mine when I put my foot inside.” Jim: “I’m sorry Sir, but you are mistaken. History dictates that your race has always come from behind, before it reigned all over the world. You can ask the President if you have any doubts. I, on the other hand, have been in front all my life. School, college, the bathroom. As pattern has it, I always come first”. Morgan regretting the secrecy clause he signed on Bruce Almighty, quietly returned to the back while Jim had his spot. As Jerry began driving, we hear his monologue in the background, “This is a 1950 Volkswagen Bus. Brushed in cobalt blue, this beauty has a 1950 rear engine, a rare sight in today’s world. Today my guests are a bunch of famous people from different eras. The VW Bus has enough space for multiple egos too. I’m Jerry Seinfeld, and this is Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee”. At this juncture Morgan got offended. In his classic Morgan Freeman voice, he said, “Mr. Seinfeld, the entire world knows my voice and act stands for inspiration, cool gadgets and serious drama. I even play a President sometime. I think you should revisit your statement.” After an unusual silence Woody butted in, “I could do with coffee. So would this tall pole with white hair. And that ergonomic robot seated next to you. How about you sweetheart, Sylvia, do you mind some coffee?” After a puzzled look from Sylvia, they all stepped down for a cup of coffee.
Jerry: “Can we get some coffee. Please”? To that the waitress went, “How would you like that? With milk? Cream? Americano? Latte? Cappuccino? Macchiato? French Press?” At this point, Jerry stood on the table and got into his act. “Have you ever tried ordering for coffee at a bistro? It is the most difficult thing to make. Do I add sugar? White? Brown? Do I add water? Milk? It’s like trying to solve some world crisis. And if I say I want milk, the looks people give. Oh he’s not a puritan. He’s pretentious. He just wants to look cool. He is not American enoughhhh. Is it too much to ask for milk in the coffee? It’s not like you have to milk the cow yourself, you know!” When the tape of laughter track began to fade away, Jerry stepped down. In the meanwhile, on the other table Woody was trying to woo Sylvia Plath. Sylvia was lost in her daze. “If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. I’ll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days”. Woody took in those words and expressed an epiphany he had just had. “That does sound beautiful. A gone era meeting today’s in between. At midnight. Maybe in Paris. Would you come with me to the Golden Age baby? You can play yourself. Neurotic. Preoccupied. Sexy. What do you say? “. Ignoring the invitation, she continued sipping her coffee.
After a rather strange scene at the coffee shop, they all got back in the VW bus and continued their journey.
They saw two funny people asking for a lift.
Jim: “Don’t stop the car. I’m still disappointed with George Lucas for The Phantom Menace.” Jerry: But what was wrong with Spielberg? Jim: “He’s friends with Michael Bay. That cannot be excused or forgiven.” Woody was twitching by now. “Morgan, we need some weed. Do any of your brothers live around?”. Furious at the question, Morgan retaliated, “I don’t come from Boston Mr. Allen. Neither am I poor. I may look so, but I’m filthy rich.” Desperate to act on his Comedian instinct, Jerry blurted out, “Sing a rap song Morgan, will ya? Ha ha ha”. Jim too managed a guffaw, “Oh clever, playing on the implications of colour and music and finding the humour in its euphemism. Heh!”. Plath was getting irritated now with this incessant banter. Thoughts of ending her life were stronger than ever. Jerry at this juncture informed all that he has a friend in Austin, Texas. “My friend, Lance Armstrong used to be a cyclist. Now he’s a peddler. Ha ha ha. See what I did there?” Jim looking lost in the herd of laughter sheepishly asked, “See what? What did you do there?”
The car came to a screeching halt. Batman was standing there enjoying a cigar. Jim excitedly jumped in his seat. While Batman walked towards the car, Morgan, feeling embarrassed, tried to hide behind Woody. Batman: “Lucius, why are you hiding?” Morgan: “What can I do for you Mr. Wayne?”. Batman: “The Tumbler’s not starting. Can you just check it for me?” Morgan stepped out of the car and bid goodbye to his friends. Jerry: “Did we just have Batman’s mechanic with us all this while?”
As they made their way towards Texas, they saw Jesus Christ hanging on a hoarding of Apple Ipod. Looking at that Plath got really excited. “Death indeed looks beautiful. Stop the car; I want to see it closely”. Jerry drove past saying “It’s Mel Gibson. He wants to come on my show. I think he’s trying too hard”.
Woody: “Jerry, can you pull over for two minutes, I want to say hi to my friend Xzibit.”Jerry: You have a friend called Xzibit? Jim: “Is he a mathematician?” All stepped out and went to use the bathroom to freshen up.
Waiting for the others, Plath and Woody were sharing a smoke. “Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call”, Plath whiffed out. Woody took a long drag, “Do you know there are worse things in life than death. Have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?” Angry at another attempt to woo her, Plath warned him, “If you ever think you’d be able to sleep with me, it would be over my dead body”. Woody, “Death seems like a toothbrush to you. It’s like you can’t live without it.”
By the time all were back, the VW bus was looking outrageously jazzy. Xzibit: “Yo dawg, since you like to be funny, we installed a mike in your boot. And Jerry, since you always love an audience, we installed a camera with wi-fi, so you can connect with all your fans. We coloured your car black and added these mad fire symbols. And this beauty now comes with 24 speakers, so your entertainment can go wherever you go. Jerry, we just Pimped Your Ride.”
Outraged by the horror, Jerry warned Woody never to stop again for anything. And they drove ahead. As the sun set on them, Chainsaw Wielding Killer was standing, waiting for his latest prey. As he came and growled at their car, no one seemed scared or interested. After all, they had had a pretty long day. Jerry: “Oh come on, one more man lost his way from Comic Con. I am done with these cheap thrills”. Plath: “Kill me. Kill me.” Jim: “I was born and raised in Texas. And I am in no mood for pranks sir. So if you’re done here, we can move along.” Plath: “Kill me. Kill me.” Woody: “Not my genre. I pass”.
Dejected at no one being scared, he took his chainsaw and killed himself. Plath looked rather disappointed as they drove past in the darkness.
Fade to black.
Cut to Drew Carrey: Welcome to Whose Line Is It Anyway, where everything is made up and the points don’t matter.
This is an entry for IndiBlogger’s “The Perfect Road Trip” contest by Ambi Pur.
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