DEMOCRACY IS A LIE. YOU ARE A TYRANT AND THE DRIVER PICKS THE MUSIC. IF ANYONE COMPLAINS, THEY CAN WALK.
Go on, do it. No one can stop you. It’s your car.
You keep one hand on the wheel- you know, like a responsible person- and reach past STAN (THE OTHER ONE) to get to the GLOVEBOX, where you keep your UNGODLY AMOUNT OF CD CASES.
HELL FUCKING YEAH.
(God, you never realized how old you felt until the kids asked why there wasn’t an AUX CORD in the car. It’s a ‘65, dammit, there was no such animal then.)
Why not break out some good ol’ AC/DC? You’ve got Back in Black, High Voltage, Highway to Hell… All the greats. (Maybe you have Black Ice from 2000, too. No one can judge your tastes.)
No, you don’t know what DAD ROCK is. That’s a MADE UP GENRE. And, being as you’re (probably) not a dad, IT AIN’T YOU.
“Ooo, playin’ the Golden Oldies, Stan?” DIPPER snarks from the backseat as the opening notes of TNT fill the car. “Fits right in with the decor of the Stanmobile, gotta say.”
“I’m being age appropriate,” you lie, like some kind of liar. (Technically, this is a little young for your age. Shhhh.) You gesture vaguely at your BROTHER. “Besides, Stan here hasn’t heard proper human music in 30 years! We gotta be gentle with his outdated sensibilities.”
“Oh, fuck you, Stan,” FORD retorts, crossing his arms and doing that odd finger-wave tap of his. “I left in the 80s, I remember AC-DC. Some of it, anyway. Maybe.” He frowns, suddenly unsure. “Probably. This definitely sounds familiar, but you wouldn’t believe how many cover bands exist in the multiverse. It could be any number of uncountable thousands.”
You know, he doesn’t really talk much about the MULTI-DIMENSIONAL BULLSHIT he’s been through unless he’s confirming if certain things still exist in this reality. Mostly he just talks about the before and after- he never leads a conversation with it, good or bad.
It’s almost like, half the time, THE LAST THIRTY YEARS don’t really exist for him. Or like HE wasn’t the one who left. Pre-Ford and Post-Ford, with some unnamed persona stuck in the middle.
Some part of you is a little relieved that he doesn’t seem to recall much from that LITERAL CONSTANT NIGHTMARE, but…
...thirty years, gone.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said it wasn’t at least a little worrying.
But it’s not like there’s any resident experts on THE PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPLICATIONS OF BEING FORCIBLY DRAGGED THROUGH SPACE-TIME (Other than the guy sitting right next to you and the crazy one in the back, and neither fuckin’ count), so like- what the fuck can you do, really?
You can take the memories when they come, if ever, and you can listen to another track of music. (And definitely don’t think about all the regrets about FORD never having a chance to develop his own tastes in it.)
“Pick up the phone, I'm always home- call me any time. Just ring 3-6-2-4-3-6, HEY! I lead a life of crime…”
OH, HELL YEAH! YOU KNOW THIS GUY.
“Dirty deeds!” You sing along to the song, tapping into the steering wheel. “Done dirt cheap! Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.”
Your BROTHER snickers. “How remarkably in-character, Stan. It was practically written for you.”
DIPPER frowns in the rear-view mirror with sudden realization. “Oh my god, this song is about a hitman. Why is this a song about murder?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” GRENDA cheerfully adds, “but I LIKE IT!”
“... What is a “Thunder Cheat” and why is it related to murder?” MABEL asks, clearly confused.
“It’s not Thunder Cheat, sweetie,” you correct as you get back to singing along. “It’s dirty deeds and they’re done dirt cheap!”
“OH!” MABEL shouts as she realizes. “Kk, that makes a lot more sense. That’s some advertising!”
“Hell yeah, it is.”
In retrospect, AC/DC may not have been appropriate for the amount of TWELVE YEAR OLDS in the car, but fuck it! You all had fun. (And they’ve probably seen far, far worse online by now. No wonder kids were so jaded these days.) AND AC/DC FUCKING SLAPS.
With THE SPIRIT OF ROCK in your souls and MURDEROUS MELODIES on your tongues, you pull up to the road of the estate.
YOUR PARTY HAS ARRIVED AT NORTHWEST MANOR.
SAVING…
SAVING…
GAME SAVED. SWITCH CHARACTER?
>[YOU ARE PACIFICA NORTHWEST.]
>[YOU ARE BRUTUS BENJAMIN BUTLER.]
>[YOU ARE FIDDLEFORD HADRON MCGUCKET.]