Gerald the Potato had a problem. Not the existential kind (though he did spend Tuesdays sobbing into his copy of Nietzsche for Root Vegetables). No, Gerald's problem was practical: his time machine, cobbled together from a microwave, a hamster wheel, and the lingering dread of his unfulfilled dreams, worked.
Unfortunately, it worked too well.
One minute, Gerald was in his underground lair (a repurposed compost bin behind a Denny's), muttering about the futility of starch-based existence. The next, his spudly paws slipped, slamming the "GO" button with a tragic squelch. The machine whirred. The hamster wheel screamed. The microwave sang "Never Gonna Give You Up" in Aramaic.
And then—
BOOM.
Gerald vanished.
So did all of Denny's.
Every last one.
---
Meanwhile, in a Walmart Parking Lot…
Blaze "Hot Mess" McSizzle was mid-heist, stealing back his sister's emotional support cactus (named Spike Lee) from the Karen Collective's armored truck. His plan? Flawed. His hair? Defying gravity in a mullet so majestic, eagles circled it for nesting. His weapon? A Nerf gun loaded with flaming Cheetos.
"This is the worst plan ever," hissed Glitch, the AI Tamagotchi clipped to his belt. Its pixelated face flickered with disdain.
"Nah, this is genius," Blaze said, spraying Cheeto-fire at a Karen wielding a coupon book like a katana. "I'm like Ocean's Eleven, but with more arson."
"Ocean's Eleven didn't involve a cactus named after a filmmaker!"
"Art is subjective, Glitch!"
A Karen lunged, screeching, "I'LL SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER IN HELL!" Blaze roundhouse-kicked her into a pyramid of discount toilet paper. It collapsed, burying three more Karens in a blizzard of 2-ply. Victory! Or so he thought.
Then the sky ripped open.
---
The Rip™ (Not a Band, Sadly)
A swirling vortex of neon vomit colors appeared, crackling with the energy of a rave gone wrong. Out tumbled Gerald—now glowing like a radioactive french fry—and crash-landed in the parking lot. His impact took out a Slurpee machine and six garden gnomes (who were, unbeknownst to anyone, undercover agents of the Lawn Gnome Illuminati).
"What in the crispy KFC is that?!" Blaze yelled, shielding his eyes from Gerald's shimmering, starch-based aura.
"A potato," Glitch deadpanned. "Congratulations. You've peaked."
Gerald wobbled upright, eyes (???!) wide. "I'VE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE," he moaned, his voice echoing like a doom-metal ASMR track. "TIME IS UNRAVELING. ALSO, I ACCIDENTALLY REPLACED THE MOON WITH A—"
FWOOM.
The moon flickered.
Then it turned into a giant fidget spinner.
The crowd (Karens, Blaze, a stray raccoon eating a SlimJim) froze.
"...Okay," Blaze said, squinting at the sky. "That's new."
---
Meanwhile, in Prehistoric Times…
A T-Rex named Chad (don't ask) stumbled upon Gerald's abandoned time machine, now half-submerged in a tar pit. Chad sniffed it. Then, with the grace of a creature who'd just discovered opposable thumbs, he opened TikTok.
His first video—"Rawr XD but make it fashion"—went viral. By sunset, dinosaurs everywhere were dabbing. Pterodactyls started OnlyFans. The asteroid? Canceled by a woke brontosaurus hashtag. History? Ruined.
---
Back in the Parking Lot…
Gerald's time machine began to overheat, spewing chronal glitter everywhere. The Karens, now half-glitter, half-human, started reciting Yelp reviews in unison.
"One star!" they chanted, advancing on Blaze. "Service was slow, and the apocalypse lacks ambiance!"
The raccoon, sensing opportunity, stole Blaze's flaming Cheetos and scampered off.
"We gotta stop that potato!" Blaze yelled, dodging a rogue garden gnome hurling a ceramic flamingo like a javelin.
"Why?!" Glitch screamed. "What's your plan? Deep-fry him?!"
"YES."
Blaze lunged for Gerald, but a deafening HONK cut through the chaos.
A 1997 Honda Civic—painted like a Lisa Frank nightmare—skidded into the lot. The driver? Florida Man Randy, shirtless, wearing a traffic cone as a hat, and blasting "I Will Always Love You" on kazoo. His pet alligator, Steve, gnawed on the steering wheel.
"Need a ride, ya lunatic?!" Randy yelled, tossing a Waffle House menu like a shuriken. It impaled a Karen mid-Yelp.
Blaze grinned. "Does a bear do ketamine in the woods?"
He dove into the car, Spike Lee the cactus clutched to his chest. Glitch groaned.
"Shotgun!" the Tamagotchi yelled, though no one cared.
Randy floored it, swerving around glitter-Karens and sentient garden decor. Gerald's time machine pulsed, glowing hotter.
"Uh, guys?" Blaze said. "Why's the potato machine doing the Macarena?"
Gerald whimpered. "IT'S GOING TO—"
BOOOOOOM.
The machine exploded in a kaleidoscope of glitter, nacho cheese, and existential despair. The shockwave tore a hole in reality, sucking the Honda Civic into a vortex.
---
Meanwhile, in the Year 3023…
AI Shakespeare—a rogue algorithm with a flair for dramatic soliloquies and sick burns—paused mid-diss-track. His digital eyes (emoji-style 👀) widened.
"What fresh madness is this?" he intoned, as a Honda Civic from 2023 crash-landed in his studio.
Blaze tumbled out, covered in cheese dust. Randy high-fived Steve. Glitch muttered, "I hate everything."
Shakespeare sighed. "Verily, thou art a walking middle finger to narrative structure."
Blaze shrugged. "Thanks?"