SCENE: A blacked-out arena. Laser lights penetrate the darkness. The roar of the crowd is deafening
(Voice-over): Do you like titties?
(Pyrotechnics explode on stage, flooding the arena briefly with light. The words "FALSE FLESH" (NWS!) appear on the giant video screen behind the stage. TERRY, wearing a tight black T-shirt, cargo shorts, Oakley sunglasses, and a microphone headset, walks calmly on stage.)
TERRY: Well, you heard the man, folks! Who here loves titties?
(The crowd roars louder. TERRY puts his hand over his eyes, blocking out the light to scan the crowd.)
TERRY: I see some great titties out there! How about that brunette in the fourth row?
(A camera feed appears on the large video screen and zooms in on an uncomfortable-looking GIRL.)
TERRY: How about showing us those titties, miss? (GIRL shakes her head, crowd boos. Someone throws a half-empty beer) Now, now gentlemen. We have to respect the young lady's right to privacy.
OR DO WE?
Not anymore, guys! Not with False Flesh. With False Flesh, you can see that girl's titties whether she wants you to or not! (GIRL begins to yell at TERRY, asking him not to explain.) Who wants to see how it works?
(The crowd's roar becomes a hellish din, perforated only by womanly shrieks. TERRY walks over to a giant dynamite plunger.)
TERRY: Well, just watch.
(TERRY depresses plunger, and a badly skin-matched torso replaces GIRL's shirt on video screen. GIRL, realizing her privacy has not been invaded at all, because these are not actually her breasts, smiles, begins cheering.)
TERRY: See, gentlemen? All the fun of titties, none of the work of convincing a girl to show them to you. And ladies! No worries about some creeper lookin' right at your rack, because it's not yours! It's just pretending to be! Order False Flesh now, and this magic can be yours!
(A phone number and website appear at the bottom of the screen)
FADE TO BLACK
There, you assholes. I just wrote you a commercial.
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