The scene: Doktor Zymm’s RV, which is rapidly plunging towards the earth. PK is plastered across the windshield, holding on for dear life as his man-bun bobs in the wind. Inside the RV, Rikki-Tikki-Deadly and Future Clone Debbie Harry are frantically trying to figure out how to avoid crashing.

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (pushing a button): This one! I’m pretty sure this one fires up the rockets!

In response the cabin of the RV starts filling with helium gas.

Future Clone Debbie Harry (in a high, squeaky voice): You know what would really, really help here? You not pushing any more buttons!

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (squeaking indignantly): Hey, I’m trying here! It’s not my fault that Zymm loaded this thing up with all sorts of gizmos!

PK (still holding onto the RV): Guys?

Future Clone Debbie Harry (in an annoyed squeak): Why would Zymm do this anyway? What’s the point here?

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (shrugging as he squeaks): I mean, she’s got a really weird sense of humor…

PK (more panicky now): GUYS?!!

Future Clone Debbie Harry (squeaking angrily): Oh, what is it now, lackey? Good grief, I can’t even have a normal conversation without you interrupting!

PK (totally panicking): SORRY, EMPRESS BUT I THINK WE’RE GONNA –

Suddenly the RV crashes into the desert. The nose comes down first, spraying sand, dirt and gravel everywhere. PK, eyes wide in terror, tries to hang on, but is overcome by the sheer mass of debris and disappears in a cloud of dust. The RV tears through the landscape as the rear wheels come down, digging itself into the floor of the Wasteland. High-pitched screams can be heard from inside the RV as it grinds itself to a halt, half-buried into the terra firma.

Seconds pass, then minutes. Then the door to the RV moves a bit. Then, grinding through sand and rocks, it opens halfway, just far enough for Future Clone Debbie Harry to squeeze through. She has a high-pitched coughing fit as she waves away the clouds of dust. Behind her, Rikki-Tikki-Deadly sticks his head through the half-open door and, with a squeak of effort, pushes it open even further and then tumbles down the built-up pile of sand.

He squeaks out a cough. It sounds like one of those squeeze toys you can get for your pets. It’s kind of adorable.

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (squeaking): Well this sucks! Man, Beerguyrob is gonna be pissed…

Future Clone Debbie Harry (also squeaking): I’m not so happy about this myself! I’m right back in the middle of nowhere! Bah!

Rikki-Tikki-Deadly (still squeaking): At least we don’t have that crazy lady trying to kill us anymore. It looks pretty safe here…

As if in response, the sound of revving engines fills the air. A motorcycle tears over a nearby dune, followed by another, and then another. Then a post-apocalyptic dune buggy tears onto the scene. The four vehicles, driven by leather-clad men with multi-colored mohawks, circle the pair menacingly.

Future Clone Debbie Harry (squeaking out a sigh): Don’t you ever get tired of being wrong…?

Cut to: A quiet, pristine forest, home to all manner of woodland creatures. In the middle of this forest is a large patch of green grass, the blades moving ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. In the middle of the grass lies Cookiethulhu. Don T is sprawled out nearby, still wearing nothing but his groovy swim trunks, and Ballsofsteelandfury is about ten feet above them, gripping the branch of a tree.

Don T (sitting up): Oh, my head… What the heck happened?

Ballsofsteelandfury (looking down): I’m not sure, but I think we traveled through time.

Don T: Seriously? Damn it, I was going to watch women’s beach volleyball this afternoon.

Ballsofsteelandfury tries to shoot a finger gun, almost loses his grip and frantically rights himself on the branch.

Cookithulhu (sitting up with a groan): Oh, my. I daresay I’m getting a wee bit too old for this kind of nonsense, gentlemen.

Don T: How old are you, anyway?

Cookiethulhu: Not sure, really. I stopped counting a few millennia ago. By the by, did I hear something about women’s beach volleyball?

Don T (getting up): It was just a replay of the 2016 Olympic event, but it’s better than watching a bunch of marbles roll around a plastic track.

Ballsofsteelandfury (hanging off the limb by his arms): Hey! Those marbles rock, man!

Cookiethulhu: I do have to admit a fondness for the Balls of Chaos…

Don T: So, if we traveled through time, then when the hell are we?

Cookiethulhu (sniffing the air): Hmm, judging from the lack of pollution in the air, I would say we’re sometime well before the Industrial Revolution.

Don T: OK, so sometime before 1760. That still doesn’t tell us a lot.

Ballsofsteelandfury (dropping from the tree): It tells us that we’re gonna have to walk if we want to get anywhere. I don’t think we’re going to find a local bus stop.

Cookiethulhu (getting up and brushing off): I say, we probably don’t want to go wandering willy-nilly when we don’t eve know where we are. Best to get our bearings first, don’t you think?

Don T: OK. We’re in a forest. There, we know where we are.

Cookiethulhu: I say, old chap, no need to get testy. I was just saying that we should…

Old School Zero suddenly breaks through the foliage and runs into the clearing. He’s still holding Future Clone Debbie Harry’s Tactically Advanced Time Accelerator System.

OSZ: Whoa! Quel soulagement! Am I glad I found you guys!

Don T: There you are!

Ballsofstelandfury: Dude, what’s that thing you’re holding onto?

OSZ (looking at the T.A.T.A.S): Oh, I found it in the clubhouse. I think it might be one of Zymm’s doohickeys.

Don T: And you decided to play with it?

OSZ: I mean…kinda…?

Cookiethulhu: Not exactly cricket there, old boy.

OSZ (plaintively): It’s not my fault she leaves these things lying around.

Don T: Actually, that’s a good point. Zymm is pretty careful with her toys. She doesn’t just leave them out in the clubhouse. I wonder if…

Suddenly there’s more noise in the woods, as something large approaches the clearing. Actually, it’s several somethings. The DFOers look over to see at least a dozen Viking warriors brandishing axes and shields, glaring at them with menace in their eyes and a song in their hearts.

A song about killing sprees, rampant pillaging and kicking ass in Valhalla, natch.

OSZ: Sacre bleu!

Red-bearded Viking: Hvem i helvete er disse karene?

Blonde Viking: Ingen anelse, mann. Men jeg graver shortsen han har på seg!

Don T: Well, at least I think I know where we are now.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Please tell me it’s a Minnesota cosplay convention…

To be continued…