"Oh, dear God."

Brawn is sitting in a dark interstate hotel room, an earbud hanging out of his ear. His eyes are wide and his face is frozen in silent horror. He looks especially fragile in the blast of neon blue light from his DVD player.

"This is scarier than Paranormal Activity." Brawn grumbles, a bit frustrated. "You sure you haven't seen it yet, sis?"

"No. I'm sure its nothing, Sam. You know, you tend to blow things out of proportion," Annie replies through the speakerphone. "Besides, you know how long it takes for pop culture to reach Breaksgood. We're just now getting 'Please Hammer, Don't Hurt Em.'"

"Well, you're gonna see it soon enough. This is bad, real bad. Can't you talk Leon into doing one of his "experiments" and bring down the T.V. grid?"

The scratchy bursts of Annie's laughter leaps from the cellphone, causing him to break a smile.

"For how long?" she asks.

"3-4...years?"

Brawn clicks and his mouth puckers in disgust as he plays back the commercial.

"You just gotta hear this, Banana. I'll narrate what you would be seeing. Everything is black and white. Okay?"

"Got it."

Brawn plucks the headphones from their socket. He pushes the cellphone closer to the speaker before pressing play.

"There's a flickering neon sign that says "Djibouti" that is swimming on the surface of a swamp. There's a black dude with a Kid N' Play eraser haircut. Hard cut to a taxidermied squirrel! Me looking up into the camera."

"I turn my back on the camera and take off my shirt. Some chick comes up and licks my face."

"Hot," Annie commented.

"You'd think so...but no. Not really. Not at all," Brawn replied. "I swore I felt stubble. She may have been packing heat."

"Gross..."

"Yeah...okay, okay. There's a shot of the New York skyline and me taking a long drink from a Yoohoo bottle as a boa curls around my neck. A little boy picks flowers in a field. An elderly woman stands next to a newsstand wearing a bikini. Mime. Mime. Me putting a mime in a headlock-- Logo. And scene."

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"That commercial sounds like a complete and TOTAL disaster," Annie says after a long pause.

"How was I supposed to know?!" Brawn barks in reply. He suddenly realizes how late it is, so he continues in a fierce, whispered tone: "It's a jeans company for chrissakes! Have you seen the Brett Favre Wrangler commercials? They're wonderful! He's sitting on the bed of his truck talking about how tough he and his jeans are. Then, he pets a golden retriever and his buddies go out in pass patterns. It even has a token black guy! The only token black guy in my commercial is some midget making out with a fire hydrant!"

"Whoa, tiger," Annie interrupts. "Easy. Why did you do it in the first place?"

"Well...You're starting college..and I want to make sure your tuition--"

"Uccch. Sam!" she grunts before adopting a reprimanding tone. "You don't need to do that."

"Too late."

"Yeah, evidently. Well, thank you. Look, I gotta go. Go get em on reAction, kay?"

"You got it Annie. Love you."

"Love you too, bro."

Brawn slides back in his seat and runs his fingers through his hair before shaking his head and yawning loudly. He looks at the alarm clock before standing up and filling the room with darkness by turning off the player.