Sorcery Rape

Tonight’s Tweetplay is a tale of action and adventure, where a mild mannered gentleman discovers a secret government conspiracy to use sorcery and witchcraft to violate the nation’s cars. Special nod to @ebertchicago for the tweet that inspired the title.


You don’t know me, but I am a friend. And I have a story to tell. The truth must come out. Sorcerers are among us.

Like most tales of evil and woe, mine begins on a dark and stormy night:

I was out with friends, looking forward to an evening of good food:

And fine wine:

I’d driven myself to the restaurant, knowing the ladies would love my new car:

When I arrived in the parking lot, there was a man standing in the shadows:

He called me over.

I walked over to see what he wanted, when suddenly an angry monkey attacked!:

Frightened, I turned to run, but was struck on the back of the head. Everything suddenly went black:

When I came to, I heard strange voices whispering around me. An owl hooted in the distance:

I opened my eyes and realized with horror: I wasn’t in Florida anymore. I was in Kansas:

I looked to the voices, and noticed that the leader of the group looked surprisingly young:

He was deadly calm, and an eerie power blazed from his eyes as he stroked his pet… platypus?:

“We noticed your car,” he said, showing me a picture, “I take it you work for the Witch?”:

“N.. n… no,” I stammered, “I work on Wall Street.”:

I’m an accountant. I do taxes.”

Pandemonium erupted. “What!,” bellowed one of the others, “I thought you said you were sure!”:

“He had the car, Hansel!” yelled another, “Screw you if you think it’s not him!”:

It was obvious they had taken me by mistake. As they continued to argue, I grew more frightened:

Sparks flew from their fingertips:

Flames flew from their hair!:

I knew then that they weren’t normal children.

“Gentlemen, please,” said a quiet voice from the back, “perhaps we should keep SOME secrets?”:

“Sir,” he continued, “Obviously, my associates and I have made an unfortunate mistake.”

“You see,” he continued, “we love cars. Paris Hilton has shown us they have a special… allure.”:

“We draw our power from them using methods your kind does not consider ‘socially acceptable’.”:

“We will return you to your life on one condition: you must never reveal our existence.”:

“Take this gift as a token of our regret for our error, and a promise of our power.”:

“Know that we will keep an eye on you. Leo here will be watching, as will his pet, Mr. Sprinkles.”:

“And if I should tell?” I whispered. He gestured at the cat. “Mr Sprinkles would not be amused.”:

“Nor would I,” he said, pointing towards my car, which suddenly looked nothing like before:

After they dropped me off, I made my way slowly home. I felt cold inside, and so very alone:

I kept my promise until Leo & Mr. Sprinkles ran off to chase after a new lady friend:

Now you, dear reader, know of the dire threats facing our automobiles. Please, do not let these sorcerers terrorize our freedom

…and our cars. Vote for me in the upcoming election. The price of failure is… um… failure, I guess.