"Hi there!" Said the message on TV that only certain people could see, otherwise it was simply the latest beer commercial. The 45ish year old man on the screen wore a green corduroy work shirt with matching pants and baseball cap, and black shoes. He spoke in a New York accent. "I'm Barry McGary! I offer a special pest control service! Have this ever happened to you? You just turned an entire bus load of cheer leaders into anthro bunny waitresses, and BOOM, literally out of nowhere, some guy kicks in a door, is unexplicitly immune to however you changed those cheer leaders, and beat you up? Or we like to call, a 23-B-Subclass C."
"Or maybe you just turned some girls in swim suits admiring themselves in a mirror at a beach store, into mannequins, and the sky opens up out of nowhere, and glowing figuring emerges, and set you on fire while brow beating you worse than your grandmother for putting your elbows on the table? Or as we call 'em, a 47-Q-Subclass-B!
"Or maybe you were at a pony show, and you turned the horses and riders into centaurs, and this completely ordinary lookin' guy comes up behind you, hits you over the head, lectures you that it makes you wish for your first grade teacher, takes whatever you used to fuse the horse and riders together, breaks it, and lectures you some more, and maybe takes away your ability to build another. Or better know a 07-A-Subclass-A.
"I've seen and heard 'em all folks. And of course there's the invisible bad luck imps that spontaneous form in the world. Mistakes happen pal, and we're all gonna mess up some time, it's part of the business we're in. But when the results are so laser guided right at ya, roughly fifteen seconds after ya stepped outside yer front door, and seem more convoluted spite than karma lookin' to collect her due. Some dude might have it for you, 00-A-A.
"We, at Barry McGary's Special Pest Control, promise 100% satisfaction, or double your money back! Don't wait! Call today!"
The TV screen went back to the football game.