You've just got to see what the 1982 Yugo costume is like, so you grab the box and head for a changing room. Opening the large, flimsy cardboard box, you find a cheap metal unibody, four rubber tires, and other, car-like stuff. A strange assortment for a costume...
Touching the white metal, you find your hand stuck to the Yugo's roof, merging with the metal. Shocked, you try to pull back, but find yourself, and your consciousness, flowing into the automobile. You feel strange, sickly, and black out.
Moments or hours later, you come to awareness, and the feeling of hot sun beating down on your back. There are voices nearby.
"Damn, Jim! I didn't even know any of those cheap p.o.s.'s were still running!"
There is an overweight, shirtless, hairy man standing by your right fender. FENDER?!
"Aw, heck, Steve," says a skinny, weather-beaten man with a mustache and a perpetual cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "She don't always run!"
He laughs, then continues.
"It usually does get me where I'm a going, and I got it free when I moved into the trailer. Now, do you want a ride to the mall, or not?"
Cigarette-smoker opens your driver's side door, and you figure out that you are now a Yugo, sitting in a gravel drive in a trailer park somewhere. Fast food wrappers litter your backseat, cigarette butts are flowing out of your ashtray, and an oil stain is on the gravel under your engine compartment.
"Eh, I was just saying," Steve answers, pulling open the passenger door and lowering his wide end onto your poor, aging vinyl seat. "'course I want a ride! My little girl wants some sort of cream from some store she saw at the mall. Thinks she's got acne, though I don't see it!"
He leans his bare, sweaty, hairy back against your seat's back.
"Hey, I think I know the store she's talking about! Supposedly, they got some sort of wax which I can use to restore this piece of junk with!"
Jim twists a key in your ignition, and your engine struggles, stutters to life, and tiredly you pull their combined mass and yours toward the highway...