Feel something exciting in the air? Does there seem to be a general sense of energy all around you? Perhaps a slight tingling in your armpits or groin? If so, don’t worry! It’s because it’s finally time again for automotive Would You Rather, and your body knows you need this. So pour some 10W-40 in your ears and lube up that brain, because you’re gonna need it. Here we go.
While cleaning out a forgotten pantry cabinet in your kitchen, you find a rusty and un-labeled can jammed in the back corner. You pry it out, and, since you’re already pretty drunk, take out a can opener and proceed to open the can and guzzle down its sort-of-maroon contents, which you’re still not able to really identify.
After you swallow the last gooey, sticky wad of material from the can, you begin to feel woozy and collapse to the ground. Moments later, the empty can begins to project red, white, and green light, and the ghost of Hector Boiardi, the chef who founded Chef Boyardee, emerges from the light.
Boiardi has been trapped in that can since his death in 1985, and thanks to your opening the can and consuming the contents (revealed to be demon excrement) Boiardi is now free to ascend to the hereafter, and he wishes to thank you.
Boiardi, proud of his Italian heritage, tells you he can provide you with a perfect example of any Italian car ever made, one that will run trouble-free, as long as you want!
Want a perfect Lancia Stratos? No problem! Want an immaculate Lamborghini Miura? Enjoy, friend! Want a Fiat Panda? Whatever makes you happy, man!
There’s just one catch: in order to keep the car intact, you can only eat cans of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, at least one per day, every day you want the car to still exist. If 24 hours pass and you have not consumed a can of Beefaroni, the car will crumble into rust and pasta sauce.
You can also take a multivitimin so you don’t get rickets or whatever, but you may not eat any other food. You can also change what car you have by mixing in a can of Ravioli into the Beefaroni, which will summon the Chef to provide you with the Italian car of your choice.
So, is an incredible Italian car worth it to you to give up all food other than canned Beefaroni?
A powerful cabal of politicians and businesspeople that run the world have identified you as an ideal “influencer.” They’ve decided that you possess the right combination of charisma, intelligence, and general human appeal to make you an ideal online presence to get people’s respect. They’d very much like your help with something.
If you don’t think you’re famous enough, don’t worry—they can take care of that in about a month or so.
See, as politicians and businesspeople, they often find themselves mired in some sort of scandals—maybe it’s a sex thing, maybe they cheated on some taxes, maybe they said something terrible, who knows? It could be anything.
They’re offering to give you a stable of 10 cars and a large garage space for the cars. The cars can be anything you want, and you can change out cars up to three times per year. A staff of five people will be employed to maintain the cars and deliver them to you on demand.
In exchange, they’d like you to be on-call so that whenever any of them does something terrible, you’ll be asked to either send an even worse tweet, make a more heinous public statement, or commit a more vile act, all to distract from whatever it is they’ve done.
They can engineer it so that you never end up in any actual legal trouble or anything, you’ll just be on the receiving end of the collective ire and disgust of most of the population, likely several times per year. And, of course, you can tell nobody about the arrangement.
So, is having your dream garage worth being hated? Or would you just not care when you’re surrounded by your glorious fleet?
Okay, there you have it! What’s it going to be? A life subsisting on Beefaroni and a fantastic Italian car, or a stable of amazing cars, but everyone hates you?