State Farm Fan Fic

August 4th 2014

Alex Trebek sat in his own filth. He didn't have a taping for another week, so that was another 7 days he didn't need to shower. He wanted an Amstel Light, and probably still had a few in his fridge.

"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."

The agent appeared, but was instantly nauseated by the smell of Trebek's apartment. "Jesus, what is that stench?!"

Trebec laughed "It's probably the bottles of pee in the corner of the room."

The agent tried to keep it together, but wanted to get this over with. "Okay okay, what do you want?"

Trebek pointed. "Go get me an Amstel Light from the fridge."

The agent paused, "...are you serious? You summoned me here for that? Do you realize how painful it is to time-travel??"

Trebek just pointed again.

The agent sighed. "Fine."

May 29th, 2013

"Today has been so messed up."

Chris Paul plopped down on his couch with a thud and rolled over into the fetal position.

That day had been a busy day: first basketball practice at the Clippers training facility, then going to the doctor with his twin brother Cliff, and then some State Farm meet and greet with his brother.

Chris' brother looked worse every day. When he had first taken ill, Chris insisted that he move in right away. After all, Chris lived in a 7 bedroom mansion, while Cliff shared a studio with a graduate student in downtown LA. Cliff had objected, "Really, I'll be fine in my place." But Chris wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

And so Cliff had moved in. He was pretty quiet, kept his room neat, and was a pretty easy houseguest to have. But his sickness manifested itself in these episodes: fits of shaking, coughing, intense headaches.

Chris couldn't help but worry. He would constantly offer to get Cliff some orange juice, or get him a massage. But Cliff would just shake his head and go back to his room. Until one day he said "okay, orange juice and a massage would be nice."

And so Chris began to rub Cliff's shoulders.

Cliff started "We're brothers..."

Chris interrupted, "Right!"

"...let me say what I've got to say." Cliff sounded different.

Chris understood that this was serious.

"Do you remember Mom and Dad?"

Chris thought for a moment. "Our actual birth parents? No...but we have those pictures..."

Cliff grimaced and let out a lengthy sigh, "I got those pictures from a Target photo frame. It even has the Target logo on the photo, Chris."

Chris pretended he had always noticed that.

"The truth is...we're not brothers. I mean...why would we even have the same last name if we were separated at birth? One of us would be named something like Cliff Rabinowicz."

Chris stopped massaging the stranger who sat before him. "That's...impossible. You're my brother! We do everything together. We have a connection that I could only have with my brother. What you're saying is insane!"

Cliff nodded, "The connection is real, that's true. Let me tell you a story. There was a man, who worked for State Farm. His name was...Biff. He worked for them as a time traveling problem solver. Anytime someone would sing the magical State Farm jingle, he would come and fix their problems. It was his pride, and his joy. Until one day, he was sent backwards in time on a housecall. Some klutz had thrown a basketball through the windshield of a Lincoln towncar. Only it wasn't just some klutz. It was Biff's younger self."

Chris seemed to be struggling with the story, but Cliff persisted.

"Rule 47 of the State Farm Time/Space Continuum Charter states that field agents must never encounter their former selves. To do so throws the whole balance of time travel out of whack."

Chris had a question: "So what happened to Biff -- he broke the rule..."

"Biff lost his ability to travel through time. He became a flightless bird. Stuck in a time and a place that wasn't his, with a lesser-evolved version of himself. It was like living through his own Hell, every single day."

Chris began tearing up, "That's awful! I feel so bad for that guy! But...Cliff, what does that have to do with us not being brothers?!"

"Chris...Biff's name wasn't Biff. It was....Cliff."

And just then it dawned on Chris. Biff's name was almost he same as Cliff's! They were only a few letters different! Maybe Biff knows why Cliff is saying all these crazy things!

Cliff waited patiently for Chris to get it, but grew tired of waiting after several minutes.

"I am you, Chris. You from the future. We're not brothers because we are the same guy."

April 25th, 2980

State Farm Headquarters

As the ranking officer entered the bunk, the new recruits lined up and stood at attention. Griswald's face was old, tired, and scarred by a long career full of insurance claims. He had one particularly long gash that ran from two inches above his right eye, all the way down his cheek. It was hard to avoid staring at.

"Alright fresh meat...let's get one thing straight here. I'm the law here. The reason for that...is that what I tell you to do could very well keep you alive."

A tall, freckle-faced boy on the end of the line of recruits was distracted by an itch in his nose. When he began to scratch it...

"IS THERE AN ISSUE, NUMBNUTS?!"

"N-n-n-no, Commander!"

"Freckles -- step forward! Do you know what we do here at State Farm Insurance Co??"

There hadn't been an automobile on Earth in about four hundred years. The planet itself was on its last legs as its final resources dried up. Some thought it was only a matter of time before the Earth crumbled into dust.

"W-w-w-we insure, Commander!"

"Insure WHAT, Freckles??"

Freckles, which was surprisingly his actual name, thought for a long second before responding confidently, "The future of the human race, Commander!"

"That's right. Back in line Freckles! Cadets, the planet itself is dying. Your children, if you have them, will die not of old age, but because the very ground beneath their feet disintegrates in a puff of smoke! We need time to find a solution. Agents are in the field using time travel and spacial transportation to try and find a way to save this planet and all the people on it. But such time travel creates...anomalies."

A serious brunette female cadet raised her hand. "Commander, what kind of anomalies?"

Griswald acknowledged the question. "If we change enough things in the past, the future experiences a series of alterations. The first anomaly was US President Barrack Obama wasn't elected in 2008 like he should have been. Our scientists were able to detect the anomaly and repair it before it was too late."

Freckles raised a hand, "B-b-but how do you fix an anomaly?"

Griswald shook his head in irritation. "It's give and take. We travel through time to find information or samples for experimentation...we must offer something back. Assistance to someone, somewhere. To set the balance and maintain it."

The group started to get it and nodded their heads in understanding.

He continued. "Sometimes you won't understand why you're being asked to do what you're being asked to do. Sometimes you won't like it. Sometimes you're going to have to sponge-bathe David Schwimmer...uh, an ancient Earth actor...but remember this: everything you do is effectively saving our planet. So do it right and do it with some panache. The world is counting on you. DISMISSED!"

July 11th, 1996

JK Rowling sat at her desk, trying to figure out what she was going to present to her publishing company. Monday she had yet another check-in with the editor, and she still had jack shit to show. With a sigh, she broke the only promise she had ever made to herself.

"Like...a good neighbor...State Farm is there."

The State Farm agent appeared and looked at who he was summoned to assist. "JK Rowling? Wow! This so cool! The author of Harry Potter!"

Rowling was attentive. "Harry Potter, you say? Tell me about it..."

Over the next few hours, the agent described (verbatim) the entirety of the Harry Potter series to JK Rowling, it's future author.

"...and then there's this weird scene where you see the future, and it's Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron -- they're all kind of old but they're bringing their kids to the Hogwarts train. Wait -- I actually just saw the movie for this one..."

Rowling scribbled furiously. She left the agent sitting there and went off to type a book plagiarized from its own author by its own author. Which was originally plagiarized from a few dozen other literary sources.

December 24th, 1630

Cardinal Armand Jean du Plessis of Richelieu sat in his golden throne. 

It was Christmas Eve, and all of his underlings and the various bishops and shit had gone home to be with their families. But the Cardinal was alone. His recent tax hike had not gone over favorably, and as a result he spent the holidays relaxing in his own company.

"Comme un bon voisin , State Farm est là."

The State Farm agent appeared, ready to please as always. They had a most pleasant day, learning about the many differences between 1600s France and 2015 Illinois. The cultural exchange was really positive for both men, and you could say they emerged with fresh perspective.

The Cardinal so enjoyed his company that he decided to repeal the Salt and Tea taxes for a time. But ultimately he needed the money, so the repeal was temporary.

August 12th, 2014

Flo felt lonely. Sure, she had any number of suitors. But they were all the same. When she went out with a man, she could never be quite sure. Was he dating her because he liked her? Or because he thought she could get him an amazing rate on his car insurance? I mean, she could. She was important at the office. She just didn't like feeling used.

"I can't believe...I'm going to do this." She said to herself in her hotel mirror. Her room was trashed, liquor bottles on the floor. A cigarette smoldered on her nightstand, despite there being no ashtray. 

"Like a good HIC neighbor...HIC...State Farm...is there."

A State Farm agent appeared. When he saw who it was, he sighed.

"Hi...HIC...hi Tim."

"Flo...why do you keep doing this?"

"C'mon Tim. I just...want to HIC have a little fun."

"I just don't think it's healthy."

Flo stared at the agent, to the point of almost glaring at him.

"You know I'll be good. Let's just have a little fun."

The agent shook his head. "If I say yes, will you stop summoning me?"

Flo nodded, mascara and eye shadow everywhere. She was the hottest mess the agent had ever seen.

The agent moved closer to Flo. The tension was palpable. She stared into his eyes. Closer. Closer.

The agent paused, and looked down. A sheet of paper appeared in his hands. 

"It says...Progressive $214...Allstate $248...and State Farm $219..."

Flo's eyes rolled to the back of her head. "HIC...yesssss!"

The agent continued. "But the terms aren't exactly the same, we offer slightly better coverage for the $219. And there's our customer service."

"SHUT UP TIM! You always fuck it up! Why can't you just let me have this one fucking thing."

The agent turned to leave.

Spring, 1206

Genghis Khan looked out from his camp tent. There were thousands of soldiers in a vast field of tents, just like his. Each had pledged allegiance to the Mongolian horde. Each man was a trained killer who would dive in front of a sword to protect the Great Khan. Today, they would ride. A great smile rose on Khan's face.

Roughly translated: "Like neighboring tribe to east, ally, State Farm exist."

A State Farm agent appeared. At first he didn't know the man who stood hulking before him. "Are you...Genghis Khan?"

But Khan didn't understand English. He spent the next two minutes screaming in Mongolian at the State Farm agent. Khan wanted millions of arrows, but he could only express himself in Mongolian. Every time the agent would shrug, not knowing Khan's wishes, Khan would beat him. Beat him until he bled, and ached, and hurt. 

He was thrown into a cage and left out to die.

The horde moved on, and in their wake they left an infamous path of death and destruction.

March 19th, 1849

Harriet Tubman was out of breath. She continued to run through the woods, feeling like stopping would lead to her capture.

She stopped for a moment uttering only the song her mother taught her: "Like a good neighbor....State Farm is there..."

And with that, a State Farm agent appeared. Shocked at her surroundings, the agent turned to Tubman.

"Harriet Tubman -- wow! What can I help you with?"

Harriet was exasperated. "Just some water, please..."

January 23rd, 2015

Teresa Giudice, former Real Housewife of New Jersey, sat in her prison cell. Her husband had allowed a series of crooked business dealings and fraudulent tax filings to destroy her family. She sat in jail as his accomplice.

"Like a good neighbah, State Farm is theyah."

The State Farm agent appearing in Teresa's cell bore the normal pleasant face typical of an agent, but it quickly evaporated. 

"Prison, huh? Jeeze. I'm not sure I know your name?"

Teresa was brought to nausea that someone didn't know who she was, or how incredibly famous she was.

"My name is Treesah. Whatever. Anyway. I want you to give me a nail file."

The agent looked unsure. "Teresa...you're not thinking of breaking out with a nail file, are you? Because that's not a smart plan. That's like something a cartoon character would come up with."

Teresa tried to put on an innocent smile. "Why....no! I would never! I promise!"

Teresa was clearly crossing her fingers behind her back.

"I can see you crossing your fingers, behind your back."

Teresa just shook her head in blissful ignorance.

The agent sighed and just summoned a nail file for her.

"Knock yourself out, lady."

April 20th, 1899

Helen sat in her chair, alone. She mumbled something inaudible.

A State Farm agent appeared. "Where am I?"

Helen mumbled again.

The agent was confused at first, but then eventually caught on.

"I...I guess it's my job." 

March 4th, 2008

Gordon Ramsay's forehead was sweating, and his hands massaged some very irritated temples.

"I said I wanted a fucking risotto. This is RAW! Petrozza -- have you fucking given up big boy? Huh? Have yeh?"

Petrozza shrugged but replied "No...!"

Ramsay returned to the awful, disgusting-looking risotto. "I've still got a table who needs a fucking risotto. Live a good fucking neighbor, State Farm is fucking there, yeah?"

A state farm agent appeared. "Hello Gordon! What can I do for you?"

"I need a fucking risotto you stupid hog."

"Absolutely." The State Farm agent happily handed Gordon the freshly made risotto.

The agent cleared her voice. "Would you mind if I stayed to watch you yell at the chefs. I think it's hot."

November 14th, 2015

Miley Cyrus sat in her trailer. Her agent and two other Hollywood types sat around her. "So...let me get this straight." Her agent cleared his throat.

The first Hollywood type, Bill, removed his sunglasses and went over it one last time. 

"Miley is going to get paid 14 million dollars to remake On The Waterfront with Jaden Smith playing the same role as Marlon Brando."

Miley sat there motionless. Despite not having ever heard of Marion Brandy, she wasn't sure about this movie.  Jaden Smith was a little too normal and boring, and she was so edgy and hardcore that he might drag her image down. But 14 million dollars would buy a lot of Salvia.

"I'll do it." She interrupted.

Her agent turned, shocked. "B-but Miley, we should talk this over a bit before we sign onto this. It's...it's On The Waterfront. It's a serious piece of--"

"Shut up. You're boring. Where do I sign? I need a pen."

She looked around the room, with everyone annoyingly haven forgotten even a single Inkjoy.

"Ugh. Whatever. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."

And with that, a State Farm agent was sitting next to the other four at the trailer table. 

She seemed excited! "Hey! Are you Miley Cyrus!? This is so cool! How can I help you today?"

Miley barely altered her lobotomized facial expression.

"I'm going to make 14 million bucks re-doing On The Waterfront with Jaden Smith."

As soon as the words sunk in, the agent's face transformed from one of eagerness to one of shock, and then eventually one of disgust. 

"B-but...how could you do that? You're a monster."

Miley turned, slightly.

"Give me my fucking pen, bitch."

And with that, the agent's hands raised, against her will. A pen appeared. No matter how much the State Farm agent struggled against her own muscles, the pen was nonetheless presented to Miley. 

April 15, 1865

US President Abraham Lincoln paced back and forth outside the box office. His wife, Mary, stood an arm's length away. "Now, Abe. I'm sure they'll still let you into the show without the tickets."

The president lifted his head, bearing that significant stovetop hat. "Mary, I know they'll let me in. I'm the gosh darned President of this fair country. But that's exactly why I can't use my influence to attain entry. I am a symbol. If we've no tickets, we must return home."

The president rose to go home. This play Our American Cousin would be seen at a later date. Mary raised a hand in objection.

"Like...a good neighbor...State Farm is there..."

With that, the box office was suddenly occupied by more than just the two. 

"What the hell??" The State Farm agent exclaimed. "Am I...Am I in the 1800s?! This is crazy. Parker is going to think I was tripping balls when I tell him--"

Mary had no time for the future man's blathering.

"We need two tickets to Our American Cousin, posthaste!"

The agent suddenly realized the situation at hand.

"He's the president! But...if he goes to this show...he'll get killed!"

"Yes yes." Lincoln nodded. "I hear it's superbly acted. Now present us with the tickets, future servant."

The agent went to object, but instead caught himself. A single tear fell down his cheek, and he nodded, producing the tickets for the play. He handed them over to the president, shaking his head.

"Make yourself scarce."