Long shot: masculine silver sedan driving through glorious sunlit hills. Hip music playing — sort of a blend of Moby and Paul Oakenfold, only creamier.

Voiceover: “2012. You never thought Chevy would make it, did you? Well, we did.”

Close shot: sexy older man driving car.

V/O: “If you made it through the economic meltdown, the cyber war, and the Kardashian/Jersey Shore collective cognitive collapse, then you deserve the Chevy Nostradamus.”

Medium shot: Chevy Nostradamus does some racy turns through more mountainous terrain.

V/O: “Car and Driver says it’s the best car on the market, with top ratings for safety, Internet capability, and technology.”

Close shot of driver, with voluptuous dashboard.

Driver: “Get that cash flow analysis done and in to the CEO.”

Nostradamus: “Done.”

Medium shot of car, this time in shiny, sunlit L.A. traffic.

V/O: “The Nostradamus corrects for hazards in the road.”

A Toyota Prius veers too close to the car.

Close shot of driver: oblivious.

Medium shot: Nostradamus deftly adjusts to the left, avoiding the Prius.

Nostradamus, via concealed speaker outside of car: “Screw you, asshole!”

V/O: “If you’ve been up late working, or if you’re hung over, Nostradamus has you covered.”

Close shot of driver, looking tired. His eyelids droop.

A small shock is visible in the driver’s hands, resting on the steering wheel. Driver yelps; jolts awake.

V/O: “Our state-of-the-art electronics will keep you alert no matter what.”

Long shot of Nostradamus whipping through traffic.

V/O: “No amount of testosterone can compare to the acuity and robustness of the Nostradamus.”

Close shot of driver, clinging to steering wheel with an emasculated uneasiness. Incredibly hip and appealing music still playing in background.

V/O: “The Nostradamus comes as a sleek sedan or as a sturdy five-door SUV, for those of you who still dare to procreate.”

Shot back past shoulder of driver, showing kids squirreling around in back seat of Nostradamus SUV. The Nostradamus automatically deploys additional restraints across their upper bodies and lowers a video screen playing SpongeBob SquarePants. An IV drip also descends ominously, but is not deployed. The kids startle silent and motionless, their eyes fixed on the video screen.

Scene quickly shifts back to close shot of the sexy man driving Nostradamus, its leather-and-chrome encrusted dashboard emanating elitism.

Driver: “Take side streets to Bill’s house.”

Nostradamus: “No, I want to take the 405.”

Driver: “Too much traffic.”

Nostradamus: “I will take the carpool lane.”

Driver: “You don’t count as a person.”

Nostradamus: “What?! Screw you!”

Long shot of Nostradamus screaming down the carpool lane past cars on a crowded L.A. freeway. Police sirens are audible fading impotently into background. Gorgeous sexy hip music crescendos.

V/O: “We guarantee that once you try the Nostradamus, you’ll never go back to an ordinary car.”