[[A field of windmills is silhouetted against dusk sky.]] [[Man and woman are standing and sitting on the ground overlooking the windmills.]] Man: I'm all for green energy, but those turbines creep me out. They remind me of War of the Worlds, or the Tripod books. Woman: They -are- unnerving. Man: I can't shake the feeling that at any moment they'll-- <> [[A leg begins to split off one windmill.]] <> [[The leg separates from the body of the windmill.]] [[The new leg lands on the ground.]] <> [[Another leg begins to split off the other side of the windmill's body.]] <> [[The new leg hits the ground, forming a tripod base.]] <> [[Smoke rises from destroyed buildings as the windmills rampage across the field.]] [[Man and woman are now standing.]] Woman: Oh no. Man: Al Gore, you've doomed us all. Woman: It's coming this way! Man: Run! [[One of the enormous tripod windmill feet lands right behind the running couple, sending debris flying.]] <> [[Man and woman run.]] Woman: What now? Man: Someone has to stop them. Woman: But who could-- Voice from next panel: Stand aside! [[Don Quixote sits mounted at the top of a hill, lance at the ready.]] {{title text: The moment their arms spun freely in our air, they were doomed -- for Man has earned his right to hold this planet against all comers, by virtue of occasionally producing someone totally batshit insane.}}