Dipper chooses the long and skinny blaster.

“I hope this works,” he whispers.

Dipper and Wild Eyes Joe meet at the dirt line.

Wild Eyes Joe scoffs at Dipper. “You call that a pistol?” He laughs, eyeing the weapon. “Looks like a silver lollipop! Which would be very valuable but useless in a shoot-out!”

Dipper narrows his eyes.

He and Wild Eyes Joe start to count paces.

“One…two…three…”

Dipper takes a deep breath.

“Ten…eleven…twelve…”

Mabel bites her nails.

Blendin bites Mabel’s nails.

Mabel gives Blendin a creeped-out look.

“Twenty-eight…twenty-nine…DRAW!” says Wild Eyes Joe, with his weapon raised like a pro.

Dipper fires and—

WHOOOSH!

A giant blue ball of energy surges from Dipper’s blaster and careens wildly through the street, leaving a jagged gash in midair that looks like a tear in the fabric of the sky.

“Uh, Blendin, was that supposed to happen?” asks Dipper.

Sparks shoot out of the gash, and a deep rumbling emanates from within.

“There was d-definitely something wrong with that blaster!” stammers Blendin, getting increasingly sweaty. “And b-by the looks of it, it ripped a hole in space-time!”

Mabel walks up to the rip in space-time and pokes it with a stick.

“Careful!” yells Blendin. “You don’t want to risk opening it any further!”

“Oops,” says Mabel. She’s already torn an edge, and a flap of space-time hangs down limply like a loose poster corner. She tries to push it back up, but it just sags down again.

“Ah, jeez, this is not good!” says Blendin.

Energy explodes from the space-time rip and an assortment of creatures, humans, and machines from different eras begin to emerge. An enormous brontosaurus plods out of the rip and charges the horse corral. The horses panic and leap the fences, leaving their owners behind to be trampled. A Model T driven by Abraham Lincoln, with Jimi Hendrix riding shotgun, rolls out and starts doing donuts on the main street. Giant robot spiders from the future scurry out and start scaling buildings.

Everyone in the town screams and runs.

The gang huddles together.

“What do we do?” asks Mabel. “Abraham Lincoln is going to be really angry when he runs out of petrol!”

“The time schism won’t stop growing!” says Blendin. “I really shouldn’t buy time weapons on sale!”

The tear is growing ever larger as more and more creatures and beings from contradictory times pour out of it. The universe begins completely collapsing on itself.

Although it’s supercool to look at, this means that for our heroes, their story has reached its…

END.