#include pinchOfSalt.h

Somethings are so common, we don't give them a second glance. But sometimes, if we do, the shocking truth is unavoidable.

Consider trampolines. Or, more generally, the human obsession with gymnastics. Why? Is it just we like looking at trim, lithe bodies in scant costumes performing physical feats for our enjoyment? Obviously not. Clearly we are fascinated by gymnastics since it lets us act out race memories. I refer of course to all those generations spent in the zero-G colony ships that first brought us to Earth.

Not convinced? Then let us apply the glare of reason to our darkest pychosis.: drive-through food on highways.

Now what is that all about? It can't be be food- its too fatty, destroys family life, and the coffee is crap.

Not only that, think of the ridiculously complicated infrastructure we have built and maintain, just to get us to our daily McDonalds:

• First you need cars- intricate pieces of kludgy machineary that consume huge portions of our income.
• Next, you need the roads for the cars to run on- huge black rivers that scar the landscape, slash away mountains, rape forests, and damn rivers.
• And all this only let us drive faster and straigher to our next Fat Mac!

So, why do we do it? After minutes of research I have made the following incontrovertible conclusion:

Life on this planet was seeded by a race of very thin invisible ribbon people with a fondness for red meat, fresh off the grill. This race wrote into our genes the overwhelming desire to build the ultimate drive-thru.

Crazy, you say? Well, the evidence is everywhere. Ever notice how confetti blows in the wind? And powerlines run alongside the highway? Now put it all together. The ribbon people wrap themselves around the poles and wires to stop the wind blowing them away from their food.

And what is that food? Why- us! Every day, we jump in our cars and spend hours driving around in front of the homes of our masters, the ribbon people. "Pick me! Pick me!" is our subconscious plea. And if our cars are pretty, bright, and shiny enough, or if our driving antics are daring enough, then we are plucked by the ribbon people who grill us on the powerlines.

Our course, that was all stage one. We're now into stage two. Ever notice that there are more roads in the city? And the buildings are taller? And where the buildings are tallest, the traffic is slowest, the crime rate is highest, and there are more ticket-tape parades? Need I say more?

OK- if you need it all laid out for you. The ribbon people, tired of the high winds of the open highway, have forced us to build huge windbreaks. Oh, the fiendish cunning of their plans. Every day we do our commute, carrying more and more of them into the downtown area. Then we mill around there, in huge tempting crowds. They pick and choose which of us to eat- and hide their carnage within the usual deathrate of downtown.

And sometimes they even flaunt their presence by raining down on us during parades. And like the fools we are, we run through the ticker-tape, laughing and cheering while ignoring the sizzling smell of our hapless fellows grilling over the powerlines, feeding the monsters that feed on us.

Every day we play out our innocence, hiding, lying to ourselves, for the reality is unbearable. We struggle to raise ourselves above our murdering masters. But our imagination is stunted by the horror of our existance. All we have ever managed is pale parady of the slaughter yards of the ribbon people.

Worst of all, in our drive-thrus, the participants gratefully pay to join the massacre while ordered to "have a nice day". Now do you understand why Ronald McDonald's smile is forced and his mouth is ringed in blood?