Bags of Bran


But Ron, My Food Will Get Cold
May 2, 2012, 8:42 pm
Filed under: Biography, Destined to get me in trouble

Is Christianity reasonable, and what evidence could I give for it?

I affirm that Christianity is absolutely reasonable, and the best, most satisfying explanation for the instances of reality.

But I say that from within. One story will suffice to illustrate.

When I was a youngster of less than five years, I would infrequently accompany my family to the McDonald’s in downtown La Crosse, Wisconsin. It was distinct in that it had a subterranean courtyard with a fountain where you could Mac yourself in some nature. In fact, it became the private Walden (and restroom facilities) of a few homeless people, so the management decided to fence it off.

Inside, the architecture was not memorable, except for one particular wall that looked like it was made out of two-by-fours and two-by-sixes alternated and varnished the color of butterscotch. From two hundred feet it would have looked like oaken corduroy. As a small boy I sat, facing the wall of oaken corduroy, eating my whatever, and I saw a guy walk over to the wall of oaken corduroy, lay his hand to one of its spars, pull it open, and disappear into a brightly-lit something. The wall of oaken corduroy swallered him up quickly, and the light was hidden from my view.

A little thrill shot through my little soul. Is McDonaldland behind that wall? I don’t know how much I believed that McDonaldland was behind that wall, but I wanted to believe, that much was for sure.

I had seen, by this point, probably a hundred commercials in which kids were sitting there in the restaurant minding their own, munching dutifully at their grub, and all of the sudden Ron shows up bellowing “Come on, kids! You can eat that stuff later. It never spoils!” He then walks over, pushes on the wall, and voici! It’s McDonaldland, complete with Grimace, the Hamblurglurgle-urg!-flurgler, that bird-like thing aptly called “Birdie,” and several other bizarre sentients that probably would have spooked less-intrepid children.

That guy might have just gone to McDonaldland. I was, needless to say, intrigued. A little bit later, he walked back out, and I tried to see around him just in case Grimace was waving “Duh, goodbye!” But I couldn’t see anything. The only thing for it was to go and do my epistemological duty in the matter: I would go and see for myself. Permission granted, and off I went.

Approaching full reverently, I found the spot on the wall where my prototype had pulled earlier, found the cleverly-disguised handle, and pulled on it.

McDonaldland is full of toilets, and smells kinda bad. 

So there you have it: there is no such thing as McDonaldland.

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