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McDrivin’

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By Hubanero_staff
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McDrivin’

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Hubanero_staff

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  10. Background music should be from the opening motorcycle scene in Akira and the end of the freeway should be Hamburgaler mutating and transforming into the Grimace.

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  22. Ron Donald grew up in a city called Macintosh, commonly referred to as “Big Mac” because it bordered a smaller town called Mac City. When he was 8, he was abducted by the leader of a cult called the Grimaces. This cult fetishized clowns and 1950s culture, and after being programmed to follow their ways, young Ron assumed an alter ego named Ronald McDonald.

    He soon rose through the ranks of the cult and became its leader. As part of a plan to pull in more members, he started a restaurant named McDonald’s and acted as its mascot. However, part of him–the Ron that laid dormant under all of the clown makeup, goofy shoes, and obscene red hair–still wished someone would save him. As a desperate plea to the ignorant customers of his restaurant, he created the “Big Mac” sandwich, in the image and name of his home town. By making this the featured menu item of his restaurant, he hoped that someone would pick up on the clue, and somehow, just maybe, save him from this new hell.

    None ever did. Decades passed, and Ronald McDonald lived day after day in the agonizing oppression of the golden-arched prison. That is until a new burger joint opens up across the street. One Tuesday morning, in June, Ronald McDonald is heading from his clown car to the restaurant to start another grueling day of work, when his gaze crosses the sign adorning the new restaurant. It’s of a woman, with freckles stamped on her face and a glowing red pigtail protruding on either side of her head.

    Ronald recognizes the girl, but all he can recall are a few flashes of memories: her smiling at him from across the hall at Macintosh elementary school; her pigtails grazing the rubber ground of the playground as she hung upside down on the monkey bars; her hands over her face, slicked with tears, as she knelt beneath an oak tree, and the sound of a group of popular girls laughing as they walked away, and the feeling of her arms around him moments later as he consoled her, and the smell, her smell, like frozen chocolate milk. Ronald stands still in the parking lot as these memories penetrate into his mind and render him immobile. A feeling arises in his chest–it’s warm, and familiar–and it bubbles throughout his throat until it takes form in his mouth, as he speaks her name:

    “Wendy.”

    He remembers now. He remembers the city he used to call home. He remembers the girl he used to love. He remembers Ron. He begins to scheme. Every 15 minute break he gets, he sketches wild maps and diagrams in ketchup furiously. He has to hurry, as he only has one chance; if he doesn’t make his escape before the cult finds out what he’s up to, he’ll never escape the smell of french fries again.

    He plans for months then finally, one Friday, as the other employees are distracted closing the store, he makes his getaway. He hops in the car that looks like his boot and drives without looking back. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but he can feel a pull in his gut. His home is calling him, guiding him.

    After driving for 20 hours, he reaches a road that feels familiar. The whisper in his gut is suddenly a pang, and his senses seem to sharpen. He drives down the straight road ahead, car glistening in the hue of the setting sun and he can sense it before he sees the towering buns of his home over the crest of the hill: he’s home.

    As the burger-shaped city grows more massive in the horizon, he closes his eyes, and sheds a tear. It erases a streak of make up, revealing his former self. It rolls onto his neck, like Wendy’s so long ago under the oak tree, and his voice prattles out of his lips, a whisper that is barely audible over the purr of his engine and the peaceful flapping of birds’ wings overhead.

    “Wendy, I’m home.”

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  35. I’m giving you a night call to tell you how I feel
    I want to drive you through the night, down the hills
    I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear
    I’m gonna show you where it’s dark, but have no fear
    There something inside you
    It’s hard to explain
    They’re talking about you boy
    But you’re still the same
    There something inside you
    It’s hard to explain
    They’re talking about you boy
    But you’re still the same
    I’m giving you a night call to tell you how I feel
    I want to drive you through the night, down the hills
    I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear
    I’m gonna show you where it’s dark, but have no fear
    There something inside you
    It’s hard to explain
    They’re talking about you boy

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  37. This is literally me after playing poker till 6 a.m at a casino and losing. Just driving home sad looking for junk food to make me happy. All he’s missing is a cigarette.

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