I had a dream. In the dream I was running, I and a thousand others, through the Nevada desert. It���s open range out there: no fences impeded us, but the cows scattering before us slowed our passage, tripping us up. They mooed in terror even as we cried out, but they weren���t afraid of us so much as the Shadow behind us all. That shadow was an army, led by Ronald McDonald. He was grinning, leering even, blood-red lips frozen in a rictus. At his side was Jack, fell head bouncing. Little Wendy squeezed between them, screaming like a Valkyrie, braided red locks flying. They were a Calvary; they were riding Rainbeer. Their hooves churned up the dust through which burst a million antenna balls, cackling, bouncing, leaping ��� Behind them marched a sea of corporate shock troops, wave after wave, briefcases in hand. Trumpets sounded, like something from The Lord of the Rings, heralding the return of the Burger King��� Ahead of us the cows starting vanishing, dropping from the face of the world. ���It���s a stampede!��� someone cried, terrified. There were screams that fell away sharply. We had come to a sheer drop-off���a few of us having realized too late. There was nowhere left to run. Above us, like vultures, attack helicopters circled. Turning to meet my doom, I saw that Ronald McDonald had become former President Ronald Reagan. ���Well,��� he said. ���How about it?���