COLUMN: McDemon

Another column, and once again I find myself working the Apocalypse beat. 

Last week, I told you about about a video from one of the odder cul-de-sacs of the information superhighway claiming the Super Bowl halftime show was an unwitting indoctrination to the occult. What we thought was ten minutes of fiesty Latin dancing was, in fact, symbolic imagery and dark magic heralding the end of days. It sure didn't do much for the 49ers offense in the second half, either.

Well, the video may have been right. New evidence of scary occulting is afoot, and we should all take heed.

The world is nothing if not messed up, and it seems to be getting messier by the day. If you're the sort of person who buys into conspiracy theory rantings on the internet, there's a lot of ammunition these days to send you straight into tinfoil-hat levels of paranoia. 

The internet is full of things to be afraid of. But if you want to be afraid of things you never knew you HAD to be afraid of, put your laptop down, grab some coffee, and turn on your radio. The best place to go for top quality left-field fearmongering is a little show called Coast to Coast AM. Founded by the legendary Art Bell and hosted these days by George Noory, Coast to Coast AM is hours of pure conspiracy theory bliss, dispensed in wonderfully foreboding fashion throughout the wee hours of the night.

Coast to Coast tells us the news that matters. The news that the news is clearly too afraid to report. We insomniacs know the truth. Why worry about coronavirus when we have more pressing threats at hand -- like Bigfoot. Who has time to bother with climate change when there are time-travelling Men in Black walking among us? Floods and volcanoes? Heck, those were prophesied by ancient Mayan architecture. What's more important: our political divide or the fact that more and more people look at the clock at precisely 11:11 every day?? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

If you don't listen to Coast to Coast AM, treat yourself some night. It's broadcast locally on WOC and streams on SiriusXM's Road Dog Trucking channel -- which is great, because if there's anyone we want to make paranoid of alien abductions and Bigfoot attacks, it's those tuning in while driving 10,000 pound death machines at 70 miles an hour in the dead of night.     

Coast to Coast warns us of important matters, such as this week's incredible breaking news, which comes straight from their website:

Dateline: Pueblo, Colorado. Police were summoned last week to a local McDonalds after employees reported hearing a female voice making "demonic sounds." Employees were unable to identify the source of the noise but "were so unnerved... they said they wouldn't be going back outside their building until after the sun came up."

I'm not quite sure what to make of this. I've eaten a couple Big Macs in my day that were followed by some admittedly demonic sounds shortly thereafter, but I have yet to experience gastrointestinal distress to the degree that it frightens the occupants of nearby buildings. Perhaps I should try harder.

Honestly, though, I could buy into this story. Let's say you're a demon hellbent on the destruction of mankind. You've just successfully crossed over from the netherworld and successfully possessed a human. You're now super psyched and eager to unleash your evil wrath upon the innocent... but FIRST? You should probably unleash your evil wrath upon a 10-piece order of Chicken McNuggets. I wonder what kind of dipping sauce a demon prefers? My guess is Spicy Buffalo.

Exactly what criteria are we using to determine a sound to be "demonic"? Who's qualified to make THAT kind of judgment? It's not every day one encounters a demon. I'd reckon few if any people actually know what a demon sounds like. Demons could sound like "Stairway to Heaven" played backwards, but for all we know, they could also sound like Morgan Freeman reading lullabyes. Thankfully, I don't have the life (or afterlife) experience to know for certain.

But I do have my suspicions. I'm fairly well versed when it comes to sound. I've lived through a My Bloody Valentine concert. I've heard my share of dark and evil noise. And out of all the noise I've heard in all world, I'm fairly certain the most demonic sound in the world is "Baaaaaayyy-beeeee shark doot doo de doot de do, baby shark doot doo de doot de do, baby shark." If somebody were outside MY restaurant chanting that song, I'd be barricading myself behind the deep fryer in no time.  

Surely there's a rational explanation for whatever caterwauling was commencing outside that McDonalds. It better NOT be a sign of the end of days. I'd frankly be a little bummed. I hate change. I'm still getting used to being a homeowner, and I'm in no mood to be raptured off my couch any time soon. On the other hand, I've also seen "Mad Max" and I don't think I'd be a fan of surviving in a post-Apocalyptic wasteland, either. I would not fare well Beyond Thunderdome. Shoot, I wouldn't fare well IN the Thunderdome. In fact, I think I'd prefer an entirely Thunderdome-free existence. The list of things I'm skilled at is pretty short, and most involve both electricity and air conditioning. When the tribal outlanders of the Wasteland begin rebuilding a primitive feudal society, I don't think anyone's top needs will be someone to write snarky newspaper columns or man the DJ booth at Club Apocalypse.

So here's hoping the voices on our late night radio dial are wrong and the voices outside a Colorado McDonalds aren't demonic harbingers of doom. I'm leaving the apocalypse beat to you conspiracy theorists out there. The world is a messy place, but I wouldn't worry about demons in the drive-thru lane just yet. Whatever was making those noises is bound to be perfectly explainable -- I'm pretty sure it was Bigfoot.