Two guys are in a car. The passenger, who’s inconsiderately grubbing, mistakenly drops a McDonald’s french fry between the seats, compelling the driver to turn to him with a short, harsh “Dude” — shorthand for “You better pick that shit up and fast.”
If you’ve ever wondered what happens to the stuff lost in motor vehicle ether, here’s your chance. Spare change, ballpen caps and — yes, mislaid fries — become window trimmings in a universe composed of lost souls, toiling for the pleasure of a crazed, invisible god.
The emaciated soldiers go into ecstasies when the fry appears on the horizon, promising tasty sustenance at long last. And just as quickly as it appears, it vanishes — swooped up by the driver’s companion, who turns to his buddy and goes, “Trust me. No one wants this more than me.”
Epic and quirky. Crucially though, it left me less interested in McD’s than in the nagging conviction that there are slaves in my car. And they’re hungry.
Work by DDB/Chicago and Biscuit.
