When I was a child, I once accidentally hit Ronald McDonald with a silver crucifix I was whizzing hyperactively about my head. I remember very clearly the Catholic totem flying through the air; the sizzle and smell of sulfur as it impacted upon Ronald’s ghoulish visage. Immediately, half his face sloughed off his skull in the oozing liquefaction of corpse-like flesh. The next thing I knew, every child in McDonaldland was sitting in an expanding puddle of their own hysterical evacuations as Ronald McDonald (aka Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies) disintegrated into an anthropomorphic cloud of carrion-carrying flies. Forget Morgan Spurlock, forget Fast Food Nation. That was the event that turned me off McDonald’s food forever.