Imagine a rocky mountain hillside. There are about half a dozen people running up it; it would have been a challenging hike, but these people are running it, and they're in pain. They're all staying together, yelling encouraging things to each other. There's also a man in a white lab coat and a paper "diner" hat putting a stethoscope up to people, saying things like "you're burning a lot of calories." They get to the peak of the hill, and in the distance you can see two things: a Wendy's, and another restaurant with a generic-looking sign that just says "BURGER JOINT" in caps. It also has what appears to be a guard tower.
When the runners first see the Wendy's, maybe five or ten minutes away, they scream out "Triple cheeseburgers! We're almost home!" and begin to sprint. Then a voice booms out from BURGER JOINT, and the camera zooms in and you see that it's Michael Cera in a fast food uniform, yelling into a bullhorn while squinting to read text from their sign. "No! Come try our... dog farts! Er, dog brats! Brat dogs. Ugh, just go to Wendy's." He sighs and goes back inside.
The camera cuts to inside the Wendy's, where you can see the runners all entering the restaurant with faces of exhaustion and anticipation. The first man, a heavy-set black guy drenched in sweat from head to toe, grins and says, "I'd like a triple cheeseburger, please!"
Now you just see the Wendy's logo, and the announcer says, "Wendy's: you deserve it."
This dream brought to you by Wendy's. (Ugh, I hate Wendy's. Why can't someplace better buy ad time in my dreams?)
Currently listening: Mouse on Mars—Mine Is in Yours