This article is part of the Letters from Constituent-Man series.
Mr. Olive Garden, we have an urgent matter to discuss.
I am writing to inform you of a critical and dangerous flaw in your business plan.
I have heard your promises to the so-called "Italian Lovers" of this world. I have seen your proclamations as they danced across the plasma screens so beloved by your kind and heard them via the radio frequencies that permeate your atmosphere.
Your organization is promising "unlimited salad and breadsticks" to the world.
THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE.
I have done the math. I have collided salad with breadsticks in my own particle accelerator. I have run hundreds of simulations using the computer in the lifepod that brought me to this congressional district and several computational devices I have since forged out of crystals and captured dark energy. These are machines beyond the fathoming of your smartest science-men and brightest child prodigies.
All of these simulations predict the same result: catastrophic failure.
Mr. Olive Garden, I am not merely speaking of the failure of your business. This nation itself will collapse if you attempt to deliver on your goal of offering infinite salad and breadsticks to the ever-expanding human race. Indeed, your world and the the universe around it are threatened by your "Cowboy diplomacy" and reckless distribution of leafy vegetables and cylindrical bread rods.
Mr. Olive Garden, under all accepted models of science the universe contains a fixed amount of matter and energy. Even if you were to build a device that can transmute any kind of matter into salad or breadstick form, and such devices are so crude and simple that a common child could easily fabricate one, you are still limited by the finite amount of matter in the universe.
I have traveled to the furthest reaches of time and space to bear witness to a barren universe robbed of its galaxies, stars, nebulae and wonder.
ROBBED BY YOU.
Your quest to create an infinite array of salad and breadsticks caused a terrible attrition of matter and energy, leaving nothing left but increasingly smaller breadsticks and salads for the few survivors fortunate enough to survive the cannibalization of the so-called Milky Way Galaxy and explosion of your mother star, which you call Sol but is in fact called Roort'naii 766-231-B according to all standard star maps.
Still, Mr. Olive Garden, I have given you the benefit of the doubt. I took into account the fact you might utilize temporal tunneling to retrieve matter from the past and future and move it to the present, thereby giving yourself a renewable source of matter with which to construct more leafy greens and bread rods at the cost of destroying countless alternate universes. But the quantum instability associated with such tactics means the matter would increasingly degrade as it moves through time, until your salads and breadsticks become so unstable they explode in giant radioactive outbursts.
This is not a viable business option or amenable dining experience.
Mr. Olive Garden, I believe your promise of unlimited salad and breadsticks is more than a threat to the safety and survival of all life. Mr. Olive Garden, you are declaring war on all intelligent civilizations native to this universe.
If you continue on this catastrophic course, I will be forced to intervene. I have at my disposal a construct, which when pointed at the correct number of mirrors and tuned to the proper frequency, will send a quantum cascade that will cause this world to safely collapse in on itself.
Mr. Olive Garden, your franchise will be no more and all that your civilization has accomplished and hopes to accomplish will cease to be. The universe will be safe.
If you do not wish to bring about the destruction of your planet and all that you value in your heart-brain, I suggest you comply with my demands.
First, you will no longer promise unlimited salad and breadsticks. I hereby propose this new slogan, which you can safely make to your patrons.
"Come to the Olive Garden for a Reasonable Volume of Salad and Breadsticks While Supplies Last."
You may feel free to assign your marketing-men the task of making my suggestion more "snappy," so long as the meaning and intention is still clear. I am not a copy-man, just a humble traveler from a place where the laws of physics are so different your brains are incapable of comprehending them.
Second, I wish to be granted a coupon that is redeemable as many times as I wish that discounts my meals by 10%. In exchange for this monetary discount I agree to be served only 90% of usual portions.
I am not your enemy, Mr. Olive Garden. I do not wish you harm as you seem to wish me and all life harm. May my words inspire you to mend your ways and embrace a new paradigm. May you dedicate yourself to the preservation of life, and not it's brutal destruction.
If you do this, I am prepared to share with you a blueprint for a new type of meatball unknown to all but me and the highest reaches of your government.
A Concerned Constituent-Man
P.S. Do you have the address of the entity known as "Wil.i.am"? He and I have important matters to discuss concerning a radical shift in tidal forces.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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