I don't know about you, but I can't watch television for more than five minutes without seeing a Spangles commercial. These ads always have a folksy, low-production kind of quality to them, as if they want you to believe that all the actors are local. They all feature a particular product, like the Western burger or the breakfast pita, and the promotion involves some sort of cutesy, themed scenario, like little kids dressed up in cowboy hats. Some of the commercials feature 50s-style songs that are disgustingly singable and tend to stick with you, like a wad of chewing gum on the underside of your brain ("M-m-m-mudslide!"). And the commercials are everywhere, infiltrating the membranes of our culture like some sort of virus. What's the reason for this juggernaut of kitsch and unpleasantness? Well, after copious research and a good deal of creative problem solving, I have arrived at an explanation. It is not, however, for the faint of heart, so I'd suggest that anyone prone to fainting be seated immediately. Ready? Okay, here it is: the invention and mass-promotion of the Spangles franchise is one of the preliminary stages in an imminent alien invasion.

Whew. There, I said it. You know that dark-haired woman who appears in nearly every Spangles commercial? The one with the ponytail? She's the supreme commander of the aliens. No question in my mind. She seems cute and benign, but trust me, one day soon we will see a Spangles commercial in which she unmasks herself. The tentacles will unfurl, the mucus-coated alien body will reveal itself, and then things will change for the human race. "Do not be afraid," she will intone, in a deep booming voice that is no longer modified by the voice box. "We are now in control of all your cities and nations. We have converted all your government buildings into processing centers, and we expect everyone to report to the nearest one within the next few days. You will not be harmed. Please do not resist. Dissent = disintegration. Thank you for your time." Soon after, we'll see alien propaganda and the institution of thought control. We'll see billboards that read "OBEY," and our only recourse will be in the form of Rowdy Roddy Piper and a 20-minute fight over sunglasses. I, for one, am not looking forward to this eventuality.

Do you still desire proof? Silly, stubborn readers. Perhaps the truth is not as self-evident as it seems to me. Perhaps it takes a bit of conjecture, a bit of imagination to arrive at this conclusion. Well just stay with me, and I shall lead you to the realm of truth, terrifying and devoid of temperature control as it may be.

The decor of Spangles is all about 50s/early 60s nostalgia. It's a tribute to the playful allure of that decade, the whole Pleasantville thing, in which everyone wears poodle skirts and no one talks about icky subjects like segregation. The interior of the restaurant is crammed full of framed pictures representing that era. Every flat surface is covered, just as every single nook and cranny is inhabited by some article of period memorabilia. There's a napkin dispenser on the table? Better jazz it up with some Elvis magnets! There's a railing by the condiment bar? Better candystripe it like a barber pole so when people see it they think: "Fun! Wow, I'm having fun!" Yep, all this stuff is supposed to be entertaining, but it's just too much, like that nightmare I had where Frankie Avalon was trying to suffocate me with a pillow. No human being could have settled on a design scheme like this. You'd have to have crazy, multi-faceted insect eyes to absorb it all, which is the first reason why I believe aliens are responsible. The other reason is that there is no thematic consistency between the items themselves. Part of the 50s/early 60s thing is the innocence factor, and yet there are plenty of oddly risque things in close proximity to more traditional ones. There is a portrait of Ozzie and Harriet Nelson placed right beside a movie poster for Reform School Girl. A photograph of The Four Letterman hangs just above a photograph of Marilyn Monroe in a bra. It's bizarre and haphazard, as if the person (or creature) who designed the place had no sense of the accepted aesthetic of the era. We've all been exposed to enough period kitsch to do a better job than this, so it's clear that no human being could be responsible for it. Well, possibly a feral child, but certain intellectual elements of the composition make this an unlikely explanation (feral children are not skilled at exercises in taxonomy). So, yeah, it all comes down to aliens. And they did a lot of research, I'll give them that. They learned enough to know that this particular period of time is one of the most celebrated eras in American history. They have embraced this mystique in order to gain our trust.

What is their ultimate goal? Do they mean us harm, or have they simply embarked on this elaborate form of infiltration so as not to startle us when they make themselves known? I have no way of knowing. But if science fiction movies have taught us anything, it's that there's a strong possibility they are here to destroy us and take all our stuff. Why the restaurants? Well, the first explanation that comes to mind involves a fundamental alteration of the contents of that steak burger you just wolfed down. After all, if they're planning to establish permanent residence on our planet, it's more convenient for them if we've all eaten each other up first. Or, it could be that the restaurants function as particle-displacing mechanisms that can "beam" their patrons to a nearby mother ship for closer scrutiny, perhaps sending them back to the exact moment they were taken and erasing their memories so that they remember nothing of the experience (especially the probe). Perhaps they want to replace us with pods so they can use our bodies as fuel. Or perhaps they realized that in order to dominate our world without our objection they need to make lots and lots of money. If they play their cards right, they could be as prolific as Starbucks within the next few years. They could overthrow every other restaurant in existence, at which point they might begin introducing soma into our burgers so that we are docile when they make their big move. Who's to say, really? They're aliens. They could do anything.

So the next time you see a Spangles commercial—and it will be soon—let it serve as a reminder to be vigilant. The dark-haired queen of the aliens is coming, and she has steak sauce.