Like the final
scene from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly", there stood a man with
his cone. His date with destiny had dawned. And yet he faced this uncertainty
with determined resolve, a firm jaw, and clenched teeth chewing a black cheroot.
The appointed protector of all things
plastic and conical awaited his fate as his steely eyes scanned the distant
horizon. It would be only a matter of time before the cone destroyers rode into
view across the vast, grassy plains. All he had to defend himself and his cone
was his integrity, an MSA Marshal's tabard, his badge of office, his whistle
and his torch.
But he had right on his side and the knowledge
that the future of all cones lay in his hands. He knew that a future without
cones was a future without hope for mankind. Chaos would rule.
How else to direct progress and ensure
safety, to prevent erroneous access and to deny entrance to the unwary? To part
the weary travellers either to left or right,
or direct them onwards towards their goals and their fate?
He neither flinched nor wavered, but
stood his ground. The cones' last hope for salvation.
