Once upon a time, a drummer was in Mississippi, with an insatiable craving for sauce. He knew that he was going to have to get his fix before the sauce withdrawals kicked in, so he did what any sauce fiend would do. He followed the heartwarming scent of congealing trans-fats, and soon found himself within a nearby McDonald’s. Flailing about like a drunken ape, he stumbled through the door, burping and gurgling in a primitive attempt to communicate his need for the sweet, creamy nectar locked deep within the greasy fortress.

The workers, already scared by his foaming mouth, were hesitant to assist him in his primal hunt. Finally, the bravest of the burger flippers stood forward and took his order. The employee was skilled in non-verbal communication, and was able to discern from the drummer’s spastic arm movements and puzzled grunts, revealing his lust for a 12 piece chicken nugget combo deal.

That’s when it all went wrong. Bringing out the warm sack of breaded chicken delights, the cashier nervously asked if the drummer wanted any sauce with his order. He screamed wildly and beat his arms on his chest in a primitive display of excitement for his victory. Little did he know he would not be the winner in this struggle for tomato-based goodness. The fast food clerk pointed a trembling finger towards a sign next to the register–the establishment’s Sauce Policy. Having only exact change for his order, it took only a moment for him to realize that he was getting far less sauce than he had bargained for, and had no way to buy more.

He reared up, like a bloodthirsty Tyrannosaurus, and reached forward with his grime encrusted hands. The young cashier covered her eyes and waited for the inevitable nightmarish onslaught….but it never came. Uncovering her eyes, she looked to her left and saw the door of the restaurant swinging in the cold wind. Then, looking to her right, she caught sight of the shattered sauce cabinet, which had been emptied of its delicious condiments. Although he never came back to that McDonald’s, they say that if you listen just right, you can still hear the drummer’s hair-raising yelps for sauce.

Every show the Sauce Policy plays is a funky tribute to this night of primal sauce lusting. It’s this animal like ferocity that draws females to the shows, even at the risk of being impregnated.