Conquering space via the automobile cost man the freedom to live in an environment conducive to walking. Compressing time via the microwave robbed him of any hope of arriving home to a simple, well prepared meal. All new technology disrupts old ways of living. To compensate, he convinced himself that these new shiny shackles were really wings. They surely afford him the opportunity to see exotic places and sample foreign fare. Surely it's all for the better. This progress. This Progresso meal.
Donald only wants a bologna and cheese sandwich, he doesn't want to visit Italy or eat a frozen simulacrum of their cuisine. He is trapped in an open subdivision where the only thing he knows about his nameless neighbor is what she does behind closed doors. He has a car, but he doesn't keep it well. He is losing it. He's an Arby's foil wrapper in a microwave.
Speaking of meats, Donald, starving for something as real as the dirt on his car, turns to sex and death, in that order, for a grounding. A blind fumbling towards cannibalism becomes a wide-eyed compulsion. If anything is real, certainly it is flesh and bone. Pinch yourself for validation. Killing allowed Donald to finally appreciate life. For the rest of us it is not so bloody simple.