O Humanity, I always knew you would bring about the end of yourselves. Not by war, or nuclear fire, or grey goo. Not even by capricious use of antibiotics do you bring your end. Nay, your end is far slower. Far rounder. Far more…. corpulent.
Our race has bravely survived such threats before: the coming of the Dread Arches, the Lich-King of Burgers, even a burger so terrifying that even the other burgers branded it a Monster. Yet we still stand (albeit in roomier battle-pants). This spring, everything changed. On the twelfth of April in the year two thousand and ten, KFC unleashed its greatest creation: the KFC Double Down. Simple is its payload: two breaded boneless chicken breasts, cheese, bacon, and some sort of evil mayonnaise to make it (and humanity) go down that much easier.
Yet, it is not the Double Down itself that will destroy us. Nay, it is what it represents.
Through all previous crises, humanity was simply enticed by value. More food for a higher price. This upping of the serving-size ante continued until 2004 when the Arches seemingly suffered a crisis of conscience and eliminated their Super Size choices from their menu in lieu of a more reasonable Large. Though the actual fat intake was only a few grams lower and it is widely thought the Arches were only doing this as a public relations manuever, humanity’s death clock was nevertheless set back five full minutes. The Double Down seeks not only to move the Death Clock forward those five fateful minutes, but also to overclock it. Death may be the only fast thing humanity ever does again.
BEHOLD! The abomination eschews bread, known for centuries as the only part of the sandwich typically not fried in something. The victim is forced to grasp the destroyer directly by its fell meats, poisoning the soul, damning the consumer forevermore. For now it is proven that a man’s dignity is not greater than his carnal lust for fried food, and his willpower not even enough to lift a finger toward a napkin. Now they have us – and, despite their greasy talons, they will not let us go.
Woe betide us! The seventh seal is broken, and Fatnarok begun. The seas will run nuclear green with Dew, and the dead will wake, but be unable to rise from their graves. The world-serpent Jörmungandr will finally begin to consume his own tail, and discover he is incredibly caloric.
We are undone. Soon also will be the seams on our pants – and our lives. This is the flavor of our end.
(Photo courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/djjewelz/4509710783/ and, no doubt, copyright the dread KFC.)