At the frayed, fleeting edges of collective consciousness; the periphery of the Noosphere. Upon the precipice of knowledge, ensconced within a dimly lit office, sat one [King]. A fluorescent buzz whined away, the only sound within, or, indeed, without.
A gravy-stained finger, plump, rosy, outright corpulent, prodded at a nicotine-caked intercom, the once pristine, plastic whites long soaked through with a sickly yellow...
...
At the End of Days, on the eve of John's Ultimeatum, humanity at large learned two simple, obvious, and terrifying truths.
The first - of the nature of Divinity, only Hinduism and Gary Larson came close. Upon rolling fields and endless blue skies, the souls of cows long and recently passed had been discovered, placidly grazing away. In death, in previous life, these simple, dignified souls chewed their cuds, awaiting a new incarnation.
The second - The Meat Mountain was only the beginning of the end. The boys in R&D had been churning away iteration after iteration. The Meat Mountain Mountain. Meat Denali. And when they finally dared to scrape the heavens and transcend the idea of beef, Babil's Roast.
The curse of tongues, first laid upon Mankind for their reckless defiance of God's word, held no power over a single man's startling, pathological hatred against the humble cow.
Within minutes, the Pastures of Samsara had been utterly overrun. Trucks laden with knives and cannons - Tenderizers - had roared roughshod across the very concept of faith and reincarnation. Within seconds, the paddocks of infinity had been rendered into so much fat, gristle, and wispish methane. And it was here, upon this field, that the boys in R&D erected the seat of His Heavenly Roast - a glistening, gristly monument to excess and hatred, tucked away quietly in the corner of a freshly paved parking lot. It played host to not a single car nor a single soul; a silent wasteland. A denouement. The perpetual emptiness upon which the Noosphere's first, and Mankind's final Arby's stood.
...
And finally, the intercom crackled to life.
"howdy beef believers. John Arby, king of Arby's here"
I wonder if this is how the script of Meat Canyon cartoons looks.