by Jonas Polsky
Realizing that humanity is in its death throes, KFC broke the seals on their demonic kitchen, and unveiled the ultimate weapon, the KFC Go Cup; or as it’s known internally, “The Goblet of Shame.”
The KFC Go Cup is designed for people who think they are in a hurry, but in reality there’s no point going anywhere because everyone hates them and wishes they were dead. The container fits into a car’s drink holder, and allows drivers to clutch an iPhone and a greasy hunk of chicken in one hand, while “steering” and smoking a Pall Mall with the other. As this “on-the-go” commuter navigates shimmering rivers of hot cement, the KFC Go Cup acts as their ultimate companion: priest, lover, and comrade all rolled into one.
What the ads fail to tell you is that the Go Cup is served beneath a transparent plastic dome. This makes it resemble a futuristic “sustenance pod” of sorts, something that you would launch from a trench to an injured ally under enemy fire, or drop down a mineshaft to a man buried up to his neck in rubble, struggling to “pull” the scattered potato wedges into his mouth with only his tongue, knowing that it’s all in vain, and rescue is impossible. Hot tears streaming down his face, the KFC Go Cup is, appropriately, the last thing he will ever see, a pathetic image of hope, and with it’s packaging, a makeshift grave marker.
We can only assume that such a utilitarian food offering is the harbinger of some impending global disaster, or international military coup which will devastate mankind. At first, whatever remaining concept of a “government” will do its best to deliver KFC Go Cups to those that survive the armageddon, but it won’t be for long. When the sky is filled with hundreds of tiny silhouettes of Go Cups being individually airdropped to survivors, the safety lids will only decouple, cruelly showering those below with sizzling grease as they wrestle each other through piles of human excrement for the scattered potato wedges.
Weeks turn into months, and the shroud falls ever further, as they perform rain dances, praying to their pagan gods for a KFC Go Cup to spring from behind a cloud, possibly from a Red Cross flight that was intercepted by a “malfunctioning” predator drone. All concept of civilization lost, the feral remains of humanity will scour the terrain for any uneaten Go Cups, and subsequently see them everywhere, like a mirage.
As the sun sets, a man scans the horizon, seeing the outline of a lone KFC Go Cup, ready to be consumed, on the top of a small hill. Sprinting to the pod with all his remaining energy and beyond, he arrives, breathless, his muscles inflamed, to see that the object wasn’t a KFC Go Cup at all, but a child’s decapitated head.