Post-Apocalypse Grub

“Don’t be ridiculous! Who’s ever heard of exorcising a cow?”

“It’s not just cows. The whole area has gone berserk”, Pastor Nigel’s wife frets as she plays with the small tails on her fur coat. “Ever since they ate that nuclear waste you sold them. I told you they’d raid it in case of a draught or something.”

“It’s not my fault; they were meant to store it for decades and only eat it before it expired. We’d long be dead by then. What’s gotten into them anyway?”

“You really shouldn’t have stirred them up against foreigners last Sunday.”

“It’s no big deal. It’s better than whisky; they cheer and clap and dance… It’s the best fun they have all week.”

“You’ve outdone yourself this time. They’re boycotting all imports, plus fruit and vegetables picked by immigrants. They’ve got nothing left to eat but the buckets you sold them. On a whole street they can’t even leave the house after dark – their teeth have become fluorescent.”

“At least they’re not eating the Mexican special, I assume.”

“They sold it to the farmers as fodder. Someone gave it to the cows. That’s when they started growing two more heads. One guy fed it to his pigs…”

“And…? Did they eat it?”

“No. They ate him. It’s pandemonium; I tell you.”

“It’s not so bad; now they’ll just think the end of days has finally come. Imagine the prepping kits I can sell them…”

“Why don’t you just stop? Someday they’ll bust the door in with pitchforks.”

“Uh… I was putting off telling you but… I just lost another half a million a few nights ago. Forget three-headed cows; poker’s a bitch. Oh well… I better go tell them Jesus is coming soon.”

“You’ve been telling them that for forty years.”

“Exactly! What’s one more week? Just any day now…”




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