The world becomes a quiche. The very ground upon which we walk is a splendid meal. Agriculture is all but extinct. There are festivals and parades held the world over celebrating the end of hunger. Then the business of eating is gotten down to. It becomes a routine. Wake up, get dressed, go outside and eat a piece of the lawn for breakfast.
People eat the foundations of buildings away. The cities collapse amid extreme satiation mingled with tragedy. New buildings can’t be put up as replacements because you can’t make a building out of quiche.
Historical landmarks become riddled with what become known as chow-holes as sightseers become peckish in mid-tour.
The fossil fuel reserves are quickly depleted, and quiche-based alternative fuels are proposed as the oil-based economy grinds to an ugly halt.
Environmentalists develop intricate methods of calculating when the world will be “eaten out” and hence when humanity will be doomed if we don’t do something about it now. Why won’t anyone listen?
Society as we know it comes to a bizarre end. Simultaneously, new societal norms become quickly integrated. It’s all based on the idea that no-one ever has to be hungry ever again. Food is no longer the basis for culture. It’s all exceedingly awkward and no-one is happy about it.
Out in the badlands of egg and cheese, tough, rangy riders and outlaws tour the wastes. Sometimes, by chance, two or more of these rough customers will come across one another. Always, they play Twister there on the unforgiving oven-blasted quiche-scape. In a way, they serve as an example to us all.