The Oligarchy Eats!
Welcome to Geoffrey and Elaine’s
'Where the Elite Meet to Eat… People!'
In the glittering underbelly of the ultra-wealthy, where private jets hum like cicadas and morality is a suggestion, there existed a restaurant so exclusive it didn’t have a sign, a menu, or even a Yelp page. It was called 'Geoffrey and Elaine’s Eatery for the Elite', a culinary Shangri-La for the one percent of the one percent—those with a taste for the forbidden. Geoffrey and Elaine, a power couple with a penchant for fine dining and finer debauchery, had struck gold. Or rather, struck 'flesh'. You see, Geoffrey and Elaine were cannibals. Not your run-of-the-mill, “I’ll eat my neighbor during an apocalypse” cannibals, but refined, Rolex-wearing, Château Lafite-sipping cannibals who decided to open a restaurant catering to their fellow flesh-craving oligarchs.
The concept was simple: lure in the desperate, the downtrodden, the forgotten—those poor souls who’d take any job to survive. “Help wanted: dishwashers, busboys, sous-chefs,” the ads read, posted in the grimiest corners of the city. But here’s the kicker: at Geoffrey and Elaine’s, the staff 'was' the menu. A busboy named Carl might be listed as “Filet de Carlos, braised in truffle oil, served with a side of despair.” A dishwasher named Tina? “Tina Tartare, garnished with microgreens and existential dread.” It was farm-to-table, except the farm was a trap, and the table was a nightmare.
The restaurant was a fortress of secrecy, tucked away on a private island accessible only by helicopter or yacht. The dining room glittered with chandeliers made of ethically sourced diamonds (because even cannibals have standards). The guest list read like a Who’s Who of the morally bankrupt: hedge fund vultures, oil barons, tech tycoons, and a smattering of corrupt politicians, all united by their shared love of forbidden cuisine. The waitstaff, trembling and underpaid, served up dishes while praying they wouldn’t be next. Geoffrey, with his waxed mustache and penchant for velvet smoking jackets, played the charming host, while Elaine, draped in furs and dripping with pearls, ensured the wine pairings complemented the… unique flavors.
For years, the operation ran smoothly. The rich dined, the poor disappeared, and the world spun on, blissfully ignorant. That is, until Benny the Busboy, a wiry 19-year-old with a knack for survival, pulled off the impossible: he escaped. Picture it: Benny, covered in flour from the kitchen (where he’d been prepped as “Benny Bourguignon”), sprinting through the island’s manicured jungle, dodging security guards in golf carts, and diving into the ocean like a low-budget action hero. He swam for hours, washed up on a public beach, and started screaming about cannibals to anyone who’d listen.
The public, naturally, was skeptical. “Cannibals? In 'this' economy?” they scoffed. But Benny was persistent, and his story started to spread—first in whispers, then on message boards, and finally on the anarchic, truth-obsessed corners of the internet, particularly a site called 'Wiki-Anon'. This shadowy platform, run by a collective of keyboard warriors in hoodies, became the megaphone for Benny’s tale. “The Oligarchy Eats!” screamed their headlines. “Geoffrey and Elaine’s: Where the Elite Meet to Eat… People!” They posted grainy photos of the restaurant’s gilded interior, leaked emails from Geoffrey to his suppliers (“Need more ‘product’ by Friday, preferably organic”), and even a blurry video of Elaine cackling over a plate of “Pauper Paté.”
The cannibal oligarchy, however, was not about to let their fine dining empire crumble. Enter Monty Burns, a skeletal banker with a heart as cold as his vault and a taste for “working-class Wellington.” Monty, who owned half the media outlets in the country, went on a buying spree, snapping up every news outlet that dared touch the story. “Cannibalism? Preposterous!” his newspapers declared. “Benny’s just a disgruntled employee with a flair for fiction!” His TV networks ran puff pieces about Geoffrey and Elaine’s “philanthropy,” conveniently ignoring the fact that their charity dinners were 'literal'.
But Monty’s media blackout wasn’t enough. The 'Wiki-Anon' posts were gaining traction, and the public was starting to ask questions. That’s when President Willie, a man whose moral compass was last seen floating in a swamp, stepped in. Willie, a frequent guest at Geoffrey and Elaine’s (he favored the “Peasant Pot Pie”), had no interest in seeing his favorite restaurant shut down. He called up his buddies at the FBI and DOJ, who were also regulars at the Eatery (the FBI director swore by the “Vagrant Vichyssoise”). “Kill the investigations,” Willie barked, allegedly while gnawing on a spare rib. And so, the probes into Geoffrey and Elaine’s vanished faster than a plate of “Hobo Hors d’Oeuvres” at happy hour.
The cannibal oligarchy thought they were untouchable. They clinked their goblets, toasted to their impunity, and ordered another round of “Street Vendor Soufflé.” But 'Wiki-Anon' was relentless. The site’s anonymous posters dug deeper, uncovering guest lists, financial records, and even a recipe book titled '100 Ways to Serve the Underclass'. The internet exploded. Hashtags like #CannibalCoverup and #EliteEats trended worldwide. Protesters gathered outside Monty Burns’ penthouse, chanting, “Stop eating the poor!” (Monty, unfazed, sipped his martini and muttered, “They’re delicious, though.”)
The scandal reached a fever pitch when a 'Wiki-Anon' hacker leaked a video of Geoffrey and Elaine’s annual “Feast of the Forgotten,” a grotesque gala where the elite bid on their favorite dishes—er, employees. The footage showed billionaires in tuxedos and ballgowns, laughing as they sampled “Destitute Dumplings” and debated the ethics of eating vegans (“Too lean, not enough marbling”). The public was horrified, but the oligarchy just shrugged. “It’s just business,” Geoffrey said in a rare interview, adjusting his monocle. “Supply and demand, darling.”
Despite the outrage, justice remained elusive. The FBI “lost” Benny’s testimony. The DOJ “misplaced” the evidence. Monty Burns’ media empire churned out stories about how cannibalism was a “cultural misunderstanding.” President Willie pardoned everyone involved, citing “culinary freedom.” And Geoffrey and Elaine’s Eatery? It’s still open, though they’ve rebranded as a “farm-to-table fusion experience” to throw off suspicion. The oligarchy continues to dine, the poor continue to disappear, and 'Wiki-Anon' fights on, a lone beacon in a world where the rich feast on the rest.
As for Benny? He’s in hiding, writing a tell-all memoir titled 'I Was Almost Lunch'. Rumor has it he’s got a new job at a vegan café. Smart move, Benny. Smart move.
