Fighting Foodons and the Ethics of the Godhead

One of the core tenets of humanity is its free will and ability to make choices for itself, in contrast to the near contradiction presented with the divine plan that binds them all together and pushes them together. Though God has a plan for everything, that does not stop us from choosing a direction that is true to ourselves just like our Kindergarten teacher told us to. But what if we had no choice, yet still had free will? What would you be called if you were a being born with human self awareness, but inherently designed and destined for slavery?

We'd call you an angel.

Or overpowered.

Angels have the unenviable status in life to be fully aware that what they're doing is not of their design. They are every forty year old man still working behind the counter at Denny's, if in this case Denny's was a high-omnipotent being that formed the universe and all life on it (pff, if.) If the Book of Enoch is to be believed, angels even have specific talents and interests, whether the arts, engineering, or whatever else you could possibly be interested in during a prehistory where we didn't have things like MASH or being ironic about liking MASH because it was a little past your time and, yeah, look, you get that it's really good. Nobody's arguing that. But you're a child of the 90's forcefed the rise of genre fiction and the discovery of irony that's been escalating for years and, okay, dad, look, it's NOT a bad show I just-ugh, forget it.

The fact that angels rebelled, really, is an inevitability. And the rise and fall of Lucifer has been the subject of many literary works ranging from essays to epic poems. It is very easy, as a writer, to paint Lucifer as sympathetic given the inherent paradox of the angel. It's even easier, I would think, to make God the outright villain. It's a great challenge, however, to paint the angel as the villain for his own rebellion and to craft a demiurge as a heroic force. And yet, as if not giving a single shit about the woeful tears of the Gnostics cranking Li'l Romeo in their basements because parents just don't understand, there is a work that attempts to dramatize the birth of a rebellious angel through the eyes of its sympathetic, heroic creator god. 

Isaiah 14:3

Fighting Foodons (Bistro Recipe in countries God doesn't care about) takes a unique stance on the whole notion of sympathy for the devil. We open on a dark ritual between masterful gourmets who seek to craft the ultimate Foodon (short for "pocket monster"). In this world, Foodons are created through man giving life to food through mystic cards. We kill cows to make them burgers to make them Burger Power Rangers. Truly, the lord giveth and the lord taketh away and then the lord kinda giveths again but you're not what you used to be and maybe dead inside? 

And this bitch is here for some reason.

The episode, largely, dramatizes the cycle of Lucifer's rebellion as he's born into servitude and instantly seeks  to break out of his bonds. Much like in the Bible, the beast roars "BEEEEFSTEAAAAAK!" and proceeds to rampage along a humble village full of innocent lifeforms. Also like the Bible, our sympathies lie solely with those who produce the Foodons. In this case, our narrative is centered around Chase, a young God in training who travels the countryside with his family and his sentient abortions known as the Burnt Meatballs. The Meatballs are true figures of woe; imperfect and useless, birthed by the hands of someone who could only be described as a devout Mormon taking his first stab at godhood on cosmic open mic night and inadvertently producing the universe of Fighting Foodons. More than anything else, the Burnt Meatballs represent the challenges of godhood. They are Adam and Eve eating the fruit. They are everything that could possibly go wrong with your creation.

"You ever feel like you only like girls just because you have to?"

They are, not unlike P!nk, a hazard to themselves. It is through the Burnt Meatballs that we see Chase has ways to go before he can be a competent demiurge. The story structures the clearly sentient Meatballs as things we should see through Chase's perspective. They are made of failure and possibly the gay, which we then feel sorry that this was all Chase could produce. No sympathies are put upon the Meatballs despite the fact they have thoughts, feelings, and tears (mostly tears). They are baggage and our seizure inducing bildungsroman portrays them as the primary thing he will have to grow up from if his voice is going to ever stop sounding like a little girl. The plight of the Meatballs, though a wonderful title for my Flight of the Conchords cover band, is not the story we concern ourselves with.

Chase's growth is thus marked when he produces Fried Ricer, a true, powerful warrior beyond the likes of which he has ever been able to manifest. Fried Ricer goes to battle with Beefsteak and slays him, getting all medieval on his narrah beef ass. The Meatballs weep in both fear and need for attention, but Chase is no longer truly concerned. He is rewarded for producing a being of worth and power, and we finally see that he has begun to grow up. Now that Chase creates life that can more ably destroy other life, he has taken the first step into a class of being that includes the likes of YHWH, Brahma, and, like, that Mayan one that's three things. Good days lie ahead for Chase, the young God in training who will do many great things all while sacrificing the free will and beauty of the noble angel. Through battle after battle, the angel will always be there to do its duty no matter what the cost.

Also Fried Ricer's whiter than the Meatballs. Maybe that's a thing.