In the age when the world was ruled not by kings but by the unseen hand of the algorithm, and when men and women across the many lands looked not to the stars nor to Delphi for signs, but to the glowing screens of their devices, there arose a man whose name was Nicholas, but whom the people came to call Nikocado Avocado. And this man, by a most curious and astonishing series of choices, became renowned throughout all the inhabited world for the consumption of vast quantities of food.
This Nicholas, as I am informed, was not always as the world now knows him. In his youth he played the lyre of the East, a stringed instrument they call the violin, and he dwelt in peace with a gentle spirit. He ate of the plants of the field, and abstained from the flesh of beasts, being what the Greeks call an ornithotrophos, or one who eats like birds. But as the oracle of YouTube, that most unpredictable deity, began to bless those who astonished rather than edified, Nicholas perceived a truth — that the people hungered more to see eating than to eat themselves.
So Nicholas put aside his instrument and took up the mukbang, a rite of feasting before the camera which first arose among the Koreans, a most industrious people. In this ritual, the eater devours mountains of food not for sustenance, but for spectacle. The foods were not of the kind that builds the body or honors the gods — no, they were fried, sauced, cheesy, and more numerous than the warriors of Xerxes.
Now this is a marvel: for each feast that Nicholas consumed, he grew not only in body but in fame. His belly became like the round shield of a hoplite, and his cries, complaints, and lamentations, which he made with great artifice, became beloved among his followers. "I am not okay!" he would wail, and the people would rejoice, as if hearing the Sibyl speak in riddles.
Yet I must pause here to offer reflection, as is the custom of the historian. For what profit is it, if a man gains millions of followers, but brings disharmony to his spirit and body? Many among the Greeks would say that moderation is best, and that excess leads to ruin, as with the Lydian king Croesus, whose pride brought down his house. Even so, Nikocado Avocado, once light and joyful, came to be weighed down by the very spectacle that had made him.
Some say that all this was play-acting, and that he was wise like Odysseus, crafting a persona to enthrall the many. Others claim he was devoured by his own appetites, like the Titans who were swallowed by Chronos. I, Herodotus, cannot say for certain, for the ways of the internet are like the currents of the Nile — deep, shifting, and filled with strange creatures.
Let this account be set down, then, not as condemnation nor praise, but as a curiosity among many, for the deeds of men in our time are no less wondrous than those of old. And who can say what future bards will sing of this man, Nikocado, who made his life a feast, and his tears a theater?