Ancient Prophecy Found Scribbled on Back of Arby’s Receipt

Published April 19th 2025
By The Shifty Lizard himself, Quincy Quirks

It was one of those nights where the sky looked like burnt toast and the air tasted like old nickels. I was nursing a bitter cup of coffee in a diner that smelled like lost dreams and overcooked eggs when my burner buzzed. Blocked number. That’s always how it starts.

“You still read receipts, Lizard?” the voice crackled. “Found one you’re gonna want to see. Back of an Arby’s. 1998. Might be a warning. Or a meal deal. Either way—it’s prophecy.” Click.

No name. No location. Just enough to ruin what was left of my pie.

Mount Vernon, Iowa. A town with more silos than secrets. Or so they thought.

Greg Tibbens — handyman, hoarder of promotional coupons, walking cholesterol ad — met me behind the public library. He handed me the artifact like it was cursed. Maybe it was.

The front was ordinary enough. $5.32. Beef ‘n Cheddar. One large Jamocha shake. The essentials. But the back… the back was something else.

Scrawled in shaky crimson ink — or possibly Horsey Sauce — were words that didn’t belong in any fast-food joint I’ve ever been banned from:

“When the curly ones loop three times,
the Meat Mountain shall rise.
The Horsey shall weep.
The golden age will be sauced.”

I lit a cigarette, just to feel like I still had control of the moment. I didn’t. The air got heavier. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked twice and then fell silent.

Back in my office — a basement with an unlicensed ceiling fan and a poster of George Tekai that watches me sleep — I ran the symbols through every database I had. Occult, culinary, corporate.

The timestamp: 4:44 PM. Numerologically cursed. In meat mysticism, triple fours mean “something’s coming — and it’s probably deep fried.”

It all traced back to the Meat Mountain — a sandwich so tall it legally counts as a residential structure in seven states. Some say it’s a myth. Others say it’s sentient. Arby’s says nothing.

I reached out to Corporate. They responded with a single JPEG of an empty sauce packet and the phrase:

Which is fair. I do.

Here’s what I know: the prophecy is real. The sauce is awakening. And the golden age? It’s coming — slathered, stacked, and probably available for a limited time.

I’ve laminated the receipt and stashed it under my mattress, next to the Polaroid of the time I caught a drone wearing a Popeye’s hat. Trust no one. Especially not your toaster. It’s been blinking at me all week.

If I disappear, tell Sharon at the diner she was right about the onion rings.

Until then, I’ll be here — watching the signs, following the crumbs, and whispering to the Horsey.

Stay Shifty.
— Quincy Quirks, The Shifty Lizard