As an Internet content aggregator, we are sorry for our part in the Food Craze. When we first saw some hipsters taking grainy film photographs of the Food Craze, we thought it would be perfect for our weekly Food FOMO slideshow. Then we included the Food Craze in our Brooklyn Bites listicle.

We did not know. We could not know.

We are sorry for sharing content featuring the Food Craze on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Vine, Snapchat, Tumblr, Reddit, and LinkedIn. We should not have compiled user-generated reviews of the Food Craze from neo-capitalist, anarcha-feminist, and Lacanist perspectives. We take responsibility for creating viral videos with erotic undertones and record-scratch sound effects that generated further demand for the Food Craze. And, we sincerely apologize to anyone hurt by our memes.

We thought it would be just a food craze, something little, something cute. Like cronuts, those rainbow bagels, expensive toast, or even the old Choco Taco. We were wrong. There was no way to predict what would happen. When Joe, one of our editors, started to stare at us blank-eyed, growling, we only thought he was on the latest street drug. We had covered the seven top latest street drugs just a few days ago in another listicle. It was an educated guess. Joe never told us he had succumbed to the Food Craze.

It was irresponsible for us to respond to the first CDC findings regarding the Food Craze with sarcastic emojis, then block the CDC, the NIH, and the FDA after subtweeting them. We did not heed your warnings. It is now too late.

There is little we can do.

When trusted news sources told us the Food Craze was a mind-controlling parasitic life form intent on colonizing Earth, we laughed. We said that hipsters were the real parasitic lifeforms. We retract that remark. We helped create the monstrosity that is the Food Craze, and we cannot undo our hype-building actions. We regret them.

We didn’t think Joe’s condition would deteriorate so quickly. In a process now familiar to us all, his body… changed. He could no longer speak, only emitting high-frequency screeches. He then banded with some interns who were also consumed by the Food Craze. We should have paid more attention to the interns, and we are sorry for not noticing their plight.

We hid as Joe, the interns, and masses of the general populace spilled into the street and screeched to the sky. Their mothership — vaguely shaped like the Food Craze itself — entered our atmosphere, answering them in a hum that blew out the Edison bulbs lighting our trendy office. They retrieved weapons from the craft, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. We watched them shoot those who refused to eat the Food Craze.

Now we are surrounded. Our only defenses are Nerf guns and complimentary product samples. There is not much time left before they find us. As the chances for humanity’s survival grow dimmer, we thank you for your readership, and we ask you to forgive us. To those of you for whom it is too late, there are no words.