Wacktards of the Apocalypse
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Praise for
Wacktards of the Apocalypse!
“Wacktards of the Apocalypse is a deranged and absurd balls-to-the-wall romp through a deliciously fractured universe. It reads like Douglas Adams on magic mushrooms. If this is how the world ends—sign me up.”
-- Jonathan Maberry, NY Times bestselling author of The King of Plagues and Patient Z
“Disgusting, offensive, irreverent, and profane, Wacktards of the Apocalypse is all kinds of wrong. But in a good way. Jonathan Moon and Timothy W. Long are going to hell for sure.”
-- S.G. Browne, author of Breathers
“Bizarro with bite. Long and Moon are the Lennon and McCartney of apoc-horror.”
-- Wayne Simmons, author of DROP DEAD GORGEOUS and the UK bestselling FLU
"As imaginative and engrossing as it is just f***ing weird. Wacktards of the Apocalypse violated my mind in the best way."
-- David Dunwoody, author of EMPIRE'S END and UNBOUND & OTHER TALES
“It's so off the wall, it's on the floor. And the floor is littered with all kinds of congealing viscera and humor so black it would make Mandingo burn you in the eye with a cigar out of jealousy.”
-- Jason Wuchenich, author of Dinner Bell for the Dream Worms
"4 out of 5 Rapture survivors prefer this version of the apocalypse."
-- Reverend Andrew D. Swallfallerbachintoshington
“It's so much more than a good read, or a great read, or an excellent read! This is one over the top, hilarious, disturbing, poop filled, vomit inducing, bloodletting, sweat pouring, heart racing, psychologically damaging book.”
-- Tonia Brown, author of LUCKY STIFF
“Dip yourself in whatever numbing agent is your preference, strap in, put on some welding goggles, and then perhaps you might be able to absorb this little slice of delightful insanity. But do not read this book if you do not a) have a strong stomach b) have a mind willing to be twisted into little pretzel shapes, then allowing the salt on said pretzel shapes to be licked off by goats and various farm animals with questionable morals, and c) don't have a great fascination with feces and the sexual practices of demons. You have been warned.”
-- Patrick D'Orazio, author of Beyond The Dark
"Bizarro horror has an amazing new spew-hole, and its name is Timothy W. Long and Jonathan Moon. When there's no more room left in Awesome-Book Hell, the Wacktards shall walk the Earth!"
-- Tony Schaab, author and creator of TheGOREScore.com
“The Reverend enjoyed this book more than enough to give it a hearty recommendation to all who like their dark biblical fiction to be as funny, and as FUN as Hell itself.”
-- The Grim Reverend Steven Rage, author of PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale
Timothy W. Long
http://timothywlong.com
Jonathan Moon
http://mrmoonblogs.blogspot.com/
THE LIBRARY OF BIZZARRO HORROR PRESS
PROUDLY PRESENTS
By
Timothy W. Long
And
Jonathan Moon
A “Library of the Living Dead Press” Book
Published by arrangement with the authors.
“Wacktards of the Apocalypse”
By Timothy W. Long & Jonathan Moon
Copyright 2011 - All Rights Reserved
ISBN10- 1463597444
EAN13- 978-1463597443
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and “Library of the Living Dead Press,” except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidence.
Foreword
THE NEW REBELS OF FICTION
An Introduction
by William Pauley III
My first encounter with bizarro fiction was nearly ten years ago. At the time I was a very jaded reader, everything I would pick up would bore me, so when I first found bizarro, It felt like I had found a hidden door in a room that I had spent my entire life inside of. But that feeling quickly left me.
Bizarro seemed to be a style of fiction that was written specifically for my tastes. I’ve always been drawn to weird fiction, strange plots, and unique characters, and bizarro promised to have it all and more. For at least a year, I tried to get into bizarro, but every book I read felt flat, rushed, and, to be perfectly honest, half-assed. I gave it up and returned swimming through that great big ocean of books out there. That is until about three years ago.
Over the years, bizarro changed, a lot… and for the better. New authors had hold of the reigns, and most of them had the same idea of what bizarro should be that I had had. I decided to dip my toes in the bizarro pool once again, this time trying out books by authors Andersen Prunty, Jordan Krall, and Gina Ranalli. Holy shit. There it was. Those were the types of books I was looking for nearly ten years ago – full, well-developed, and perfectly paced stories about interesting characters in wild situations. Bizarro quickly became a way of life for me. In the last three years, over half the books I’ve read have been bizarro books.
But I’m not going to sit here and lie to you, bizarro is still about 50/50 – for every good bizarro book, you have at least one bad one. But that’s how it is in any genre of fiction. There is something in bizarro fiction for everyone, so I encourage you, avid reader, to not give up if one or two books let you down. Bizarro is more than a genre, it’s all genres – horror, sci-fi, romance, comedy, et cetera. It’s cult fiction.
There is something beautiful about this genre, this literary movement, that I’m sure most other bizarro authors probably recognize as well – Bizarro will be big, and it will be big very soon. We are all standing hand-in-hand on the shoreline waiting for the wave to come crashing down on us all. Some of us will swim, some of us will sink, and a few of us will be eaten alive. It’s coming. There is no escaping it. I actually feel a little sad that this moment is soon to be our past. There is a brother/sisterhood in bizarro fiction that is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before. I’m sure success will tear a lot of us apart, some of us it already has. But right now, in this moment, we are rock stars. We are what Hunter Thompson was in the 70s, what the splatter and cyberpunks were in the 80s. We are the new rebels of fiction. Our day is coming soon.
If you picked up this book, WACKTARDS OF THE APOCALYPSE by Timothy W. Long and Jonathan Moon, and it is your first exposure to bizarro fiction, then you did well my friend. This book is not only highly entertaining and hilarious, but it also serves as a great introduction to the world of bizarro. If you enjoy this style of fiction, then I would suggest reading Cartlon Mellick’s SUNSET WITH A BEARD, Steve Lowe’s MUSCLE MEMORY, or even my books DOOM MAGNETIC! and THE BROTHERS CRUNK, as they all are very bizarre, but easily accessible works.
You’ll like this one a whole hell of a lot, that I am sure. And the best thing is, there are two more in the series coming out very soon. That ought to juice your brain for the time being.
Enjoy the ride.
William Pauley III
April 25th, 2011
Lexington, KY
Author’s Introduction
If you are holding this book and your hand and you are thinking: “A one-armed, heroin addicted monkey, Leon’s Filthy mouth, and Jesus kicking ass – where have I read this before? Don’t tell
me I was duped into buying a book twice!” Yep. You were duped into buying a book twice. But don’t get mad, not yet. See the first version of the book is now a collector’s item.
Someday, and I can’t say when this day will come, the novel The Apocalypse and Satan’s Glory Hole will be worth a lot of money. Or a lot of ho-ho’s. You know those chocolate things that don’t actually have a hole in them. I believe they may become currency in the future. They are perfect for the job. They taste great and come packed by the pair or in boxes. Who knows? Maybe you will be able to trade a copy of the fabled book for a whole case of ho-ho’s and live the life of a carefree sugar-rush-whacked-to-the-gills, pirate on the high seas of life.
See, we didn’t pull a fast one on you. We pulled a carefully orchestrated slow one on the world. By splitting up the massive first book and making it more affordable, it allows us to work on a sequel and call this a trilogy. People like trilogies. They like them a lot. And we are the kind of people that like to give said people what they want while they give us money.
Now, if this is the first time reading/hearing about/being fully exposed to the twisted characters and demons we created together the best advise we can give is just go with it. Don't let Chuzzle's paranoid and arrogant world view get you down; he has his monkey Phil to keep him from going off the deep end. Worry not about Leon and his 'porno-linguistics', his heart is no-where near as filthy as his mouth. Weep not for the Lord and Savior as he flees this crazy reality for another populated with less humans. All you should worry about is having some fun.
We will handle the comical blasphemes from here on out. Strap yourself in for the most insane apocalypse you could ever imagine...hell, sometimes we even shock me. From the televised bickering of the Four Horsemen to the orgy to end all orgies to the most unlikely buddy comedy pairing you've ever seen to a cast full of gun toting nut jobs to the legions of hell in all their hideous perverted glory we build it just to tear it down.
Welcome to the end of our world. An Apocalypse so ridiculous it can only be saved by The Wacktards of the Apocalypse.
Timothy W. Long and Jonathan Moon
Somewhere in Brazil
2011
God-ish
HE is everything. He is Brilliance and Beauty. Glory and Power. White Hair and Chicken Pot Pies.
He is God. Billions of humans weep for him. Pray to him. Kill in his name.
Omnipresence is exhausting. And fattening. He sighs. Somewhere a blind man sees.
He has watched the humans he created destroy the Earth he gave them. He has watched them destroy each other, then multiply like rabbits. He has watched them destroy every clever thing he ever guided. Like rabbit pot pies.
He frowns. Somewhere a crippled child trips and falls.
He feels the knock before it thunders around him. It ruffles the clouds that drift through the all-encompassing brightness. He feels his angel’s impatience. He hates impatience. So now he is irritable. So now he has to eat. A chicken pot pie sounds delicious. The smell of processed chicken chunks, rehydrated peas and carrots, and flakey golden crust overwhelms his godly senses. His worry is over humankind and their impending Apocalypse, but it washes away in a wave of chicken gravy.
He smiles. Somewhere thirty-seven coma patients simultaneously awake.
The end is upon the world, and his angels are impatient. He knows Gabriel is knocking. He knows his angels are thirsting for battle. He is thirsty for gravy. No one has to die for gravy. They have waited and waited while the dark one’s plans grew bolder. That bastard child. He could find him with a glance and burn him to a cinder with a thought.
Pie sounds much more appealing right now.
A knock at his heavenly door sounds again. He knows chicken pot pies can’t satisfy the masses the way they calm his tumultuous spirit.
"Humans,” he scoffs to himself in a voice that radiates and thunders.
“GAWD,” Gabriel yells before knocking again, “It’s time to go!”
God shivers. Somewhere an island sinks underwater.
He created the universe, and now his creations annoy him. Pester him. Blame him.
Not all his creations, just humans.
“GAWD! We gotta go!”
Why did he model his angels after humans? Beelzebub modeled most of his demons from animals and nightmares. Angels were modeled solely from humans. Foolish mistakes. He’d do better next time.
He hiccups. A tidal wave erupts, killing all six thousand, four hundred and eighty-two villagers living in its path.
Wait. That’s it.
Next time. Now can be next time.
“Gabe,” he shouts a split second before the large angel pounds on the door again, “calm down, my child.”
His side of the door is clear; wisps of fog drift lazily across it. Gabriel’s side of the door is thick, tall, and wooden. Gabriel stares at it now as if it had called his mom a whore.
He smiles again; six judges burst into flames.
“GAWD?!? Can you hear me?”
He sighs. A deaf man hears.
“Yes, Gabe. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you, Gawd.”
“Good, my child. Now go on without me.”
“Gawd, it is time for the Apocalypse. You’re kinda’ expected to make an appearance …”
“Yeah, I know. But, I got to be honest with you, I’m over it.”
“What?”
“I’m not really in the mood for it anymore.”
“Uh, Gawd, I don’t think you can do that.”
He growls under his chicken breath; somewhere a volcano explodes.
“I can do whatever I want, Gabe. It’s a perk of being The Creator.”
Gabriel stammers on the other side of the door, unable to form words for his dismay and confusion.
“But what about …”
“Over it.”
“But …”
“Over it.”
“Well …”
“Over it, too.”
Gabriel stomps his foot in frustration.
“GAWD!”
“Calm down, Gabe. Don’t look at it like I’m deserting this entire plane of existence for another with no humans or human-like things. Look at it like you are being freed of your celestial servitude.”
“What are WE supposed to do?” the big angel whines.
“I don’t know, Gabe, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You know, with the new plane of reality and all.”
“Gawd, I don’t …”
“It is okay, Gabe, I know. Just go do whatever you want. If it is battle and Armageddon you seek, then bring your holy fury down upon your enemies. Just, eh, keep my name out of it, all right?”
“Gawd …”
“Okay, Gabe, I’m over this conversation. Have fun, buddy, and no hard feelings.”
Omnipresence is excited again. Creating again. Loving again.
“What is cooler than humans, other than chicken pot pies?” he wonders aloud.
He smiles. Somewhere a turtleman becomes chief of a new tribe on a new planet in the middle of a new universe.
Gabriel turns to face the legions. Shock drains the color from his face and loosens his jaw muscles so that his mouth hangs and drools.
They stare in wonder as Gabriel rubs his chin, trying to figure out what to tell them. They figure it out when they blink and Heaven is gone. Where a moment ago they were surrounded by clouds and brightness, now they stand in the middle of a vast barren desert.
They look ridiculous in their shining battle suits, wings folded behind them. Some bear arms while others carry horns or trumpets.
“Uh, what just happened?” A pair in front ask in unison.
“He’s over it,” Gabriel tells them with a winged shrug.
“He’s over it?” That would be Tony. He has been polishing his battleaxe for months while watching American Idol reruns.
“He can’t be over it!” A perfectly sculpted face frowns. That would be his sister Tonette. She has a spear in one han
d and a net in the other. She is addicted to gladiator porn and talks about capturing a few humans for her personal pets, then raising them to fight in the pits once Armageddon is over.
Gabriel looks around the empty expanse of desert. Does it always have to start in the desert? Can’t the battle for Earth start somewhere like Barbados?
“Ah shit. This isn’t even the right desert.”
The collected mass of angels sigh like a departing storm and drop their weapons in disbelief.
Shit You Won’t See on Oprah
The end of the world started on a weekday, which was really inconvenient for a lot of people.
Of course there was a lot of warning. A lot of posturing. A lot of screaming that the end was here, the end was here! Sure there were signs and not just the ones over the freeways and in the hands of loons on sidewalks.
This day was different. The clouds hung around like they were bored. They cast dark shadows over everyone and generally did a good job of depressing the fuck out of the heavily medicated population below.