Wacktards of the Apocalypse

by Jon Moon; Timothy Long

  She sighs and looks out the windshield and regrets it as a pair of bugs smash into the glass. Big bastards, each wing the size of a whole butterfly. They have bulbous nasty bodies that look like little fuzzy black pigs. One of the mushed creatures sticks on the windshield, glued there by its own bloody goo. Above the thorax, they can all see, quite clearly, the face of a bearded man whose obvious pain gives way to obvious death.

  “Oh my fucking God!” Darla gasps.

  The women roll up the windows as fast as they can, but a few more of the things fly in.

  “Shit! I can’t see!” Darla applies the brakes, and the rig slows. A cloud of bugs sweeps by and nearly covers the rig in black.

  Marcel screams and bats at the little pig-men-bugs. They flitter in front of the ladies and make obscene gestures with tiny fingers. They stroke themselves with wicked little grins on their wicked little faces. But the only fluid release occurs when Marcel slaps them against the windows or dash. Then they explode in a spray of red and white.

  “Gross!” Edwina cries but smashes one more just the same. She looks all over, finds a wadded-up clump of old towels on the floor, and uses it to wipe up the bug guts. She vaguely remembers that she and Darla may have used the towels a few days ago when they stole a little alone time in the truck cabin. Edwina tends to squirt all over the damn place. Something she was NOT aware of before meeting her lover.

  Darla fucking loves it.

  Darla swats at a pair of bugs with one hand while the other remains glued to the wheel as the truck slows to a stop. She is a pro; she would drive through a hurricane just to spite the damn thing.

  “I got ‘em!” and Marcel does. She has a wicked knife in one hand, and when the pair flashes by, the blade lashes out in short, sharp, lightning-fast strokes that slice the things in half.

  “Gross! You got dick chunks all over my cab!” Darla says, her eyes livid. Now that she says it, Edwina realizes the pig boys do have a certain phallic quality.

  “We need to find somewhere to hole up for the night.” Marcel says.

  “That is the best damn idea I have heard all day.” Edwina smiles as she smacks another little cock man against the dash.

  Three Angels, a Demon, and a Priest Walk into a Sex Shop

  Leon sets the Jamie St. Pucker Pocket Pussy back on his nightstand as he starts kicking through the mess strewn about his bedroom. He finds his faded JanSport backpack under a pile of heavy metal tee shirts. He dumps the contents (a stack of flyers for Jerome’s Sex Shop, two empty whiskey bottles, and a few old Taco Bell bags) on his bed and stuffs the pocket pussy and a handful of shirts into the backpack. He reaches for the doorknob at the same moment Bud swings his door open. The door cracks against Leon’s forehead, and he falls back into his room on his ass.

  “Shit, sorry, Leon,” Bud says as he helps him up off his cluttered floor.

  Leon holds his hand to his throbbing forehead and nods his forgiveness. “Cock Mary cock,” he mumbles.

  Bud shushes Leon and pushes the door closed quietly. He stares at Leon over his thin-rimmed glasses, “You might jus’ want to keep your mouth closed. I know this sounds crazy … there are three fucking angels downstairs.”

  “Whoa,” Leon starts, meaning to explain to Bud how he and Chuzzle just had this conversation and maybe the angels can help them, but Bud holds up his hand and frowns at Leon, cutting him off before he even starts.

  “Them boys downstairs appear to be battle angels, if you can believe such a thing, and I don’t think you would want to anger them, Leon. And seeing as how you can’t help but blaspheme about cocks, gods, and twats, maybe you should just stay up here and keep yourself quiet.” He nods at Leon and, not wanting to hurt his friend’s feelings, adds, “you understand, don’t you?”

  Leon understands, but he doesn’t really care. There are plans set in motion. Sitting in his room while the world dies around him isn’t among them. He needs to tell Bud that he has to go to the sheriff station. Leon closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. He focuses on the words, “Bud, I know it’s the Apocalypse. Me and Chuzzle are going to Vegas to kick some Devil butt. I want to ask the three battle angels downstairs to join me on my holy quest of ass-kicking. And I need a ride to the sheriff station for some of them kick-ass shotguns.”

  In his head, he hears his voice say the words, slow and well enunciated. For good measure, he repeats it slowly a few times to himself, so deep in concentration he nods and his lips move. He ignores Bud, who stands with his arms folded looking at him as if Leon has lost his damn mind. Leon only sees the phrase. He sees it as big balloon letters sitting on a nerve still half-attached to his pulsating brain. He hears his voice echo the phrase over and over as he visualizes a bright green spark from his brain, which tears the balloon letters loose and sends them toward his mouth. He says them in his head once more as they hit his slightly spread lips, “Bud, I know it’s the Apocalypse. Me and Chuzzle are going to Vegas to kick some Devil ass. I want to ask the three battle angels downstairs to join me on my holy quest of ass-kicking. And I need a ride to the sheriff station for some of them kick-ass shotguns.”

  Leon is so confident he will speak the correct words and dazzle Bud and his little faith that he opens his eyes. He looks Bud in the eye and tells him, “Slippery jism pleasure doom. Joseph dangle Noah idol foot fuck. Fisting blondes forgive anal trespasses. And Mother Mary sweet puckered pillar of salt.”

  Bud puts his arm around Leon and tells him in the nicest, most calming voice he can muster, “Leon, buddy, if you go downstairs talking about Jesus cock and Mother Mary’s sweet puckered pillar of salt, they will most likely rip your guts out yer ass.”

  Leon looks at the floor, frustrated and overwhelmed. “Butt plug, Bud,” he tells his friend. He holds two fingers up and uses them to zip an imaginary zipper across his lips.

  “Okay, well, Jerome is arguing with one of them, but I bet we can sneak right past.”

  Bud pushes Leon and his backpack out the door and down the first couple of stairs. Leon turns and whispers offensive words of protest. Bud’s eyes grow wide and he whispers sharply into Leon’s ear, “Leon, I’m serious, just shut the fuck up.”

  Leon gives up for the moment, knowing there will be a notebook in Bud’s bomb shelter. He can write it all out. Before they reach the bottom stair, they hear Jerome’s fat, deep voice, “Listen, you winged mother fucker, you don’t just come into a man’s place of business accusing him of grievous acts of false advertising!”

  A smile cracks across Bud’s face. It is such an uncommon phenomenon that Leon grins and stumbles the last few steps. A second voice booms out, “Listen to me, you disgusting example of a human, or I will fucking smite ye!” The thunderous voice frightens Leon so much that he trips and falls into a petite winged man who is looking at the All Gay Amateur display. The two land in a clutter of bright white feathers and greasy green overalls. The small angel flops against Leon, grinding his pelvis against Leon’s side. “Whoa, denial suck-job Jesus balls,” Leon mumbles loudly as he pushes himself up off the floor.

  The small angel winks at Leon and suggestively flutters his thick wings against the filthy porn shop floor. Leon’s eyes are wide and terrified as he asks Bud, “Bang hole savior, Bud?” easily translated to “Battle angels, Bud?”

  Jerome shouts, “You’ll smite no one but your fucking self in my joint! That’s just not classy, you motherless fuck!” before Bud can respond to Leon or the small flirty angel on the floor.

  “What?” The much larger and more intimidating angel demands. This angel looks like a battle-ready son of a god; he stands over seven feet tall with muscles that look as if they are molded in solid steel. His wings are bloody and bandaged, and they stand a full foot taller than he when folded across his wide back. His jaw is thick and square, too angular to be considered handsome. His hair reflects the cheap fluorescent bulbs overhead as he tosses it softly while grinding his perfect white teeth at Jerome. As he tosses his hair, Leon, Bud, and the smallest angel all
sigh, overcome with a feeling of God’s love.

  “Godly,” the little angel says.

  “What’s God like?” Bud asks, still lost in the rapture of the big angel’s hair.

  “Fat,” the small angel replies flatly.

  “Really?”

  “Yup, really, really fat. In fact, that old saying ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’ has been raped and pillaged as many times as the Bible. It was originally ‘chubbiness is next to godliness.’”

  Leon chuckles. Bud scowls at him. Jerome makes a raspberry sound with his lips at the big angel, and everyone turns back to face them.

  Jerome follows up his raspberry with a scoff and he jerks off the air in front of him while he tells the angel towering over him, “NO … smiting … anyone … but … yourself … in my motha’ fuggin’ … sex shop.”

  He grins, very pleased with himself for putting such a giant in his place. The massive angel frowns and slaps Jerome hard across the face like a pimp swinging a cricket bat.

  “That’s a fucking smite, you piece of shit,” the angel shouts.

  Jerome falls behind the counter in a heap and yells, “BUD! Get the fucking shotgun and kill this crazy winged piece of shit!”

  Suzy’s Got A New Hole

  The women pull off the road and find an old hotel back in the woods. It is abandoned, and some of the rooms are flooded with water. But they find a pair right next to each other that are in pretty good shape. The carpet is shag, gross, and probably crawling with stuff. They drag in cots and spend some time airing the place out. The little dick men are long gone, but they lock up the rooms as soon as they can.

  Darla and Edwina wander down to the office. Darla plants her boot right in the center of the door, and it bursts open. She steps through, a hand cannon gripped tight. Edwina follows with her assault rifle slung low. No sense in getting excited and blasting the room if something or someone pops out. She is amped up, ready to deal lead, but the room is completely deserted.

  The counter, couch, chairs and small card table are covered in dust and debris. Old newspapers are stacked everywhere. They check the date of the Daily Gab. Five years out of date.

  Edwina half expects to see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the counter or in the back room. Why would someone leave this place, just lock up and call it a day? If she had more of a domestic bent, she might like to run a hotel.

  “What the hell?” Darla shakes her head.

  “What?”

  “For a minute I thought it said The Daily Cunt.”

  “That’s funny. Maybe later I can show you the real daily cunt.”

  Darla smiles and pecks her cheek with a sweet little kiss. Edwina feels a familiar thrill race through her abdomen at the prospect of jumping into bed with her lover. They grin at each other like a pair of loons and then get back to business.

  The back room is almost as bare. There is a television, but it is just as dead as the rest of the place. The cover hangs off the circuit breaker. Neither one thought to bring a flashlight, but a little reddish moonlight shines through the windows.

  “Spooky in here. Like a slasher movie.” Edwina says.

  “Booga booga!” Darla laughs.

  “If I were a killer, I would wait until we were flipping the switches and then jump out.”

  “Eek!” Edwina squeals. She grabs Darla and hugs her close. Then kisses her for real. They stand together in the dark for a while before breaking apart and going to try the switches.

  “You were great out there. I loved how you had that shotgun and went to town on those stupid zombie things.” Edwina flips a few switches, but nothing happens. She feels around the box until she finds a larger one.

  “What the hell was that all about? I still can’t believe those things came out of the ground.”

  “I think the news is right. It’s the end of the world.” Edwina can’t help but think about the angel Marcel shot. What was she thinking? That winged creature may have had answers. She flips the big switch, and the breakers snap. Then a humming starts in the background.

  “Shit!”

  “Shit yeah!”

  She pops breakers so fast it sounds like popcorn. The lights come on in the room and in the lobby. The vibration of a large fan shakes the place. She glances around the tiny room and squeals. From a chair in the corner of the room, a figure is watching them.

  Darla pulls her handgun in one smooth motion and fires. The explosion whisks away Edwina’s hearing. She feels like she just had her head stuffed with cotton.

  There is a pop and then the whistle of air escaping plastic. Darla lowers the gun and laughs. She just shot an inflatable sex toy with big plastic tits and a brown spot where her bush would be.

  “You killed Suzy fucks-a-lot.” Edwina laughs as she reads the name on the back of the toy.

  “I’m sorry, Suzy!” Darla cries. She is laughing so hard that tears streak down her face. Suzy doesn’t answer, just continues to lose air. It sounds like a long loud fart.

  Three Angels, a Demon, and a Priest Walk into a Sex Shop

  The big angel looks at Bud with a dare glowing in his eyes. Bud holds up his hands in surrender and shakes his head. “Fuck you, Jerome. I quit!”

  The angel smiles and reaches over the counter. He helps Jerome to his feet with one hand.

  Bud and Leon follow suit, helping the small angel back up. While everyone is thus distracted, Father Maniwhore uses his super demon speed to enter the shop and dash past them all to the row of video booths, down the small dark hallway, and into booth 15. The big angel sniffs the air and turns away, letting go of the still-unsteady Jerome, who bounces off the glass counter, cracking it, before falling back to the floor.

  “What the …” Jerome grumbles, but the big angel interrupts him with a shush.

  The angel sniffs again and turns back to Jerome, “Sorry. Thought I smelled a demon. Where was I?” He scratches his head with a big finger and remembers. “Oh, yeah, I watched this All Anal Angels All Stars, and there isn’t one fucking angel in the whole video!”

  “And I told you that every girl in AX4S is an angel in my eyes. I don’t cater to freaks with wings who have anal fixations!”

  Bud shakes his head. “He’s gonna get himself slapped again.”

  “Some guys like it,” the small angel says, staring at Leon with heavenly fuck-me eyes, “My name is Billie. B-I-L-L-I-E as in Billie Jean. What’s yours?”

  Leon opens his mouth to talk, but Bud interjects, “I’m Bud and this here is Leon.”

  “Ohhh,” Billie smiles. “I’m the medic for the big boys. The fella arguing with your friend is Frank, and Jake is down that dark hallway over there.”

  He extends his hand like a lady, and both Leon and Bud give it a gentle shake.

  “Are you two lovers?” Billie asks

  Leon speaks before thinking. “No, Jesus bang hole Mother Mary stink gang!”

  Bud’s eyes grow wide. Leon shrugs, and Billie tells him, “Wow, maybe you shouldn’t blaspheme in the presence of angels. Ya know? Just maybe.”

  Bud leans close to Leon and whispers, “I told you to keep your mouth shut!” Then he turns to Billie and speaks only slightly louder. “I’m sorry about that. I think some signals are getting messed up in his head. He hasn’t been able to talk right for a while now. Kinda’ tragic really.”

  Billie rummages in a bag at his feet and pulls out a headband with a metal disk attached to it. He fits it on his head and steps close to Leon. A light gleams from the center of the metal disk and shines on the side of Leon’s head.

  “Well,” Billie says, “this is a mess!”

  Overcome by curiosity, Bud walks around to stand next to Billie. “Shit,” is the only thing he can manage when he sees Leon’s brain in the light from the metal disk. Veins and arteries throb and pulse while Billie pokes and prods. Every now and then, Leon giggles or sobs as the medic angel pushes invisible buttons on his exposed brain.

  “There,” Billie grins as he takes off his headband
, “say something now, Studmuffin.”

  Leon looks at Bud and then at Billie. “We ain’t gay for each other.”

  “Hot damn,” Bud says, slapping his leg. “Hey, can you use that thing to hunt down a kidney stone?”

  Billie blushes and puts the headband back on. “Okay, but don’t tell anyone.”

  “Wait! Bud, wait!” Leon yells in his excitement over delivering the same words that form in his brain. “The Devil has risen in Las Vegas! Me and Chuzzle are gonna rally down and make our last fucking stand with some balls! What do you say, Bud?”

  He pats Leon on the back and says, “Thanks, Billie! Everyone looks at you differently when you say ‘cock’ and ‘Jesus’ in almost every sentence.”

  “Yeah,” Billie says, tugging Bud toward the dark hallway by his belt. “Your brain was fucked. Maybe no blaspheming around angels and lay off the acid, cutie.”

  “I don’t do acid,” Leon scoffs at Billie before grabbing Bud’s shoulder and asking him, “Are you in, Bud? We need weapons, and quick. We need to go to the sheriff station and either get help or guns or both.”

  All Bud can think about is the prospect of being rid of his kidney stone without squeezing it down his prick and out his piss hole. Leon sees the distraction in his eyes and turns to Billie instead, “What about you? You and your battle angels down to kick some evil ass?”

  “Uh, maybe. Let me help your friend and then we’ll ask, okay?” All Billie can think about is the prospect of seeing Bud’s prick.