“Shit,” Leon says as they disappear into the dark hallway. Then he smiles when a breathless Father O’Coddle bursts through the door.
Down the dark hallway, an angel beats his celestial meat in booth 14 while a half-demon spanks his ugly monkey in booth 15. The angel has never seen porn or experienced jerking off, and he loves both. He moans at the top of his powerful lungs.
The dejected Father Maniwhore jerks off with tears rolling down his cheeks; every now and then he slugs himself in the nuts. He catches a glimpse of the angel in the next booth, and he sticks his big demon dick through the glory hole before he can stop himself.
In the doorway, Father O’Coddle asks Leon, “Have you seen Father Maniwhore? I could have sworn he was headed this way.”
Leon shakes his head and says, “Nope. But, Father, there are three angels in here right now.”
“Yeah, some demons tore apart the church … wait are you talking normally, Leon?”
Leon beams and tells him, “Yeah, Billie fixed me. You wanna come with me and Bud and Chuzzle to kick some Devil ass in Vegas?”
“What the hell is a Chuzzle?”
“He’s my friend,” Leon beams, proud to say the words, “and we are going to kick this Apocalypse’s ass!”
O’Coddle laughs and asks again, “Are you sure you didn’t see Father Maniwhore?”
Leon rolls his eyes and gestures at the store around them. “Father, how could a big creepy bastard like Father Maniwhore sneak past us all?”
As if in answer to his question, the wall to the peep booth hallway explodes, flinging leather gear across the store. Two shapes hit the ground in a fury, punching and kicking each other in a blur of white feathers and furry goat legs. Bud and Billie bolt from the hallway, Bud with his pants undone and Billie with a smile on his face. When Frank sees Jake fighting a demon, he growls and lunges forward.
Father Maniwhore stands over Jake, completely naked. From the waist down, he has the body of a goat, with the exception of his massive swinging dick. Maniwhore kicks Frank in the chest with both hooves, sending the big angel over the counter onto a pale Jerome. The angel’s battleaxe slides across the ground until it stops at Leon’s and Father O’Coddle’s feet.
Maniwhore leans in to pummel Jake, but the angel lands a punch on his long, wide, half-demonic nose. Maniwhore backs off for a second, but before Jake can get to his feet, he receives a hoof to the ass that sends him crashing into the Wall of Classic Porn.
Jake lands in a heap and is quickly battered by a landslide of ancient porn on VHS. Frank regains his senses and jumps the glass counter, landing on Maniwhore’s back. Frank’s wings open and flap as he lifts Maniwhore off the ground, pummeling him with his free fist. Blood drips to the floor, and stray white feathers float in a lazy arc behind them.
With a shriek, Maniwhore rakes his talon-like claws across Frank’s face. Frank lets go, but Maniwhore grabs one of Frank’s wings as he falls. He pulls down and twists, breaking the wing and forcing a scream of agony from Frank. The angel crashes into the dildo display case. Maniwhore is on him in a flash, pulling the angel’s head back by his hair. Frank opens his mouth as if to scream again, but Maniwhore stuffs the biggest dildo, the three-foot-long, nine-inch-thick Party Monster, down his throat. Frank gags and chokes on the giant jelly prick.
Spurred by the sight of his wounded friend, Jake rallies and flies at Maniwhore. Maniwhore sees him out of the corner of his eye and throws the second-biggest dildo, the two-foot-long, six-inch-thick Little Monster, hitting Jake in the face and breaking his nose. When the angel puts his hands to his face to stop the flow of blood, Maniwhore jumps at him, knocking him to the ground, where he straddles him, tearing feathers from his wings. He flings handfuls of the feathers, white at first and then crimson, into the air where they float peacefully, belying the violence that gave them flight.
Frank pulls the massive dildo out of his throat and pukes at the release. Maniwhore lets Jake be for the moment, taking a flying leap at Frank. His hooves slam down on Frank’s legs, and the sound of bones shattering radiates through the sex shop. Father Maniwhore grabs Frank by his hair and slaps him hard across the face with his dick. Frank falls to the ground, and Maniwhore stomps down on Frank’s square chin, sending gleaming white teeth skittering across the floor. Maniwhore whoops and stomps on the side of Frank’s head with such force that the angel’s blue eyes squirt out of his face in opposite directions. Frank twitches and dies before Jake can recover enough to save his friend.
Father O’Coddle stares at the scene, his jaw popping back and forth.
Bud gawks at the carnage and zips up his pants.
Big tears slip down Billie’s delicate cheeks while he trembles like a leaf, frozen in fear.
Jerome cowers under all the other dildos, praying he won’t be made to swallow one.
Maniwhore stares at Leon, Billie, Father O’Coddle, and Bud. He flips them the bird, gives his prick a few strokes, and jumps back on the moaning Jake. Maniwhore resumes destroying his wings while Jake bellows in pain.
When Leon sees Maniwhore’s black cock, the dick bruise on his cheek feels like it is about to burst into flames. Something inside Leon’s newly rewired brain snaps, and he picks up the battleaxe. His fury bubbles over, and he runs screaming into the fight. Maniwhore turns when he hears Leon’s war cry: “I’m gonna fucking kill you and cut your prick off!”
Maniwhore scoffs. It is the last thing he does before Leon decapitates him. Maniwhore’s head, its goatish face still mid-scoff, rolls into a pile of golden shower DVDs. As his body sways and falls, his head blinks and asks Leon, “Are you talking right, Leon?”
Leon scowls at the demonic head and tells it, “I’m gonna hack your prick to bits, you son of a goat whore!”
“What do I care? … I’m dying …” Maniwhore mumbles as his eyes go dark.
“Argh!” Leon yells, turning on the fallen corpse. He shakes with rage at the hard-on mocking him from between the demon’s goat legs. “Fuck demon dick!”
Leon squeals and grunts and curses and swings the battleaxe at the dead but raging boner. Gore splatters the walls, knocking the prison lesbian DVDs off their shelves. Bud, Father O’Coddle, and Billie scream as one for Leon to stop. He hears nothing beyond the string of nonsense curse words ringing in his head as he chops the demon to pulp from the waist down.
Billie whispers to Jake, “I can save you, soldier.” He leans forward, and Leon’s backswing cleaves his dainty head from his shoulders. His headless corpse falls on Jake’s mangled wings, and the battle angel screams into the floor.
“Leon!” Bud and Father O’Coddle yell at the exact same time.
Leon turns to face them with his chest heaving and madness dancing in his eyes. He raises the bloody double-bladed axe and smiles at them.
They both nod to the floor, Bud in the direction of Billie’s head, which rolls facedown into the growing puddle of Frank’s blood, Father O’Coddle in the direction of the headless corpse and the dying angel beneath it. Leon looks at the head, then the body, then back to Bud and Father O’Coddle. “I’m keeping this axe,” he tells them.
“Jesus, Leon, that was insane,” Bud says.
“But now I’m really in a demon-killing mood,” Leon snarls back. “Better grab what you need, Bud.”
“Right,” Bud says, eyeing Leon nervously, “I’ll be right back.”
Bud disappears into his bomb shelter. Leon walks past Father O’Coddle to the janitor closet. He grabs his mug, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and walks to the soda machine, which was smashed open in all the chaos. He grabs a soda off the floor, pops the top, and fills his mug. As he snaps the lid back on the mug, he asks Father O’Coddle, “Are you coming with us, Father?”
“N-n-n-ooo,” O’Coddle stammers. “I’m going to absolve the corpses. The angels are from the Lord. His soldiers perished in his war. And Father Maniwhore served as a priest for decades, the good he must have done … sometimes … maybe by accident …”
&n
bsp; Bud returns with an M-16 over/under fully automatic slung over one shoulder and two heaping backpacks over the other. A .44 sits snug in a holster around Bud’s waist, and a sheathed knife is strapped to each of his thighs. He’s even changed into his favorite Hustler tee shirt—the black one with the bright pink logo.
“Fuck yeah,” Leon says.
“You coming?” Bud asks Father O’Coddle.
“No. Leon and I just talked about it, and we think I should stay and absolve the dead,” Father O’Coddle says solemnly.
Leon says, “He’s going to see if Jerome has any tweek.”
Father O’Coddle winces. Leon and Bud start for the door.
Father O’Coddle calls out, “Leon,” in a high, needy tone.
“Oh, yeah,” Leon says, raising his straw to his lips. “He’s under all the dildos. And tell him,” Leon takes a long refreshing pull from his mug, “cock cock Satan cock.”
Satan is a Fucktard
Six of the women are gathered in the office. The rest are setting up camp in the two livable hotel rooms. It turned out there was a small kitchen in the back. Sue took to it with some supplies from the semi and prepared them a gourmet dinner of mac and cheese and powdered eggs. They washed it back with warm beer they had stashed in the semi. The stuff tasted like shit, but it was worth it to get a buzz, Edwina thought.
The television was the first thing they checked. After fiddling with the rabbit ears, they got a weak signal from a local channel that was running up-to-the minute updates on the madness. They even had a banner underneath that read, “First on the scene for all your apocalyptic needs.”
Marcel is next to Sue on the sofa, and the sex doll sits between them. Someone found a box of Hello Kitty Band-Aids and taped them in an X across the hole in her forehead. Darla grabbed a marker and wrote, “OW - FUCK!” across it.
The news is pretty dire, but they watch it just the same. Speaking now is a man in a sharp suit with a gun pressed to his head from off screen. All they see is a hand covered in scales. After the day they’ve had, it is the least of the crazy shit they’ve seen.
“This is Chet Toaster bringing you the latest news from the Apocalypse. Remember, folks. When you want to hear about the end of the world, turn to KCUM for all your apocalyptic news. We have a weather report coming up in a few minutes, but first we go live to our WDIK affiliate in Las Vegas where an interesting new feature has appeared along the outskirts of the city.”
The screen cuts away to a bird’s eye view of the ground. The camera focuses on a giant red mountain that has sprung up in the middle of the desert. Edwina is no expert on such things, but she is pretty sure there are no giant fucking red mountains in the desert. Big cacti, maybe. Big stretches of sand, sure. A pair of hills thousands of feet wide that are bright red and covered in scales? Not fucking likely.
The sand shifts as the hill moves. Then its twin moves as well. A giant cloud of green gas rises between them and ascends into the sky. The camera focuses on a frazzled-looking woman in a business suit. She is covered in ash and trying to talk over the helicopter’s rotors. Her hair hangs over her face like a grey cloud. She has big circles under her eyes and not one smear of makeup on her face. She might be twenty-five, but she looks twice that.
“What the hell is that?” Edwina asks the room.
“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a giant ass,” Marcel says and stands up. She paces up and down the room while watching the screen. She keeps walking in front of the TV, but Edwina doesn’t complain because Marcel has a marvelous sway to her walk.
Darla laughs and then looks again.
“Holy fucking shit!” she says out loud.
“This is Kelly Pusboing, and we are live over the desert of Nevada about twenty miles from Las Vegas. A few days ago, there was a clash between the military and some protestors, but the scene today couldn’t be any more different. What ended in blood has turned the desert a shade of red that the world will never forget.” The sound of the chopper cuts in and out, distorting the sound of the reporter.
“She may look like hell, but she knows how to put on that concerned face in a hurry,” Edwina observes.
“I’d do her.” Marcel chuckles.
“She’s kind of skinny. She might not survive,” Darla observes.
“Oh sweet innocence. I bet she’s a hellcat.”
“Speaking of hell.” Edwina points at the screen.
A stream of people is either running away from the piles in the desert or being herded toward it. It’s hard to make out with all the red dust flying. The earth shifts again, and a giant red cloud engulfs the Army far below. The helicopter tilts and sways back. Other choppers hover in place, but they will also have to move or they will be swimming in the crap.
A pair of fighters rockets past the helicopter. The little speakers in the television crackle as the sound in the onscreen helicopter goes up a few decibels. The reporter flinches back, and the camera tilts at a crazy angle to follow the jets.
“As you can see, it is chaos outside today. We’ve seen the military on the move. Scores of fighters and even a few Cobra helicopters popping up here and there. Whatever the thing in the desert is, it is considered a danger to the … wait we are getting word from …” She pauses and pressed her headset tight around her head. She squints her eyes, and then they go wide. She leans over, almost falling on the floor of the chopper as she yells something at the pilots.
A thunderous wave passes overhead, shaking the already vibrating craft. The camera falls over, and for a split second there is a perfect view up young reporter Kelly Pusboing’s skirt.
“Someone forgot her big girl panties today,” Darla giggles.
“She also forgot to tape her cock up.” Marcel stares on.
The girls shift uncomfortably in their seats. Sue picks up the blow-up doll and looks between the thing’s legs. “This has girl parts.”
Something smacks into the front windshield of the helicopter as it tries to come around in a circle. Then something else hits, but it is too fast to make out.
“Was that a bird?”
Then a giant red flying thing that looks like a dragon from Hell slams the helicopter from the side. The pilot tried to avoid it, but the creature moves too fast. The camera catches the pilot’s terrified hands scrabbling at the controls. The sky is suddenly straight ahead, and warning sounds buzz and click. The reporter tries to push herself back up into her seat, but the helicopter lurches again and she has the misfortune of being near the sliding side door. She catches the handlebar as she attempts to get her balance. The metal portal slides open, and she tumbles away with a scream.
“Kelly!” a voice screams over the sound of the wind ripping into the tiny space.
“Ah fuck meeeeeeeee!” her voice howls.
The helicopter swings over, and the screen is filled with something that should not be. A giant horned face that looks like the bastard child that resulted when a nightmare fucked a giant lizard. Screams as the helicopter falls into it. Cries for help as the screen goes blank, then a tremendous crunching sound fills the room as the speakers overload in the tiny television.
“Special effects get better and better every day,” Darla says, breaking the shocked silence.
Edwina turns to her lover but closes her mouth. Having it open reminds her of the thing she just saw on the screen. The thing that cannot exist. Just like the angel. A thing that cannot exist. Just like the little flying cocks that flooded the semi earlier in the day.
“This is truly the end,” she says into the silent room.
“Well shit. I need to hurry up and get laid then.”
“Now we’re talking!” Marcel grins. “After that, we go after the fucktards that fucking fucked up our day!”
The ladies break into howls of approval.
This is not the end
The adventure continues in the second volume:
The Apocalypse Strikes Back
Prepare to be ass-fucked into eternity!
Mr. Long and Mr. Moon would like to thank:
Strobe lights in strip clubs, arm sized sex toys, D.A.R.E. programs, peppermint, candles that smell like peppermint, trees, trees that smell like peppermint sex, candles that smell like trees, guinea pigs, Samurais, Porta-Potties, Simon, but not Garfunkel, people that cover Moon's shifts at work...suckas, thumb wrestling, high riding thongs in-conjunction with low riding jeans, cell phone nudie pics, werewolves, but not vampires, tentacles, strip clubs that serve hard liquor, foreign accents, facebook trolls, anything on fire, sour diesel, whiskey sours, junkies and revolutionaries, all professional wrestlers from the 1980's, sex swings, revolutionary junkies, broad sides of barns, polar bears, ninjas, clowns, but not mimes – fuck those guys. Our family and friends, any rant by Mel Gibson, Dr. Douchingham, asparagus pee, tax returns, Fuckin’ Phil, commas and periods, rapture survivors everywhere, radish breath, Mr. Hand’s video, Richard Pryor, whoever fists Harold Camping to death, the makers of Viagra, everything that comes out of Sarah Palin’s mouth including my di .., Fringe, tequila and all the bad decisions it leads to, the lizards that run the government, Junk Monkey Marshall, chicks in short skirts, nose hair trimmers, Doc, alien death rays, Edward Lee, America – FUCK YEAH! Mark, George, Stewie, Stevie, Amy Pond, Lee, Carey, Carrie, Crystal, Ellie, Joe, Moe, Shmoe, Arnie, Maberry, Brown, Brown, Brown, Brown, and Brown, Derek, Patrick, Jacob, Michael, Stephanie, Louise, Zee Zak, Matt, Clyde, Chip, Chuck, Chloe, Netflix, blackjacks, camel toe, moose knuckles, zip ties, napkins, recorders, Amish kittens, strobe lights, Sony’s shitty security, Rob’s bigass head, Laura’s killer pimpage, EZ Glide, Michael Baysplosions, Charlie Sheen, the numbers 6, 6 and 6, smug douche-waffles dressed in red robes at conventions, Jack Bauer, Karl Malden and Yul Brenner’s love child, Joe Pesci, chicken lips, G-strings, El Fuckaroonie Airlines, King Leonidas and the other 299 idiots, anyone we may have missed.
Wacktards of the Apocalypse Page 17