The door to the vehicle is open, and she tugs herself into it. She sprawls across the two seats because it hurts too much to sit up. There is crap all over the beat-up vehicle, and it smells like men. She hates it, but she would rather be here than on the ground with the demons.
She spots a small box on the dash and recognizes it from an article she once read in one of Marcel’s magazines. She reaches for it with her good hand, picks it up and brings it to eye level.
“Well fuck me sideways,” she mutters.
The device is a T46A close trigger for a tactical nuke. Somewhere nearby there has to be a big fucker of an explosive.
“Hey, bitch, miss me?” Satan leans over and stares into the turret with one very large, very malevolent eye.
She sighs and looks at the trigger.
Leon holds his battleaxe at shoulder level like a samurai baseball-bat-sword as he approaches the crashed ice cream truck. He takes wide cautious steps around it and makes note of several sets of demon feet sticking out from under the frame of the strange vehicle. Leon decides that if the passengers are killing demons, they must be all right. He reaches up and knocks on the door, on which a flier for The Daily Cunt has plastered itself. It reads “EVEN THE END IS FUCKED!”
Leon nods and knocks a little harder.
Goatboy hits the hanging doorknob to see who is there, or so Chuzz presumes.
“Idiot! Fucking clueless moron, what are you doing? Don’t let anyone in!”
But there is a man standing there whom Nathan P. Chuzzle knows very well. At the end of the world, his one true friend is right there just like he said he would be. He’d hug the bastard if it weren’t so gay.
“Leon?” he says in wonder.
“Cockbang foursome,” says Leon.
Chuzz stares and stares, and after a moment Leon slaps him hard.
“Douche breath death fuck stick.”
“That’s it. We are getting the mother skunk fuck out of here!” Chuzz screams and rushes toward the front of the little truck. “I’m sick of trying to stop the Apocalypse. Satan wants my ass, and I very much like my ass right where it is!”
He trips over Goatboy. “Mind your feet, you peacock!”
Falls into Phil who curses in monkey at the man. “Fucking Phil!”
“Ass tickle farmyard fetish fuck,” mutters Leon.
Chuzz hits the seat with his gut and almost flips face first into the stupid steering wheel. Then he points the stupid microphone at the stupid horizon and practically throws the stupid thing at the window as he hits the stupid button.
The truck rockets toward the sky. Chuzz grabs the seatbelt and holds on for dear life as they are transported many miles away from the battle.
“Looky here. Just looky what I see. Are you ready to get in my ass now? No, that’s too good for you. I’m going to take you apart one piece at a time and then make your head a cock ring for my new growths. I’m going to have five this time. FIVE!” Satan howls with glee.
Edwina is not at all ready to be torn apart. She studies the remote and wonders where in the hell the nuke is. Well, no sense in waiting around to find out.
“Hey dickless,” she calls. “Here is what you can do with your new dicks if they ever grow back.”
She flips him the bird, drops her hand to the remote and triggers it. Everything goes very very white.
Death and Jesus stagger to the car. It was crushed from the impact, flat to the ground on four tires that will never hold air again. The passenger-side door flew off when they struck the ground. The hood is popped and crumpled in the center, and the trunk is wide open. Steam still pours out from under the hood. The car will never start again.
But they jump in anyway, Jesus in the front with his hand over the half of the steering wheel that is still attached to the car. Death in the back where the long seat is tented up in the middle. He picks the side with the fewest springs poking out of it and lays the scythe across his lap.
Princess Sally grabs hold of either side of the door with massive claws that puncture the metal. Giant wings flap at the air as the car rises and swoops away from the battle.
“Hold on, boys, we are getting out of town!” the demon caws.
“Damn big battle going on down there.” Death looks over the side.
War is rallying the troops and leading a fresh charge. His army runs into a shit wall of Hell as demons crash into them. Men are picked up and tossed aside, tanks are crushed to tin cans and helicopters are flung out of the sky. It looks like a full rout.
“War, what is he good for?” Jesus chuckles.
The car is carried eastward, away from Vegas, or what is left of it thanks to a growing mushroom cloud. Princess Sally has huge wings, and they are moved along at a pretty fast clip.
“I wonder if the stereo still works?” Death hits the button and it rumbles to life.
Growling fills the air, and double bass drums assault their hearing.
“What the hell kind of music is this?” he wonders aloud.
“They call it death metal. Personally I think it sounds like shit. I’ll take Liberace any day,” Princess Sally croaks.
“Death metal. That has a catchy ring to it, eh J-man?”
Jesus snores in answer. Death leans over the back of the seat and stares down at the son of God, who is passed out in the front seat.
A blinding flash of light ignites the world behind them.
“Fucking fly!” Death yells.
“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” Sally surges forward at breakneck speed. Death flattens back in his seat and hits his head on something. He reaches back and pulls out a bottle that sloshes. It’s vodka, one of Jesus’s, but he doubts the man will care.
He pops the top and drinks it down by the mouthful. If the world is going to Hell, he is determined to sleep through it.
“Screw you, world.”
“Yeah, what he said. Save me some of that, eh?”
“Your beak isn’t getting anywhere near this bottle.”
“Jerk.”
Death smiles as the alcohol takes him to oblivion.
The Next Day
Welcome to the Beginning
The Apocalypse came. The Apocalypse left. The world was supposed to be remade, set free, started over. The sinners were supposed to be left to rot in a world under the thrall of the Antichrist. He would torture them, burn them and make a place for his father to live for eternity.
None of that happened.
The seals are still in place, the Antichrist is dead, and Satan is blasted into billions of dickless molecules. All in a day’s work, or so Nathan P. Chuzzle reckons. Nothing went the way it was supposed to, at least according to his kindergarten-level understanding of the Bible.
The Betty Blue Balls Burlesque club is rocking tonight. At least the music and booze are. Chuzz is sitting in a round booth with his best friend Leon, Phil, who is staring at the ceiling thanks to a fresh hit of H, and Goatboy, passing a bottle of Don Julio tequila back and forth. Goatboy has not shut up since they sat down. He just told a joke about a pedophile priest.
“‘Ear another joke? Okay. A nerdy accountant is sent to jail for embezzlement and they put ‘im in a cell with a huge evil-looking guy. The big guy says, ‘I want to ‘ave some sex. You wanna be the ‘usband or the wife?’ The accountant replies, ‘Well, if I ‘ave to be one or the other, I guess I'd rather be the ‘usband.’ The big guy says, ‘Okay. Now get over ‘ere and suck your wife's dick.’"
Chuzz isn’t sure if Leon is having a good time or not, since he is still talking nonsense. The only way he can communicate is with a pocket pussy, and every time he does it, Chuzz freaks the fuck out. Goatboy thinks it is hysterical and begs him to do it over and over again.
Stretch Bangstrom says he is working on tuning into Leon’s psyche and might be able to translate if he keeps talking. Chuzz is not impressed with that idea at all.
There are a couple of guys at the bar. One has tons of ink tattooed into his skin. The other is scruffy-lookin
g with a full black beard and resembles the images of Jesus he has seen in pictures. But it can’t be, because this guy is passed out. He has his hand draped over the bar and his face pressed against a bottle of vodka. His snores are so loud they can be heard over the ZZ Top that is playing from the juke box.
A woman who has to be in her sixties comes out and does a long, slow striptease that terrifies a couple of demons hanging out in the back. The pig-faced little bastards hoot at each other in fear.
“Don’t they have any hot chicks in here?”
“Pizzle piss fuck bucket,” Leon observes.
“I liked you better when you could talk.” Chuzz shakes his head.
Leon gives him the finger and holds up the pocket pussy.
“Oh fuck that!” Chuzz says.
Goatboy looks between the two and then launches into another bad joke.
“English, American and a Pakistani are sitting on the edge of the Empire State building drinking vodka. American says to Pakistani, ‘Do you know that you can jump off and the wind will loop you round and sit you right back ‘ere?’ Pakistani says, ‘No chance. Prove it to me.’ So the American jumps off and flies round in a loop and gently sits back next to the Pakistani. The Paki looks amazed, jumps off the edge, falls headfirst onto the tarmac below and is killed instantly. The Englishman turns to the American and says, ‘Fucking ‘ell, Superman, you’re a nasty cunt when you've ‘ad a drink.’”
The door swings open and in saunters a rail-thin, nine-foot-tall, four-titted demon stripper. The pig-faced demons howl their approval of the new dancer as Chuzz groans as loudly and obnoxiously as humanly possible.
"Can you believe this bull-fuck, Leon?" Chuzz asks, bending down to collect stray dollar bills as they tumble from the slick stage. The tall skinny demon stripper coils up the greasy pole and then slithers across the stage, slapping her four breasts against slobbery pig-faces as she moves.
"Hooker heartbeat damnation," Leon mumbles. His orange and green eyes dilate and twitch, entranced by the dancing demon.
"That's sweet, bub," Stretch says over Chuzz's shoulder to Leon, "What happened to her?"
Leon sighs and tells the grinning toy, "Bud's buttplug hover toy bang deadman desert fist fuck."
“‘Nother joke? All right. There’s these three men on their ‘oneymoon and they are talking. Each one reckons ‘e will shag ‘is wife the most that night. They decide to let each other know the number of times by the number of pieces of toast they order at breakfast the next morning so the wives don’t get suspicious.
“Next morning, the first man orders three bits of toast. The second man orders four bits of toast and looks pleased with ‘imself ... until the third man says in a loud voice, ‘I would like six bits of toast and make two of them dark brown.’”
Leon stares at the talking goat and then bangs his forehead on the table a few times.
"I'm sorry, brother," the toy responds empathetically.
"What are you two wack-a-doodles talking about?" Chuzz chortles and steals Phil's drink.
"Easy, bub, Leon here has lost his best friend and his girlfriend, Martha, and he just needs a friend. And what does the poor bastard end up with? You."
A man wearing a ‘Don’t make me go Zelda on your ass’ tee shirt, jeans and cowboy boots walks by. He stops and stares at the table of misfits, then breaks into a grin.
“I’m the Chapster. You guys here to see my band?”
“What?” Chuzzle asks.
“Fuck duck cock stain.” Leon shakes his head.
“Yeah, brother! You’ll like us. We are The Keeper!” The man pumps his fist in the air and walks toward the stage. He rubs his hand over his close-cut hair and jumps up onstage. The demoness shakes her ass at him and then goes back to grinding the pole.
The band tunes their instruments and the guy steps up to a keyboard and fiddles with the knobs and buttons for a while.
“Stupid toy! Get off my back!” Chuzz yells, his attention back on the creepy face right next to his own.
“No need to be rude. I like you, buddy. I like you a lot, but maybe I can help out your friend Leon.”
Chuzz tilts his head and stares into the toy's beady eyes. Stretch nods back. Chuzz looks to Goatboy. Goatboy nods. Chuzz looks to Leon, and Leon nods sadly. Chuzz looks to Phil, gets punched in the nuts, and has his drink stolen back.
“Fine," Chuzz grumbles to Leon as he tugs on Stretch's arms, "YOU take the sassy shit stain!"
“Happy to oblige, buddies! Happy to oblige!” The toy cackles and then peels himself off Chuzzle’s back. Nathan doesn’t say a word for a few seconds, then the pain of hundreds of tiny holes all over his back and arms rips into him. He leans back to howl in pain just as the band starts playing.
The singer grabs his microphone and rips into the crowd, which responds by banging their heads and pumping devil horns in the air.
“Tonight we RIIIIDDDDDEEEEEEE!” the singer howls.
The toy slithers under Leon’s shirt and lies flat across his back. Leon looks worried, but covers it by tossing back a shot. Then his eyes go wide as the toy sinks his barbs into him.
“OW! FUCK KITTY FUCK NUT!”
“Sick of this shit!” Chuzz cries over the music. He drinks one more shot and then glances at his watch. “Ah shit! I have to go to the bathroom now. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
He crawls over the table, knocking over drinks as he goes. If his map is right, he will get some relief in a few minutes. As he passes the crowd of people and demons dancing to the heavy metal cacophony, a pig demon leaves the crowd and follows him.
Chuzz walks to the last stall in the bathroom and quickly dashes inside, locking the door behind him. He stares at the wall right over the toilet paper dispenser and is greeted by the greatest sight in the world. A glory hole.
Chuzz almost falls over getting his pants off.
In the stall next to him, four little red feet jump on the toilet seat and lean over to stare in the hole. A pink creature comes at him.
The pig screams.
“Jesus!” Death jerks upright at the bar. He thought he heard a little kid screaming.
“What?” Jesus lifts his head, and beer drips from his hair.
The ground shakes, and the building shifts. Dust and debris fall from the ceiling and make a mess of the already crap-littered floor. A couple of bottles fall over and smash to the ground.
The band plays on. The singer must think the crowd isn’t rowdy enough, because he leaps off the stage and jumps around while howling into his microphone.
“I like these guys.” Jesus grins and drops his head back onto his arm, which is the only thing that stops him from smashing his nose into the bar top.
The building shifts again, and a hole opens up in the center of the room. Red light pours through, and the smell of sulfur fills the space. Death doesn’t like this one little bit. He puts his arm around Jesus and helps him to his feet. Together, the two men stagger out into the parking lot.
A couple of cars are here, but nothing flashy. He picks a minivan and pushes Jesus into the front seat. There are no keys in the ignition, but he finds a set in a purse that is tossed across the back seat.
The van starts with a soft roar. He backs out of the driveway as part of the roof collapses on the bar. Another hole opens up behind them, and more gaseous fumes leak out.
“Looks like Hell is coming to Earth after all,” Death mutters and then laughs out loud. Hell on Earth. Just what he and the other Horsemen have always wanted.
The minivan doesn’t quite leap forward like the Road Runner did, but it does have a peppy little engine. He gets on the empty freeway and heads away from Vegas.
Death looks in the rearview mirror just in time to see another hole open up behind them. Furious red jets of flame shoot into the air.
“J-man. You gotta see this …” he trails off as his eyes return to the road in front of the minivan. He tries to slam on the brakes, but it is too late.
Rising out of the
middle of the street is an enormous evil red face a little smaller than Satan’s. It opens its mouth wide and accepts the minivan like an offering.
“Jesus! We could use a blessing right about now!” Death yells as the car is swallowed by darkness.
The son of God rolls over and farts in his sleep.
This is Not The End …
The adventure will continue 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, The zomBcon Crew, Everyone at Permuted Press for being cool as fuck, 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.
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