The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole!

by Jonathan Moon

  The sound of clawed feet scratching at the old brick building echoes down on them. Father Maniwhore raises his arms and tells the gathering of frightened flesh that doom is upon them!

  Finally, after all this time, he will attract his demon father with the ancient symbols he has studied over the years. The elaborate images he has carved into the building’s stone roof and outer walls, all to call his demon father home during the end days.

  Father Maniwhore is only half demon; his father a full-blooded badass big-dicked demon and his mother a full-blooded white trash crack whore. Dad went back to Hell, and Mom dropped him off at the church in accordance with Dad’s instructions. Maniwhore’s father built the church, but he couldn’t handle wearing the human suit that was required to run it. The human suit itched and pinched his prick when he walked. So he ditched the suit and the hooker and left the church to the young Maniwhore. As little Maniwhore grew, he adopted the title of Father, though he had not been trained for the priesthood. That’s what Father Michaels was for. Father Maniwhore had lived his whole life for the moment that was now upon him and those unlucky enough to find themselves in his half-unholy presence.

  Great chunks of the stone ceiling crack from the force of the hellborn creatures pounding on it from above. Father Michaels and Father O’Coddle fight through the panicked gridlock surrounding the confession booths. They are just in time to see a large section of roof fall and crush two pews filled with last-minute worshipers. Rays of sunlight, dirty with soot and ash, shine through the massive hole in the ceiling. Several horned heads appear at the rim of the hole to peer down at the speechless crowd.

  Once the majority of the dust settles, one of the demons leans down into the church. Its long goatish face quivers with unbridled fury as it speaks, “Who amongst you is the foolish weaver of intricate insults in stone?”

  Father O’Coddle looks from the demon to Father Maniwhore, standing behind his pulpit with his arms in the air and a look on his face like he just shat himself. Even Father O’Coddle’s meth-addled brain recognizes the family resemblance.

  After a minute of awkward silence, Father Michaels crosses himself and shouts up at the goat-faced creature, “Leave here, foul demon!”

  The demon scoffs, tears a chunk from the ceiling and throws it down at Father Michaels. It misses the priest, but brains the young lady standing next to him with a sick thud. Father Michaels scoots a few steps from the dead girl, who remains on her feet because it is too crowded for her body to fall. He shouts again, “Leave here, foul demon!”

  “Okay,” the demon says tearing loose another chunk of brick. “I get it. It wasn’t you. But you make me sick anyway.”

  With that he hurls his missile, again missing his target. This time, it caves in the skull of a fat man, and the crowd can’t hold his dead weight. He tips over, crushing people under his girth and against one wall of the church. Upon seeing the chaos caused by the brick, the other demons begin ripping away bricks and stones and throwing them down at the crowd. Father Michaels pushes his way through the mob, screaming his refrain of “Leave here, foul demon!” Soon the crowd is decimated as the demons tear the church down brick by brick and stone the congregation to death. Midway through the slaughter, Father Maniwhore slinks dejectedly out of the church and Father O’Coddle follows, dodging falling bricks as he runs.

  Eventually, the six goat-faced demons stand perched on the remnants of the walls catching their infernal breath while Father Michaels, streaked with the gore of others but still very much alive, runs back and forth across the half-buried crowd screaming, “Leave here, foul demons!”

  The six demons exchange indignant looks, then dive in and disembowel Father Michaels the old-school way. Through his ass.

  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!”

  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 disc 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.

  “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 sa
ys, “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.