Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

Leon shouts, “Monster cock vengeful God!” before bolting out the door and disappearing into the bright sunlight of the Nevada morning.

Jerome asks Bud, “What do you make of that, smart guy?”

Bud doesn’t look up but says “Hmmmmmph.”

Jerome nods and leans onto the counter. The old wood creaks painfully, and he leans back quickly.

“Huh,” Bud says. “Do you remember the Cockbugs they found at Burning Man?”

“Not as cool as a “Pussybug” would be,” Jerome says and then laughs immediately at his own joke.

“Whatever,” Bud tells him. He has heard the same joke for a week now. He pushes his shaggy gray hair away from his forehead and wipes the sweat away as well. “Do you remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jerome says with a fart. “Did you hear me say Pussybugs? You fucking stink, Bud,” he adds as he waddles farther down the counter in an effort to outrun his own stench.

Bud takes off his glasses and sets them on the counter. He spins off his tall metal stool and points one nicotine-stained finger at Jerome, “You know what, you fat flop of shit?”

“Whoa, calm down, Bud,” Jerome tries to lean on the case again, but the jelly dildos of assorted colors and sizes waggle admonishingly at him, and he leans back with a sigh. “Tell me about your super-neat Cockbugs.”

“Nope.” Bud shakes his head of wild gray hair. “if you want to know about it, you gotta read the cocksucking paper your fat self.”

He grabs his copy of The Daily Gab and flings it down the counter at Jerome. It lands with a thwack and hides the still-shaking dildos below. Jerome leans forward and eyes the magazine.

It reads “The Daily Cunt,” and the headline warns “It’s the End of the World and You are About to be Assfucked into Eternity!”

“You strange bastard,” Jerome chuckles as he reaches for it, but the fat man’s chortle gurgles into silence when he looks at the cover again to see an ordinary Daily Gab with the far less eye-catching headline “The Beginning of The END!”

“What?” a confused Jerome blurts out.

Bud grits his teeth and asks, “Are you still being a funny guy, you fucking asshole?”

“No.” Jerome shakes his fat head, “It was called The Daily Cunt, and it told me I was about to be assfucked into eternity.”

“Oh, you should be so fucking lucky,” Bud snaps as he grabs his Daily Gab off the counter. “It’s the Apocalypse and you want to make jokes. But I guess that doesn’t matter none, because my bomb shelter is built off your basement. Am I right?”

“Yup,” Jerome snorts, “Now go make sure we have enough beer for the end of the world, bitch.”

Bud heads for the door and says, “I’m gonna go see if I can catch Leon. He’ll take this shit seriously.”

As luck would have it, Leon hasn’t made it far at all. Bud walks a few steps, his arm above his face to shield it from the sun. He spots Leon at the far end of the parking lot talking to a streetlight pole covered in multicolored flyers. Bud quickens his step and walks up behind Leon.

Leon is smiling like a fool, his hand gently rubbing the smooth metal pole, as Bud walks into his line of sight.

“Bud,” Leon says and then points to the light pole, “Bukkake forgive banghole, Martha.”

“Leon,” Bud asks in a soft voice, “Are you telling me this light post is a girl named Martha?”

Leon tilts his head just a little so he can get a good look at the ultra-hot woman in the neon jumpsuit. She is way taller than Leon, and she is crack-head skinny just like Leon likes them. At least half a dozen tiny breasts bulge out from different parts of her jumpsuit. He just wants to peel off her skintight jumpsuit and kiss every pert titty she has. He imagines fucking her right there in the parking lot. He sees himself with a tit in both hands and one in his mouth, and then he kicks off both work boots so he can reach more nipples with his toes.

Bud says, “Leon,” and Leon imagines Bud standing by as he bangs his tall skinny multi-breasted girlfriend. Bud grabs Leon by the shoulders and gives him a shake.

“This is a light post, Leon, not a girl.”

“Rim job, Bud, sanctify rim job,” Leon tells his friend, fully intending to say “Whatever, Bud, what the fuck ever.”

“Are you going to the church?” Bud asks, tugging Leon away from the light pole.

“Sluts,” Leon nods as he gives Martha one last smack on her ultra-firm ass.

“Would you like a ride, Leon?”

“Sluts,” Leon nods, “and Jesus, Bud.”

“Sluts and Jesus, indeed, Leon,” Bud says as he points Leon toward his rusted gray pickup.

Bud opens the passenger-side door, and Leon climbs in. Leon settles back and marvels at all the shiny knobs and switches across the control panel. All the blinking and pulsing lights make him dizzy, but he smiles and tells Bud, “Whoa, bastard have butt plug,” which translates to “Whoa, nice spaceship.”

Bud grumbles and says, “Leon, we are in the last days, Brother. The Devil is rising right out in the middle of the wide fucking expanse known as the Nevada desert!”

Bud turns the key and pumps the gas, saying “bitch” with every pump until the engine kicks over. He pulls out of the parking lot toward Our Lady of Eternal Melancholy, where Leon works part time as a janitor. The streets are strangely empty for midday in Reno. Bud points out the tall pillars of smoke burning to the east. “See, Leon, all them Army trucks came through here the day that started.”

Leon doesn’t see tall pillars of smoke. He sees enormous crows walking on freakishly long legs and pecking at the smoldering desert with strange jerky movements. Leon turns to Bud, his eyes wide with panic, and Bud tells him solemnly, “Yeah, it’s that bad, Leon. The day the smoke started and the Army trucks drove through, all four hundred and some odd websites dedicated to that huge mother of an orgy disappeared too.”

Leon watches the monster crows picking up hapless people in their razor-sharp beaks. The people kick and scream, but the crows snap their beaks and blood clouds the air. Leon shivers and Bud continues, “Those goddamned Cockbugs that were getting everybody so stoned are raising the fucking dead, man, the FUCKING DEAD!”

Bud takes a few deep breaths, and Leon stares out the large front window of Bud’s spaceship trying to ignore the terrible crows to the east.

“At least you take me serious, Leon. That fat bastard Jerome is gonna do his best to die jerking off to that goddamned midget gangbang scene. We can survive this, Leon, trust me, Brother.”

The creaky pickup slams to a stop, and Leon turns to see the towering wood and stone building that is Our Lady of Eternal Melancholy. The walls twist and breathe when Leon looks at them, but his acid-soaked brain chalks that up to God’s presence in the old dark church. In truth, it has been several decades since the church saw normal services.

“Well, Leon, I gotta go hit up the storage shed. The time has come, Brother,” Bud says.

“Sluts, Bud.” Leon smiles as he climbs out.

Leon slams the door, and the spaceship rattles and squeaks as it drives away. Leon walks into the shadow of the dilapidated old building, past the blank sign formerly used to announce current sermons, through the old wooden double doors in the rear. The stone floor seems to radiate coldness, and Leon’s teeth chatter as he walks down the candlelit entryway. To Leon’s left is the stairway to the priests’ quarters. To his right are two more sets of wooden doors. One leads to the large chapel and the other to the row of confession booths.

Leon pauses and watches the old stone walls breathe for a second before Father Maniwhore sweeps by him with a gust of wind that rocks Leon into the wall. The near-seven-foot priest turns his long goatish face to Leon and snarls, “Be careful, Leon,” before disappearing up the stairs to the priests’ rooms. Leon watches the large man until the staircase turns. Father Maniwhore is the strangest of the three priests crowded in the old church. Father Michaels, the kind and shithouse-rat-crazy priest who hired Leon, has lived at Our Lady of Eternal Melancholy for the last forty years. As Father Maniwhore’s father built the church, the tall scowling priest has lived within the rotting wood and crumbling stone of the church nearly his entire life. Father Michaels, finally feeling the effects of age on his tired mind, recently took in a new priest, Father Don O’Coddle.