Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

In his dream, Satan’s bright red cock throbs and grows with each obscene stroke until it is just inches from the sheriff’s face. Flames erupt from the foot-thick shaft of the Devil’s dick and dance up and down the length of it. Sweat beads and falls from the sheriff’s face. He turns back and forth, trying in vain to avoid the colossal cock that inches toward him. He realizes suddenly, and strangely, that he has the twin walrus tusk handled .357s he took from the meathead general.

In his dream, Sheriff Smoochole reaches for the pistols, unaware that his slumbering body is also reaching for them in real life. He fires. The thunder of close-range gunshots wakes both officers. Temporally disoriented, the two look around, confusion on their faces. They both turn to the demon standing next to Deputy Morks. Twin holes are blown through the bright purple skin of his chest, and Deputy Morks’s wallet falls from the demon’s claw into Morks’s lap as the monster collapses, dead. Deputy Morks reaches over and slams the door closed. He turns back and nods at the sheriff, who starts the Hummer and nods back.

Sheriff Smoochole pulls back onto the freeway and slams the pedal to the floor. The massive Army vehicle groans and whines as it careens across the hot asphalt. As they round the last bend before Reno, they spot black pillars of smoke reaching for the sky from all over the cityscape. Winged creatures, great and small, soar around the tall fingers of smoke, whooping and screeching demon songs.

Deputy Morks moans, “Smmmphh wmph FWPH!”

“Yeah, I know, Deputy,” Smoochole tells him without taking his eyes off the smoldering city.

Morks’s eyes glisten with tears. “Tmmmph kmmmph’d Dmmmphh Jmmmphh! Tmmmphh fmmmphh uph mmhph ammph! Tmmmphh smmmpph’d tmmph bmmph gmmph im mmp mmmphh! Fmmmphh tmmph!”

Visions of Satan’s giant throbbing wang flash before Sheriff Smoochole’s eyes, and he tightens his grip on the steering wheel until his bony knuckles pop and go white. His muscles clench, and he grinds his teeth to force the phantom prick from his mind. Deputy Morks’s muffled tirade continues, but Sheriff Smoochole can hardly hear him over the pounding of his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The sheriff takes the exit to the station.

Smoochole pulls the Hummer to a screeching halt in front of the building, and both officers stare in awe at their beloved station and the giant skinny demon in sheriff khakis scowling at them from atop the small stone staircase. The tall creature flaps leathery wings peppered with rips and holes. It takes a stiff step forward. The sun gleams off a dozen sheriff badges that are pinned up and down its thin chest.

“Wmmph tmmph, Smmmmph?”

“Don’t worry, Deputy. I’m the law in this motherfucking city,” Sheriff Smoochole tells Morks as he slides out of the Hummer and into the path of the lurching demon.

The demon halts his advance and roars with high girlish laughter when the diminutive, leather-g-string-wearing Smoochole slams his door and points one bony finger at it.

“Listen here, you cocksucker,” Smoochole shouts at him, “that khaki is sacred to me, and I’ll be mother fucked if I’ll see a son of a shit like you desecrate it!”

“Yeah?” the demon snarls. “I’m the sheriff in this town. Sheriff Runnydrawers. If you choose to argue the fact,” he rolls his head to the side so Smoochole can see the skinned corpses hung around the top of the sheriff station, “I’ll hang you with the rest!”

Sheriff Smoochole chokes back his building rage as it turns his vision bright white. His eyes scan the skinned men, and he blinks to hold back tears of fury.

Deputy Morks spots the men, all hung by their feet so blood drips from their dangling hands. Morks leaps from the Hummer in a frenzy. He unsheathes his nightstick and shouts to Smoochole, “Lmmph kmmphh tmmph gmmmph fmmph’r, Smmmphh!”

Sheriff Runnydrawers snarls and leans over the Hummer’s hood to get in Deputy Morks’s ball-gagged face. “I’m the fucking sheriff in this town, boy!”

From the other side of the Hummer, in a voice as calm and dry as the desert before a sandstorm, Smoochole warns Runnydrawers, “Say that bullshit again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

Sheriff Runnydrawers scoffs and leans back over the Hummer toward Smoochole. His snarling face is as long as Sheriff Smoochole’s torso. Smoochole stares at his stoic reflection in the demon’s sunglasses as Runnydrawers opens his mouth and says, “I’m… the… fucking… sher…”

Sheriff Smoochole draws both pistols and shatters his reflection with two well-placed shots. Thick yellow gunk explodes out of the back of the demon’s head, and it howls in pain. It recoils, and Smoochole fires four more shots at its neck as it tries blindly to retreat. Each bullet tears away thick chunks of red flesh until the demon’s head hangs by a strand of green sinew. Deputy Morks yells a muffled battle cry and swings his trusty nightstick at the flopping head like a kid assailing the world’s ugliest piñata. It connects with a wet thud, and the sinew snaps, sending the head rolling across the parking lot. The slender demon body sways and then falls at Smoochole’s feet.

“I’m the law in this fucking city,” Smoochole smirks to the headless body.

He turns to Deputy Morks and orders, “Pull the Hummer around back, then cut our brothers down and hang that son of a shit up there.”

“Ymph smmph, Smmmphh,” Morks nods in response. He walks around to the driver’s side, stops once to beat the decapitated demon head a few times, then hops in and fires the Hummer to life.

Sheriff Smoochole watches Morks disappear around the corner before he starts for the front doors.

“I’m the fucking law,” he mumbles over and over as he walks into his station.

Chuzz sits at the dinner table for a few minutes. He puts his head on his crossed arms and closes his eyes. Stuff rains down from the shattered roof, but he tunes it out for a few minutes. Save the world? That is just ri-goddamn-diculous.

After dozing for a quarter of an hour, he lifts his head and takes a deep breath.

“Should at least see what the crazy guy left,” he mutters to the room.

The angel’s gifts turn out to be children’s toys and gadgets. There’s a Stretch Bangstrom that he pulls at for a while. The world may be burning around him, but he hasn’t seen one of these in over twenty years, and he intends to enjoy it. Stretch here, stretch there. Stretch Bangstrom stretches Evvvverywhere.

The old commercial is fresh in his mind. He always wanted one, but Mom said men don’t play with dolls. They don’t play with their cocks either, but Chuzz had spent an awful lot of time sticking his into various things about the house.

There is a toy with demonic images on it. A lever on the side resembles a big red dick. He pulls it, and an arrow in the center spins around and around until it stops over a pair of demons engaged in anal sex. A high-pitched voice comes out the back. “Fuck you too!”

He almost drops the thing.

He pulls it again and it rumbles. Then the earth shakes, and a bright red beam shoots out and rips another hole in the ceiling. Then the next floor, and at last the roof. He moves it, and the beam obliges by incinerating whatever it touches. And not quietly. The sound is immense, like a million bees all chattering with their buzzing wings.

He hits the lever again, and this time it clunks. Emits a smell like ammonia and goes silent. He carefully sets it down.