Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

“Fuck that” is his opinion, thank you very much. God, he feels like he is filled with fail today. Where is the good stuff? Is the Apocalypse supposed to be all bad?

“Buddy. Hey buddy, hate to be a pest, but we got problems, bub,” the little head whispers in his ear.

Tear you to shreds and toss you in the fire, you fucking useless piece of shit, is all Chuzz can think.

“Shh.” Chuzzle hisses.

“Buddy. Uh… you need to turn around and look.”

Chuzz wants to punch the thing in the goddamn face is what he wants to do. Maybe put a hole in the back so Phil can practice with his shriveled little monkey dick. Won’t that just make ol’ Phil’s day? He can get stoned on H and then twiddle the toy until he passes out.

Fucking Phil.

Chuzz glances over his shoulder and almost bites his tongue in half.

“Fucking shit!”

There is a nauseating army on the move, and it is headed right at Chuzz’s hiding spot. Skyscraper-sized demons lead a horde of shambling creatures that look dead. Or close to dead. Some are missing pieces. Others are pieces.

“I hate zombies,” the toy whispers and then jabs Chuzz in the back of the neck with his nose over and over again, a silent plea for them to get the hell out of there. Stuck between a pair of demons screwing walking boxes and an army of dead.

“Should have stayed in bed.”

Chuzz pants so hard he starts to hyperventilate. He is scared to death, shit-his-pants terrified. He does not like direct confrontation, not one little bit, and this is the mother fucker of all confrontations. Demons ahead, demons behind. He doesn’t want to end up as top ramen for one of those things.

“Get it together!” Stretch Bangstrom hisses.

A Daily Gab box flies past the ice cream truck and smashes into a white Toyota truck, which sets off the alarm. It’s like a beacon has been lit and now the lights are shining bright on Chuzz. The box rights itself and drops to the ground with a heavy clank. Then it bobs and hustles down the street toward the zombies.

“Ah fuck!” Chuzz starts to crawl under the truck.

Phil stares at the sky and then reaches his little monkey hand up to test the back door. It pops open with a groan that sounds to Chuzz like a man screaming at the top of his lungs. He is sure the noise will attract every demon on the street.

“What the fuck was that noise?” one of the demons rumbles.

“A dead man I am going to wear as a cock ring is my guess.”

“Malice, you are supposed to be the girl!”

Scrambling as the things move toward them.

“In the truck!” Stretch Bangstrom howls.

Who is Chuzz fooling? He is about as heroic as a used tampon. One of the giant demons passes overhead, and Chuzz makes the mistake of looking up. He finds himself gazing at a great big pair of balls that look like a couple of hairy elephants. He gags and tries not to throw up.

Gunfire from across the street adds to the chaos. One of Chuzz’s neighbors has thrown open his door and pounded onto the porch with a giant machine gun slung around his waist. Looks like someone ripped one off a helicopter and mounted it on the guy. It’s strapped to his neck with a couple of belts. He is dressed in a Hello Pussy tee shirt and a pair of dirty underwear. His hair is wild, unbrushed and as greasy as a bag of French fries.

The guy leans forward and fires. Bullets rip into the street, tearing a path of asphalt before smacking into the demon that tossed the Daily Cunt box. It flies back like it was slapped hard, then comes up pissed, streaming brown and yellow pus that looks like a sewage leak.

“Goddamn demon sons-a-bitches! Git off my motherfucking lawn!” the guy screams, his voice slurred. The giant gun opens up again, spraying both demons.

They don’t take too kindly to it.

The one that was on the bottom bounds to its feet, picks up the hood of a car and uses it as a shield. The other walks toward the guy.

“I’m gonna take that gun and fuck you with it!” the demon growls and gets a face full of lead for the effort.

“What you say to me, you freak of fucking nature?”

The demon stumbles to the side and gets a glimpse of Chuzz as he tries to wiggle into the back of the truck. Another blast of gunfire sends the demon reeling. It hits the side of the truck, falls to the side and rolls over Chuzz.

Chuzzle tries to duck out of the way, but he gets a big cheekful of cock for his effort. Big red dildo-looking thing slaps him silly. He sees stars, his face rings and he wonders for a minute if he is going to pass out.

“Shit balls!” the demon screams. Chuzz gets up on unsteady legs to find his hand holding the microphone toy. He didn’t tell his arm to reach into his pants for it. Must have been the stupid damn toy. Stupid Stretch Bangstrom!

But the toy probably saved his life. He lowers the thing, points it at the demon, then hits the red button and lifts his hand into the air. The demon looks terrified as it flies straight up. Chuzz slaps his hand forward, which sends the demon flying with a scream.

“Good show, bub!” Stretch hollers. “Now let’s get in the goddamn truck and blow this town.”

“Howdy neighbor!” the man with the machine gun calls out just before the first demon leaps onto his roof, smashes through part of it and then falls on the guy.

“Come on, Phil!” Chuzz calls over his shoulder.

Phil bounds into the truck and settles near the door, big monkey eyes glued to the army, which is less than a hundred feet away. A thousand leering faces groan for their blood. They stagger like a bunch of drunks, spewing vomit and blood. They are the dead, and they have come for Chuzz.

Which is why Chuzz is getting the fuck out of Dodge with his one-armed monkey, a toy stuck to his back and few cheesy shreds of his sanity intact.

A couple of creatures detach from the army and slither rapidly across the ground. Their torsos are vaguely human-shaped, but they have many human legs and arms that shift and relocate. They have demonoid heads, squat fat things with many green eyes that swivel on long stalks.

Chuzz picks one up with the microphone and tosses it away, but others are close behind.

“Fuck fighting them, pick up the truck and get us out of here!”

Just like the house! He triggers the silver button and lifts the toy up in the air. The ice cream truck flies up, sending Chuzz and Phil sprawling across the floor. A large freezer spills out a rainbow of colorful melted goo that splatters all over the truck.

Chuzz picks himself up and stares straight into the eyes of one of the towering demons. Its face is a nightmare landscape, a bizarre pincushion jabbed full with human bodies. Some of the appendages—legs, arms, heads—move as it walks. The heads scream in pain, and it freaks Chuzz right the hell out. He triggers the microphone toy again and thrusts it in the direction opposite the army from Hell.

The truck shoots forward. Chuzz and Phil hang on for dear life as it moves like a jet. Chuzz backs off the stick and glances behind. The army is far in the distance. He stands up and closes the door. Stretch Bangstrom’s head leers around his neck with a razor-sharp grin.

“I knew you had it in you!” the toy leers.

Nathan P. Chuzzle stares at the remains of his town. He sucks in air, then leans over and plants his hands on his knees. He feels like he is going to puke.

Phil picks that moment to punch Chuzz in the ass.

“Fucking Phil!”

Myron Bottomfeeder wakes to distant screams that sound as if they are clawing at the concrete walls around him. He’s been dozing on a cot in the basement boiler room of the Marvin J. Fartseinheimer Building, which happens to house the bustling offices of “America’s Number One Gossip Magazine,” The Daily Gab. Myron doesn’t always sleep on his the cot in the boiler room. After all, he is the editor of The Daily Gab, and he has as much money as one sleazy grease bag can handle, but he worked late last night.