Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

“Yup,” Bud sighs and chews on his bottom lip.

“Devil titty-fuck ball torture?” Leon asks in a concerned voice.

“I have no fucking idea what you are saying, Leon,” Bud says, turning his attention back to The Daily Cunt, “but it does have constantly updated celebrity deaths. That’s cool. And look at this: a two-page pull-out map to the Devil’s ass and his head. Huh, big fucker that Devil.”

“Handjob goat face,” Leon mumbles and commences digging through his backpack. A smile creases his face when his fingers wrap around the fleshy shaft of the Jaime St. Pucker Pocket Pussy. He pulls it out, and everyone recoils. Deputy Morks reaches back and swings his nightstick at Leon out of some primal instinct. Leon ducks back and screams, “Finger bang demon tailpipe Satan barnyard! Chuzz!”

“Is that how you talked to your friend Chuzzle?” Bud asks, astonished.

Leon nods and thinks back a day…

He fell asleep with his “girlfriend,” the Jaime St. Pucker Pocket Pussy. Unfortunately for Leon, the Jaime St. Pucker Pocket Pussy is the most innovative sex toy engineered in the last thirty years, and Leon couldn’t turn it on. Leon was undaunted, as he was used to being unable to turn on vaginas, be they real or plastic. He knew as he tore the bright pink box to shreds how slim were the odds of him experiencing the “pulsating, throbbing, total dick-squeezing” heaven it promised. So he ignored the thirty-three page instruction booklet.

As with many great technological advances, the Jaime St. Pucker Pocket Pussy features a three-and-a-half-inch LCD screen and easily accessible social networking. Leon cared not for either. To be honest, he thought the screen made jerking off a little awkward. Lucky for Leon, he didn’t find awkwardness much of a hindrance to getting off. He squeezed the pink flesh shaft and jerked off into it like it was a three-hundred-dollar sweater sleeve. He didn’t care that it wasn’t on. He just hummed “Me and Bobby McGee” to drown out the screams and general chaos outside and made some sweet self-love.

But then, after he’d been asleep for hours, the Jaime St. Pucker Pocket Pussy began vibrating and twitching on Leon’s nightstand, sending the long-suffering lighters and troll dolls to the floor. He rolled over and stared at it through strands of his unwashed hair. It finally twitched enough to flip it up on its thick, fleshlike lips. His shaft danced in the air like a snake before a charmer. The LCD screen glowed a soft blue, and Leon could see thin black letters on its face. He was still seeing slight tracers, and he missed the first few times he tried to grab the flexing fake vagina. On his third swing, he grabbed it and pulled it close enough to read.

Now Online: *Nathan Chuzzle*

It had told him. And then they talked. But Leon doesn’t know how to make it work again.

He could really use a chat with his buddy now, so he slaps it. Then he smacks it against the seat next to him. Bud cowers and holds his Daily Cunt in front of him like a shield. Leon’s eyes go wide and he turns away from Bud. He slowly and silently unzips his pants. Maybe fucking the pocket pussy will bring it to life. He glances around and pulls his pud from his overalls. He is lowering it slowly into the wide plastic opening when the pocket pussy shouts, “Leon, what the fuck? Where are you?”

Leon doesn’t even bother to tuck his dick back away before he types, “Chuzz, we are almost to Vegas! Where the fuck are you?”

“In Crazyville with a crazy chick. I did it, Leon, I killed a demon. Big mother fucker too. I rescued a chick and everything! Thank fuck you are okay, man. I’m on the way. I think. We ended up in an ice cream truck, and I have a lesbian with me. Oh and a talking goat thing!”

“Goat thing? Huh? Bud just read in The Daily Cunt that Satan is ass up just outside of Vegas. We are in a nice-ass Hummer with two wack-ass sheriffs, and we’re headed there!”

“We are on the way, Leon! Wait until you meet the goat. Just don’t let anyone shoot him. He tells great dirty jokes.”

“I can promise no one will shoot the goat, but the ball-gagged deputy is a billy club swinger. Chuzz, we’ve killed demons and dead people, so I think I am as ready as I’ll ever be to fight the hordes of Hell.”

“What the fuck is up with all the demons? I saw some in the street and they had a big box. A big metal box that should say The Daily Gab but it said The Daily Cunt. They were doing bad things to the box, Leon. Bad things. And you know how I feel about putting your dick in stuff, because I have talked about it a lot on the blog. You know that, right Leon? RIGHT?!”

“Oh, I know, Chuzz. The demons seem to be getting more sick and twisted. And I don’t know about sticking your dick into anything a demon would, Chuzzle. Maybe they have crabs in Hell, Chuzz, big demon crabs. Stay AWAY! Also, Bud loves the Daily Cunt, he says it is ‘action- and news-packed.’”

“Crabs in Hell? Maybe that’s it, Leon. Maybe we are all in Hell already. I think I’m in Hell with this lesbo who wants to put a bullet in my head. I never did nothing to her! Nothing!”

“Chuzz, can you channel her rage? Point her at Satan? Bud says the Daily Cunt has a pull-out map of Satan, he is in the desert outside of Las Vegas!”

“It’ll be something if I can just get her to channel her rage away from Goatboy. She keeps talking about making goat curry, and she has a really big knife.”

Chuzzle pauses for a breath. “Vegas. We are on the way. Stretch is navigating. He’s this stupid toy that is stuck to my back. When we meet up, I need you to cut off his head!”

A tinny voice in the background calls out, “You need me, bub! You need me in the battle that is to come, buddy!”

“Oh, I got just the axe for taking off heads! Wait, you have a toy stuck to you? Who was that?”

“It’s a long story, Leon. I wish I was back in my basement blogging about this shit instead of doing it. See you in Vegas, buddy!”

“See you in Vegas!”

“Okayyyy.” Bud nods with understanding, “Sounds like a plan. How soon can we get there, sheriff?”

“Half an hour tops,” Sheriff Smoochole says and cracks his neck.

Next to him Deputy Morks says, “Imph hmmph pmmph.”

“Okay, Deputy,” Smoochole tells him, “I’ll pull over at that truck stop up ahead.”

He looks in the rearview at Bud, his Daily Cunt open on his lap as he jots some notes on the map. Then to Leon, lighting a joint he found somewhere. Sheriff Smoochole almost scoffs, but a glint of sun off the gore-stained battleaxe sitting next to Leon catches his eye. Morks is rocking back and forth as the parking lot for the truck stop is getting close and Smoochole is looking in the back seat.

“Smmmph, pmmph ommph, imph gmmph pmmph mmmph pmmmph!”

Sheriff Smoochole cranks the wheel hard, and the Hummer squeals and bounces into the parking lot. Bud doesn’t even look up. Leon drops the joint in his lap and slaps his nuts when he tries to grab it. The Hummer slams to a stop facing the burnt-out shell of a truck stop. Morks jumps out of the Hummer and runs for a row of parked sixteen wheelers to the left.

He ducks down the first row and starts pissing on a big truck wheel. His heart throbs in his ears from running so hard, and he doesn’t hear the dead truck stop hooker sneaking up behind him. Her blond hair hangs in clumps and knots, except where a flap of scalp dangles, dripping black sludge all over her ‘Diesel Fumes Make Me Horny’ tee shirt. Her chipped neon orange nails sink into his shoulders. Deputy Morks howls in muffled agony and tries to jerk away, managing only to piss all over himself as she sinks her black teeth into his neck. Morks slams his head back as hard as he can, smashing the zombie’s face to pulp. She staggers backwards, and he stumbles back toward the group, holding the back of his neck and still pissing down his leg.