Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

“Son of a bitch!” Edwina yells from the back.

Chuzz hears shuffling and the goat getting in some good cursing. Phil farts, then screams in monkey. More bottles and utensils crash to the floor. Someone slips and goes down amidst another round of cursing.

“We are close, boss. Real damn close now.”

“What in the two Mary fuck are you?” Chuzz doesn’t look at Stretch. He just asks the air as though it will answer and everything in the world will suddenly make sense.

“Me or the sky? The sky doesn’t have answers, which is funny. I don’t either. See, a couple of those bugs got in me, then that big angel showed up. I think I was born spontaneously. I think I may be some sort of savior!” The toy yells the last few words.

“What does that make me?”

“My ride.”

“Fuck you!” Chuzz says and flops back in the seat.

“Ohhh hurts so good, buddy.” The toy cackles.

“If you do that again, so help me…” Edwina has managed to crawl toward the front of the truck. Chuzz looks down at her and grins.

“Left a little,” Stretch cackles in his ear.

Chuzz yanks the toy to the left and pushes it forward. The truck rips around in a short curve and then shoots forward for a half a minute while the others scream in the back. He smiles at their calls for him to slow down and instead massages his member, which still rages against his pants. Why didn’t he bring his map along? He should have found a place to stop and rub one out. Now he is going to stop the Apocalypse in this condition? Oh shit, what is Leon going to say?

The view changes from rapidly advancing sand and desert to a massive red shape stretching into the sky. Chuzz pulls the microphone back so hard the truck slams to a stop, which throws him forward. He gets one hand up just before he smacks into the wheel and instead mashes his face into his meaty forearm.

“Gotta stop doing that, mate!” Goatboy howls from the back.

Chuzz gives the truck a short hop that brings him closer. People are being herded along the road in a more or less orderly line that stretches for miles. Demons stand on either side poking and prodding them with what appear to be pitchforks.

Two things hold Chuzzle’s attention like a two-bit whore with two fingers up his ass.

One is the huge red column he saw a minute ago. It is a giant demon standing in the desert. He has a pair of horns the size of semi trucks. He is naked, and giant metal bands run through his nipples. His chest is a ripple of muscles that make him look like a body builder. Arms are ripped the same way. His waist is thin and legs equally cut. He also has three massive dangling cocks, the concealment of which would require a loincloth the size of a circus tent.

The truck drifts forward as he gets a glimpse at the second object. It is a giant box that floats in front of the Devil. It looks like one of the boxes he saw earlier. The glory hole demon box into which one of the bastards on his street jammed its dick.

Chuzz’s mouth hangs open as he practically drools at the thing. He nudges the truck forward again until they hang close enough for him to see that it is formed of many smaller boxes that all have some rendition of The Daily Cunt written on them.

“Oh my God!” he exclaims as he stands up in the front of the truck. A blast of light in the distance makes him shade his eyes. Something so bright it is like someone just lit a new sun.

His stupid monkey picks that moment to tell him he needs a hit by punching him in the ass. Chuzz falls forward, and the truck shoots straight at the giant glory hole like it is on fire. Screams about stringing him up by his dick come from the back of the truck as they plummet toward the floating object.

“Say hello to my many friends!” Satan yells so loud that it shakes the entire valley. Another flash of light in the distance punctuates his words. The big red guy shakes his dongs in the general direction of Jesus and Death. From the giant holes in the earth, an army of demons pours forth. Slobbering, slathering, moving with purpose and anger. Red eyes intent, dog shapes, human shapes and downright fucked-up shapes, take to the desert from the holes in the sand.

“Too bad War isn’t here. Well I guess we can what, turn and run?”

“I’m done running.” Jesus squints. “Fuck the Devil, fuck his army and fuck this desert.”

“Right. Fuck ’em.”

They stare at each other for a moment then break into laughter. Jesus leans forward and puts his hand on Death’s shoulder to steady himself. They stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, an unspoken bond of friendship between the two men cemented with copious amounts of alcohol.

“Watch this.” Jesus smiles and steps away.

Death turns and watches hundreds, and then thousands of creatures emerging from the three holes in the desert. Most fan out in other directions, but some make a beeline for the two men. Death lowers his scythe and swings it in a massive arc just before the things reach them.

The air ripples where the blade passes, and it moves away from him in a wave that tears the demons apart. They flop into pieces, body parts flying in every direction. A head tumbles from one, a massive thing with two faces set opposite one another other, one smiling and one frowning. They continue to argue as they hit the sand.

“WAR!” Jesus yells behind him. “Get the hell UP! I call you!”

Nothing happens.

“Come on, you Lazarus fuck, you got some death to deal!”

Death shakes his head. Why does everyone think that War causes all the death? Death IS death. End of story.

A silence settles over the valley for a split second. It is like the sound after a lightning strike. It is preternatural, and it makes Death pause in his slaughter. He has never felt such power before; it slashes at his reality and makes him stagger. He is Death, and he decides who falls and when. He reaps souls and sends them along the way to wherever they are bound. But this is something he knows nothing about.

Death turns to watch Jesus wavering in place and calling to the sand. The sand responds by spitting out a shape dressed in rags. The body flies into the air and then tumbles over and over to land in a sprawl at the feet of the son of God.

“Christ that sucked!” The man stands and dusts sand from his robe. He lowers his hood to reveal the face of War. The same old sneer set to one side of his lips, he frowns at Jesus and then drops to his knees. “Uh sorry about that last bit, Jesus master Christ.”

“Get up, War. Get up and kick some ass!” Jesus commands.

“Uh. You brought me back? My thanks, Lord. I have always said that the hand of Jesus is like the uh… ever-flowing eternal life of the…”

“Just shut the hell up and bring some help. There is an army of demons coming toward me, and I don’t feel like dying again.” Jesus gestures with one hand.

War turns around and gets a look at the army of demons. He reaches over his shoulder for his sword, but it is not there.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SWORD?” War bellows.

Death turns his head a second after eliminating another wave of inbound demons. “Check the sand where you were puked out!”

War stalks to the place and pushes his hand inside the spot. He roots around in the sand, but after a moment of searching, he doesn’t find anything. He shakes his hand off and looks about in disgust.

“For my sake,” Jesus sighs. “Moses just needed a stick. Here, use this.” He breaks a twig off a dried-out tree and tosses it to War.