Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

Goatboy clops backwards on three legs, dragging Chuzz along with him. Chuzz gets his feet up on the bumper of the vehicle and pushes his way inside, then collapses on the floor and tries not to throw up. The truck shifts. Did he forget to set the brakes? Come to think of it, he never started the damn truck. He just pointed it at the sky and took off.

Stupid trip to Vegas. He can’t even find Leon in the mess out there. Stupid devil and his delicious floating glory hole box. If Chuzz were big enough, he’d stick his dick in there too. But he will never get the chance because he is probably going to die here after what Edwina did to the Devil.

Satan screams from down below. Well, speak of the Devil. Chuzz crawls over to the edge of the truck and peers out. Someone has cut off one of the monster’s other cocks. Satan reels back and then starts stomping the ground in a frenzy, smashing hapless demons. The massive army of demons tries to get out of the way, but many of them are smashed to red and yellow pus in the process.

“I’m gonna fuck that box and then I’m going gonna fuck the world and every one of you assholes!” Satan yells. He grabs hold of the giant metal monstrosity, pulls it nearby and then pounds into it.

Chuzz is nearly tossed out of the back of the truck. He holds onto Goatboy as the truck rocks back and forth.

“Get us out of here for fuck’s sake!” Goatboy screams.

Chuzz stares at the goat, then at the big red face a mere fifteen feet from him. Phil bounces around the cabin like he has been straight for months. He seems to have a lot of energy now, no doubt all of it directed at self-preservation.

“That’s right! You are next. No matter what you do or where you go, I am the Devil, and I will find you, Nathan P. Chuzzle. I will find you, and I will fuck you until you bleed, boy! Until you fucking bleed!”

Chuzz shakes his head at the horrendous image. He points the microphone behind his head and gives it a little push. The truck lifts a few inches and then rockets back a quarter mile, which once again almost makes Chuzz fall out the back.

“Shit!” He falls to all fours again.

“Shut the fucking door, mate!” Goatboy yells.

“Then I can’t see the box. The beautiful box. It’s a work of art. I need one. I need one bad.” Chuzz is almost in a daze as he watches Satan fuck the giant metal box. The thing moves back and forth, back and forth, like a giant pendulum designed to hypnotize Nathan Chuzzle.

He lifts the microphone and points it at the devil. If he throws the guy, maybe he will leave Chuzz alone; he will know he should fear him. He triggers the button and points it carefully. He doesn’t know if he can even move something that large.

Phil picks that moment, that very moment to stroll up to Chuzz in his very vulnerable position and punch him right in the left ass cheek. He bucks forward, his finger hits the little red button, and the truck shoots straight at the giant box. He doesn’t even have time to think about what he is about to do. He points the microphone, triggers the other button and flings the glory hole away.

The box is there one second and gone the next. It smashes into the side of the chasm and explodes on impact, breaking it into hundreds of tiny glory hole boxes that scream in unison.

Satan doesn’t take the move well. He roars at the sky again. As the ice cream truck shoots past him, Chuzz gets a look at a very pissed-off red face that is glaring down at a torso now missing no fewer than three cocks.

“You’ve unmanned me!” Satan yells.

The truck smashes into the ground, bouncing on impact and blowing out two of the wheels. The door slams shut and Chuzz ricochets off of it and onto Goatboy.

Goatboy in turn rolls into Phil. Then just for good measure, the truck rolls into something and comes to a sudden grinding halt. All three passengers smash into the door, and everything goes black.

The demon swoops to the ground so fast that Edwina drops the gun. The weapon falls away, and no amount of cursing will bring it back. The demon lands violently, and she is tossed off like a sack of potatoes.

She lands in the sand with her head staring directly up at Satan, who no longer has any dicks. Well too bad for the cockmaster. Too bad indeed.

She pulls the other .45 from her holster, levels it at the winged demon and blows his head clean off. Fuck you, crashing boy. Could have had it the easy way, but you had to be an asshole. The creature flops down in front of her and gurgles air through its neck, which is all that’s left at the top of its body.

She struggles to sit up but almost passes out when she tries to breathe deeply. Her chest feels like it has a hole in it. She can barely get in a breath, and she wonders if a rib has punctured her lung.

Sound comes back and she remembers she is in a war. Demons are running all over the damn place, screaming and howling. A figure on horseback flashes by, and for a half a second she things it is the weird creature that Marcel shot.

There is a beat-up vehicle right next to her. Looks like a luxury car crossed with a military-grade Hummer. She crawls to it, breath rattling in her chest as she pulls herself through the sand. A head rolls past her. It looks like what would happen if Medusa puked up a porcupine.

The door to the vehicle is open, and she tugs herself into it. She sprawls across the two seats because it hurts too much to sit up. There is crap all over the beat-up vehicle, and it smells like men. She hates it, but she would rather be here than on the ground with the demons.

She spots a small box on the dash and recognizes it from an article she once read in one of Marcel’s magazines. She reaches for it with her good hand, picks it up and brings it to eye level.

“Well fuck me sideways,” she mutters.

The device is a T46A close trigger for a tactical nuke. Somewhere nearby there has to be a big fucker of an explosive.

“Hey, bitch, miss me?” Satan leans over and stares into the turret with one very large, very malevolent eye.

She sighs and looks at the trigger.

Leon holds his battleaxe at shoulder level like a samurai baseball-bat-sword as he approaches the crashed ice cream truck. He takes wide cautious steps around it and makes note of several sets of demon feet sticking out from under the frame of the strange vehicle. Leon decides that if the passengers are killing demons, they must be all right. He reaches up and knocks on the door, on which a flier for The Daily Cunt has plastered itself. It reads “EVEN THE END IS FUCKED!”

Leon nods and knocks a little harder.

Goatboy hits the hanging doorknob to see who is there, or so Chuzz presumes.

“Idiot! Fucking clueless moron, what are you doing? Don’t let anyone in!”

But there is a man standing there whom Nathan P. Chuzzle knows very well. At the end of the world, his one true friend is right there just like he said he would be. He’d hug the bastard if it weren’t so gay.

“Leon?” he says in wonder.

“Cockbang foursome,” says Leon.

Chuzz stares and stares, and after a moment Leon slaps him hard.

“Douche breath death fuck stick.”

“That’s it. We are getting the mother skunk fuck out of here!” Chuzz screams and rushes toward the front of the little truck. “I’m sick of trying to stop the Apocalypse. Satan wants my ass, and I very much like my ass right where it is!”

He trips over Goatboy. “Mind your feet, you peacock!”