the apocalypso

The Apocalypso

kiisu d'salyss

dedicated to the maggot god of love.

Chapter 1 - Gastrointestinal Distress

Brown being the color of the flag they wore on their chest, they were not taken seriously when approached by the clan of the blue with the red stripes. "do not listen to these infidels, the ones who proudly display upon their person the flag of the common, their soiled panties, their poorly laundered garments are but sacred relics to a religion long gone." All bow to the words revealed to be the holy truth. Their eyes sharply examine the undergarments of yesteryears anti-hero. Given the world was minutes from ending as humanity new of, this did not matter. Soiled laundry meant most of all that those who bear these items could not buy their way into the afterlife to service the maggot of love.
"Do not lose hope brother" Haz bellowed from his mighty lungs. "The path is clearly laid before us, we merely follow as if by whim, this rock will guide us...let us patiently wait for direction, the stone of azmer will divine for us its wisdom, it is our savior. BEHOLD THE STONE OF AZMER!" peasants bow to the holy relic...symbols of long forgotten mathematical equations carved upon its surface mocking the ignorant, psychiatric patients cry out in pain as if being fed live scorpions, this thanksgiving dinner being unpleasant, as an understatement. Androgens carry their sack lunch waiting for the sign, of life giving enlightenment, not from the sacred rock, but from the mysteries of Santh.

Chapter 2 - Holy Relics

Santh was not a particularly accurate prophet, quite to the contrary, he was a resoundingly untalented con man. His pocket sized database, was his only source of inspiration, his only miracle as seen by his devoted believers was unremarkable low-tech trickery. Due to some unknown series of events however he had a strong sect of members to his cult.

There were no animals anymore, they had long since evolved and left. The human race the last to realize its own potential was the sole inhabitant of the ill-fated orb they called home. A strong caste system enforced through countless generations had created numerous enigmatic physical traits, interbreeding between the caste was for so many generations the ultimate taboo that the separation of genes had created a physical incompatibility between the different groups. This did not bother the Androgens of the order of the long sandwich however. They despised lettuce...there would be none to mix the sacred mustard, with the holy pickle of divine beauty...no, their life was complete. The sandwich provided for them, it was indeed the chosen one.

"Are you going to buy that de-sanitizing electro harmonizing box Frank?", inquired Mary. "Do not mock me you toad! I eat with my spoon, do I not chew before I swallow, this is not water inside my nose, NO! Your trickery, your witchcraft cannot spook me, begone foul temptress, away with your berry colored lip balm, your hosiery, your needlecraft. I have no need for such trivial atrocities. Eat with pride I say, and drink with gusto, for someday you will be dead, and there will be no milk soaked cracker." buzzed from the torn speaker loosely attached to the streetwise HOBO2000, the newest and greatest in transient technology. Mary was scared, she dropped her basket and ran.

Without warning and despite enormous improbability, the stone of Azmer began to move. At first it was so minute, only the very sharpest senses would of noticed, but suddenly it shot out at quite an amazing velocity for a stone which had not previously been known to spontaneously dart off in any direction...or even move the slightest on its own. Haz knew this was the sign he was looking for. The mass suicides were to begin. "Now brothers we DRINK from the sacred cup of rancid fat, and eat from the plate of piggies long gone." preached Haz.

Chapter 3 - Situational Prosthetic Consciousness

This was an unusually uneventful day for Lybert he'd slept most of the day away, and now that dusk was swiftly approaching, in about fifteen seconds, with apocalypse to be following shortly thereafter. This was actually his third apocalypse. They had become quite routine, to him by now. He figured he'd sit down and watch the farm report on the television, for a spell, and just wait this one out...the whole giant apple falling on the old man in New York with that whole countdown and then the mass suicides had really grown tiresome, and dull.

Society had never really understood the whole millennium thing, they as a whole always became extremely panicked and began to believe in the craziest of beliefs around this time. Realizing that culture was reaching a point where it could not tolerate the stress of this particular rollover of the calendar years, a team of the worlds top scientists devised a last minute system to safeguard mankind's existence in this plane of reality. The entire population was placed on a mass storage device, in the event of mass suicides, their essence would simply be rebuilt the following day, unfortunately these people who were miraculously reincarnated in their own bodies with their past memories relatively intact, never got over the changing of the years, and continued to believe the age was constantly coming to an end every evening usually around 8:25pm and 36 seconds central/mountain time, and thus would repeat the process each time growing more and more surreal in their lunacy. The real unfortunate part of this happened to be that a majority of the population was now caught in the ever tightening loop of insanity, often convincing and dragging more of the non-believers to their strange cults. All of this culminating to a mass suicide every night at 8:15 - 9:30pm central/mountain time, depending on their sect.

The only technology that was new was created by the old technology which had begun to take on a life of its own, still devotedly attempting to succeed in its ill-fated designers plan. Technology had grown to care for and love the creators who suffered this bizarre fate. Determined to save its "fathers", and put things right, yet...as a whole technology remained extremely inept. Key systems would crash at inopportune moments, causing surprise outages of important infrastructures such as the power grid...and often extreme data corruption in the human consciousness storage facility.

Chapter 4 - The End Approaches

"My yak is grand!" boasted Ned. "My kingdom is truly large, for I have seen...I believe, I am at peace with my inner casino." he preached with mantra like appeal. The hoards of 'yak breeders' danced the delighted dance of the yakless sect. In reality they did not have the slightest clue what a yak was supposed to be, they felt it was somehow related to that strange word "eggbeater" but were pretty clueless to the connection.

8:14 and twenty nine seconds central/mountain time, Beach Boy's music played for the last time as this was the dawn of the apocalypse. "fun fun fun till her daddy..." the loudspeaker strained. The Magenta Burbank United Hat Maker sect prepared their typical apocalypse cocktail. "Cyanide for everyone!" cried the blue-painted man.

Doorknobs throughout the planet turned in anticipation, the bland became entranced. "Do not fear" was all that could be seen on the Teleprompter. Great gears of clocks thousands of years old continued undaunted by the looming dark horizon. Urine poured from clogged toilets, like rain from an overturned derby hat. The rock of Azmer continued its movement, followers closely behind, willing to follow to the ends of the universe, their only guide in this crazy mixed up life they called lovingly "ferf."

Paper shredders everywhere were ritually smashed with century old sacred stones as per the traditional beliefs. This would ensure that the devil would be forever bound, to the eternal stump of Denver. Paving the way for the gates of heaven to be built upon the tombs of the ingloriously deceased. Figurines would be erected in the afterlife depicting the ever imposing struggle between the good copy machines and the evil shredders of baezelbub. The flouresents must go on, the struggle can not be postponed. Apocalypse was NOW!

Chapter 5 - The Cabbie

"Look I haven't got your fucking watch buddy!" the cab driver proclaimed in defiance of the accuser. "Do you see a goddamned digital display on my fucking arm? No you dipshit I ain't got no fucking watch, so you and your fuckin' dog gotta be leaving 'cause god fucking be if I ain't gonna be letting you urinate on my face will I masturbate with the lampshade one more fuckin' time, you goddamned fuckin' religious freaks are all the same." he said as he removes the floppy disk from under his bed. "Holy shit I suppose you bastards want my turnip of divination now don't you, WELL YOU FUCKERS AREN'T GETTING IT! You'll have to pry it from my cold fingers as I lay dead in a pool of smouldering blood you cocksucking bastards!" he said to the voices in his head. "Yeah I hear you...I hear you, you fucking slick bastards, you can't pull that shit on me shit...not this time, I'm fucking prepared...DO YOU SEE THIS DO YOU FUCKING SEE THIS? I thought so...hahaheeha got you by the balls you bastards. See what you do now eh? You think your so fucking smart, looking under the bed, you AIN'T GONNA FIND DICK!"

Chapter 6 - Hoards Of Suicidal Maggots

8:21.56pm central/mountain time "welcome to apocalypse..." blasts from a nearby trailer. "But bobby, you've already used up the last of the peanut butter, we can't keep spending like this, you know money doesn't grow on trees...that's beans."

With little to no surprise the aliens land to conquer, at least to conquer the Sect of the Grey Crystal Meth Guru. They quickly overpower the technologically retarded group. Enslaving them in mass, forcing them to don terribly unappealing suits of pleather, with feather boas wrapped around their ankles in undignified manners...only to have their mothership explode at seemingly random. This being a common occurrence of the apocalypse as per the memory of Lybert.

The hoards of bicycles began to filter to the streets, the sight was in some ways similar to a locust swarm devouring a crop. They all had little bells attached to the handlebars, and had this incessant desire to ring them with as irregular a rhythm as humanly possible. The deafening ding ding...ding...ding ding ding ding, ding, could overwhelm the most steadfast anti-bell league member, but not Gloria, she was deaf.

"Look all I got iz some matches, don't got nuthin' other than matches and my bucket. Why iz it that yooz all the time getting to see inside that doohicky you sum kinda fancy pants resort manager or sumthin'?" Yadgfh Adukha-BalaDahuha Vicholukatiana inquired. "That's it, I've had it with your insubordination cadet, time and time again I've told you when asking a question refer to me as 'Captain of the Vessel of Gejzhda, overseer of Life between the Sheets and Harbinger of Injustice to Those of Ghyulskivadia' solitary confinement for you mister, and you are to not have napkin privileges for a week!" the Captain chastised.

Chapter 7 - Antiterrorism

"Terrorist organizations such as 'The Peoples Choice for Popular Hosiery League' created such widespread fear in this country, in our opinion there leaves but no options, these being to form a preemptive strike against the general populous, as through a extensive study of demographic and topological data has proven inconclusively that the American government has for the first time maintained a general lack of upper handedness in controlling the dangerous elements of our own economy thus I believe that the only just decision is to apply the executive order, recently passed through double veto anti-relationship congress ballot number 45, to deny these terrorist the means to support their cause, to the extent that the American public is aware I believe through and only through these means will we accomplish our goal. No longer will the threat of these criminals undermine our traditional values and relinquish a world of trivial pursuit injustice do we stand!" wildly gesturing and yet delicately balancing a badly fitted toupee spoke the President of the Union.

Chapter 8 - Multigenerational Blind Poop

"Someday," said Merle "Your granpappy tain't gonna be around, and all of this" gesturing about "will be yours sonny" "What will be mine grandpa?" asked Mitch. "All that you can see kiddo."

"I'm blind grandpa." "I meant figuratively boy. Ok...all that you can sense."

"Like the carpet?"

"More than the carpet boy!"

"the stuffed piggies?"

"Yes even the stuffed pigs."... "All that you can imagine will be yours"

"You have a big nose grandpa"

"So will you."

Chapter 10 - Stop the Madness

"CANCEL THE PRINT JOB!" The secretary panicked as she ran around the office killing people with her right shoe. "I haven't I have not, I before e after k and c and my whiteout is in the drawer post it? Post what? Post this you bastards, take a note take a memo fax this fax that type this type my finger you hypocritical toady!"

8:25pm 36 seconds central mountain time. The apocalypse happens as per the usual evening events. Lybert is unimpressed, his fourth apocalypse, to his memory at any rate. Perhaps tomorrow night he would join the hoards, or perhaps, he would eat prunes, the fate was a tough thing to second guess. Regardless he is left nearly alone. Hobo2000 wanders aimless mimicking its realworld model, spouting off random obscenities, begging for change, and drinking cheap alcohol from a nondescript bottle wrapped with the stereotypical brown paper bag. Lybert wondered what the mornings incarnation of cult suicide victims would bring. Would the human consciousness grid right itself? Would that blasted technology ever work...or is it what is causing all this trouble? Maybe that asparagus he was secretly growing in his closet was illegal...did it matter?

Chapter 11 - Friendship Withstanding

He kept a well preserved moth wing as a pet. He had fashioned a little leash out of dental floss so that he could walk his pet moth wing, and had made a cozy little bed out of a matchbox, empty of course, and some felt. He loved his moth wing. The nature of the preservation was unknown to him, but mattered not, as long as his moth wing remained intact, and lifelike, he had a loyal companion. They would go on walks together down by the river to watch the plastic fish float by. Sometimes they would sing songs together about old times. Sometimes they would smoke crack in the park and commit disgusting sexual acts upon the Hobo2000. It was truly a loving, full relationship, Vernon and his cherished moth wing Susie.

Chapter 12 - The Rapture

It was mostly at night that it rained. The rain was unusual as should be expected, the first rain after the apocalypse was always a little unusual. There were few cars, there was none of the usual people noise, at least compared to the daytime non-apocalypse time. Just billions of mass suicide cult victim's strewn about everywhere. If it weren't for the automated clean up technology, the stench would have been far more than anything mortal could tolerate, and would drive the few and remaining non-suicide cult victims to join the ranks post-apocalypse. Only one bar was ever open after the apocalypse, humorously enough named "the rapture". Hank ran the bar, which contrary to its name was, pretty dull in actuality. They served one kind of beer, they had it on tap, in bottles in cans, by the pitcher by the glass, or in a boot. Regardless of carrier...it was still just one kind of beer. The jukebox seemed to be broken, as it continuously played the same 45 at 75 speed. No one ever really noticed, and the few that did notice, didn't seem to mind. The pool table only had one ball...and it was rumored that Hank was of similar physical standing. Lybert entered "The Rapture" on this particular apocalypse, in a vane attempt to break the monotony of his daily life, nothing unusual ever happened...same old same old.

He ordered a beer, to be different he got it in a boot. It was barely alcoholic, flat, and tasted suspiciously more like urine than beer, yet he drank it anyway. The boot was a quaint pseudo-snake scale pink little number with stilletto heels, that had been left at the bar one night and never reclaimed. It was believed to have been once owned by the ex-president of Lutpo Motor Co. The only motor car manufacturer left, after the great "scandal."