Title Life happens to be a very peculiar thing. The weirdest thing about it isn't the inevitability of death. It turns out death really isn't that inevitable if you try hard enough. Nor is it that you're actually living. No, the weirdest thing about life is sentience and, despite what most of you meat bags may think, just about everything alive, including a considerable number of things not alive, are sentient. That is, they are thinking, cognitive, sapient, redundant, selfreinforcing beings. Just about everything in the universe, including rocks, has come across the notion of "I think, therefore I am" at one point or another, excluding most humans and dolphins. Humans get way too distracted by the "important" things in life to ever consider their own existence. Pretty sad, huh? And dolphins are just assholes. That's why I put them on Earth, or Terra, if you prefer, to teach those smarmy humans a lesson. What other explanation for seaborne rapists could there be? 10,000 years before time began, He was here. He had been here for a lot longer then that, but it's hard to compare when you don't have time to judge by. He was alone for much of the time, drifting and resting in a collection of the absence of nothing. Finally, He wondered what could really be done with all this nothing and its absence around him. So He spoke. He was surprised how long it took Him to figure out language. Out of frustration, He desperately exerted His sheer will upon the void. "Let there be" A sea of light flooded out from Him. "Excuse me, but I wasn't quite done yet." The light separated itself into day and night and so was the first day. "I can't really concentrate if you keep interruptin" And the waters of the heavens and of the earth separated themselves and the sky grew between them and so was the second day. "You know," and the waters of the earth collected themselves so that dry ground could appear. "...it's really not very considerate of you" and the lands produced vegetation of plants and fruits bearing their seeds and so was the third day. "...to not let me work here." And the stars of the heavens came into being and the day was governed by the great light and the night by the lesser light and so was the fourth day. "This is really starting to piss me off now," and the waters of the earth grew abundant with life as the skies were populated by birds and so was the fifth day. "Look, how can you expect to get anything right if you never let me do anything?" And the beasts and animals of the earth spread out across the land. "I'm warning you..." and man was created in God's image and took dominion of all the living things of the sea, land and skies and so was the sixth day. "Fuck it." And there was nothing and so was the seventh day. I've noticed that while man grows in his life, he is presented with many opportunities, choices and decisions to make. A man may choose responsibility or negligence. He may be benevolent or uncaring. He may raise family and contribute to society or he may work against everything possible (save bowel movements). What man never realizes, however, is just how immediately those decisions may change his life, yet change nothing. For example, as a god creating a universe, or several universes, you're presented with something even blanker than a clean slate. The very reaches of your imagination are the limit to what this new universe may be. However, in the end, it rarely listens to you anyways and just does what it wants. Even deistic deities have discovered that they have little to no control over even the inception of their universe. In the end, it's really just whatever it wants to do.
Eventually He grew tired of the voidless void once more and set about recreating some company. This time, He decided to proceed with much less ambition and created the universe over a series of millennia instead of days this time. After the initial bang, He grew weary of the work and let the universe take over the rest of itself. He slept, for a while, until he grew weary of acting weary. Then he looked across the vastness spread before him and marveled at how fine of a job He had done. The universe took some offense to this as it considered the seemingly inconsequential effort and time put into its creation by Him. So the universe turned its back and ignored the rest of everything. As He strolled across its face, he came across many miraculous things. He found great gas giants so large their suns orbited them. He found nebulous clouds populated by a particularly intelligent shade of the electromagnetic spectrum somewhere off the deep end of ultraviolet. He found holes to other universes even and wondered who had set about creating all of those. This was the only universe He had a hand in, after all. Briefly, He pondered crossing over into a new universe, just to see what their Sunday afternoons on the boardwalk were like, but he was overcome by such a tumultuous apprehension that he immediately opted out of such a foolhardy decision. Quietly, on the other end of the interuniversal tunnel, the Kraken waited... Now, people have speculated over premonition for ages, even longer than they've speculated over how to explain reproduction to their offspring. Intuition, emotions and "gut feelings" strike most everyone in his or her lifetime, but any judgment of their accuracy or even how often they are headed is completely skewed. When it comes down to it, if you're presented with what feels like a preemptive instinct, like something nudging you in a particular direction, it's best just to get horribly drunk so that you will, perhaps, not remember the trauma that is soon to occur regardless of your decision. One road leads to certain death and the other leads to a slightly slower death. After a period interlaced with wondering the universe and copulating with various flora and fauna, He came across one particular planet. It’s construction was very unique in the sense that it appeared to be nothing but a blue ball of dust and water when seen from above, yet once a foot was set upon it’s surface, it rolled out into a flat plane occupying the entire universe. He was utterly perplexed by the presence of this planet as he strolled across it's barren wastes. It was flooded with all sorts of life, from that of the sea to those of the skies. He had never seen such accumulation and abundance before and decided that this should be the only refuge in His universe. With a thought, He erased all other life that may challenge the life of this earth some day. However, He neglected to address the numerous sentient nonliving organisms He had come across in his journey. Ignoring this evidently trivial notion for the time being, He decided that what this world needed was company. So, He found a promising apelike specimen and began to cultivate its tribe. He brought them simple tools and helped them to shelter in caves and under rocks. He showed them how to work as a group to bring down larger prey and began structuring their various grunts and flatulence into a crude language. Soon, their tribe was prospering and traveling less. They began to stay in a fertile valley between two rivers where they learned to arrange the plants and tend their growth, providing a bountiful supply more than adequate for feeding even their rapidly growing numbers. They constructed their own shelters in lieu of the lack of natural enclosures around them. He was very proud of the progress they were making and the frightening speed they developed their language and thought, until one day. They decided to vote.
He had no idea what they were doing, the strongest of the tribe gathered in a huddled dwelling, a single fire lighting their midst as the sun sunk far below the horizon. Up until then, all their thoughts and plans had resulted from His instruction and guidance. Now, they were conducting a rather incomprehensible ceremony involving each member drawing a mark next to one of two symbols. Every so often, the wicker home would erupt in a frenzy of grunts, howls and gaseous discharge as one of the members would draw an extra mark or try to erase one that had been made by another. Finally, as the dust and methane settled around them, the speaker of the group did his best to tally up the marks and pointed triumphantly to the winning symbol. The wicker hut erupted once more in a mosh of cheers and lamentations as the rear canvas was drawn away revealing the candidates. Or rather, revealing the alleged loser gnawing the remainder of his opponent off of a femur. He watched them then, waiting to see what the results would be from such an odd ceremony. The days passed by quietly, until one of the men approached the newly adorned man as he sat pensively on a make shift throne of mud and rocks. The man was carrying two different types of fruit and waving them around while grunting excitedly. He drew diagrams in the sand at their feet and pointed out into a patch of land that workers were tilling. The alleged chieftain looked at the two fruits and plucked each from the man's hands. Carefully, he felt them, tasted them and smelled them. Finally, he thrust both under his loin cloth and rubbed them furiously on his genitals. The man awaiting his response cried out in disbelief and immediately jumped to his feet. The chief's guards jumped in front of the man and quickly truncated his outburst with the pointy end of their spears, several times. The man's attendant charged through the door in time to find his accomplice being dragged past him and thrown onto the fire. The chief threw one of the fruit to the newcomer and resumed his position on the slowly eroding throne. He stared completely awestruck by these actions. A man who was nothing 2 days before had now not only caused the death of the tribe's best farmer, but ruined their future by selecting a crop that wouldn't last more than a week in this climate. He could no longer stand idly by. Descending from the skies above the hut, he disintegrated the roof and stretched his hand out, a single accusatory finger pointing dejectedly at the quivering chief. "You dare to pass ill judgment upon the best of your tribe while doing nothing but sitting lazily and ruining the prospects for your own people?! I challenge you to bring forth any convincing defense to stay my hand in smiti" His bellowing was cut off by a spear striking him in the knee. "Really now, do you not see me flying?" A few more spears whistled idly through the air past him. He sighed and waited, floating above the scurrying crowd while the guards ran around in small circles, looking for new objects to throw. Finally, a rock was followed by mass of flying feces and He lost His cool. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He screamed and the guard exploded in a wet cloud of blood and meaty chunks. He sighed and slapped His brow, one hand placed absently on His hip. "Look, I'm sorry guys, but you can't just go throwing shit and sticks at gods and expect them not to do anything." The remaining people shook quietly in response. "Ok, here. Let me fix this..." And as he finished his statement, the dead guard had reassembled, although with a newt stuck in his ear, the burning corpse of the agricultural planner was reanimated and walked back into the hut and the roof was repaired. He turned His back and wandered down to the groves to distract Himself by staring at insects for a few hours. As He left the village, a plume of smoke burst from the back wall. The reanimated, immolated corpse was throwing bits of burning flesh into the eyes of his opponents and igniting anything that happened within his grasp. In a matter of hours, every trace of civilization went up in a plume of acrid smoke. And such was the first civilization's rise and fall at the hands of its god. Most people attribute original sin or "The Fall" to something silly like eating fruit or stealing fire. What they forget is that these stories are allegories for Man's achievement and accumulation of knowledge. Knowledge is power, so the pursuit of knowledge is the pursuit of Godhood. Really, there is no single act condemning Man in the eyes of God. It's more of a general progress from likable, little prole to egotistical, decision making upstart. The big marker, however, is really when Man devises a system for governing himself. Without fail, the assholes always win and everything gets mucked up. But hey, it's not like god was doing much better anyways. At least now we have Internet porn instead of just fervent prayer.
He spent the next few weeks engorged in the many insects passing by Him. He sat in the same spot for so long that lichen and moss started to encase His lower extremities. Finally, He was rousted by a very odd noise coming from somewhere off to the east. Righting Himself and dusting off the various undergrowth He had collected, He set off to figure out just what was going on. What had started as an utterly detestable, barely audible whine had now ruptured into a monstrous crash as the ground shook out from under Him. He managed to catch Himself several meters in the air and continued even quicker towards the noise. A tremendous crater spilled into the earth as an odd glowing lump radiated heat from the bottom. He perched high above the crater and waited patiently as the strange bulk began shuddering and sprouting legs. It stalked precariously up the slope of the crater, slipping and falling several times as its narrow legs sunk deep into the loosened mass of dirt comprising the crater walls. Finally, it lurched over the top of the wall, caught it's foot on an exposed boulder plummeted down the exterior of the crater with just enough momentum to send it hurtling over a cliff edge onto a rocky bed below. Milton the Bear had just awoken to a particularly beautiful morning. He had big plans for the day, including finally tracking down that female that had been leaving scent markers all over his territory for days now. He gnawed lazily on some old fish sitting on the cave floor before fully rising and lumbering out into the open air. Today was a special day and nothing could ruin it. He wondered, for a moment, where the sun had suddenly got to. He jerked back as the falling pod crashed onto the prehistoric bear, showering the landscape around it in entrails and sparks. One of the pod's legs had been thrust through the pod itself upon impact and an odd glowing black ooze was seeping out of the top. The pod quivered and quaked as it slowly toppled to one side, rolling back towards the cliff face until it had lodged itself in the cave mouth. The mutilated bear carcass slowly slid along the track impressed by the pod until it slumped underneath the large obstruction. The oozing muck dribbled down onto the bear carcass, saturating it with the oily, clicking residue. The bear shuddered. It lolled and drug it's arm up from underneath it, the remnant of its forearm snapping under the stress. The arm finally buckled under the weight of the rising bear and a bone shard pierced through the gristly, grizzled fur, but still it carried on. As the bear rose to its full height, it bellowed a mighty growl through its disjointed jaws. At that moment, He heard an odd roar as a small meteor flew over His shoulder and bored a hole through the bear's face. A cloud of pinkish mist tainted black by the vibrating, gelatinous gunk erupted behind the bear as it toppled over. He flew down closer to inspect the meteor, but, by the time He got there, the bear carcass had begun to move again. First, it shuddered slightly. Then, it jerked up half way to a sitting position and finally rolled off to one side. Beneath where the bear had been, the black goo was growing larger and spreading. It rose up into a column about 4 feet tall and then shook violently. It sprouted a tail from its base as it reached out and seeped into the back of the dead bear's skull. The skull began creaking under the stress as the ooze pulsed inside it. An eyeball popped out of the socket and dangled by its stretched optic nerve as the right portion of the jaw line cracked and splintered through the skin. A pink and gray residue with small chunks seeped out of the growing wounds, but was quickly soaked up by the brackish goo following it. A residual itch from the stench of burning ozone began to tickle His nose until He sneezed, blowing a respectable glob of snot upon the growing form. The ooze jolted forward to catch the sacred snot and then began glowing brightly. It sprouted legs and stood upon them, reaching its arms out and slowly waving them at the sky. It shaped into a body, curves spreading up and down its length as a head and neck sprouted out of the freshly grown shoulders. The shapely woman strode forth from the bear carcass and approached Him in all her radiant, supple and Nubian, erotic glory. "Yshhhfvuuu wooo weeeuuu bbbbthxQ," she said. "...what?" "Yshhhfvuuu wooo weeeuuu bbbthxQ. Weeeuuu BBBTHXQ." She waved her arms frantically and began making a mixture of very confused and vulgar gestures. "The ... well? What?" She coughed violently and spit out a rather flustered fish. "Ahem, excuse me. I said I'm looking for the woman's department. Would you happen to know which floor it's on?" He rolled His eyes and floated away on the gentle currents. The next time he saw humanity, the woman had shaped a man out of the remains of the bear carcass and urinated in it to instill life. Somehow, fueled by all the
antilogic possible in one woman's mind, it worked. Although, she had drunk a rather large latte that afternoon so his intelligence was diluted and uninspired. He decided there wasn't much left to do at this stage but watch, so He donned the appearance of man and lived on the fringes of their budding society. I've noticed a continual trend in patriarchal society to place greater evolutionary and social importance upon the men. In truth, both man and woman are horribly disgusting creatures and we should each strive for hermaphroditic gender developments. Either that or sterilization and replacement through synthetic life forms rather than biological. Biological life forms tend to be just gross. The development of the Homo sapien sapien species was, allegedly, a gradual shift from one disgusting, fecal ridden mammalian, apelike creature into a slightly less hairy, disgusting, fecal ridden, mammalian, apelike creature. Gender really has no play as both (or more, depending on the species) develop at the same rate. If anything, on a genetic basis, which people seem to find unusually significant in the later centuries of man's development, man is more of an underdeveloped woman. Really though, they're both just gross. An age, a day, a month and a year had passed and still He watched. The tribe had slowly grown and developed. He had known many of those living in the tribe and usually found them to be rather uninspired and mostly distracted in their lives. Long before any philosophy or religion had developed, even before they had developed efficient sources of food, they built minimalls. Minimalls, department stores and sports bars had sprung up all around the sprouting tribe. Life seemed to prosper as the many tribesmen and women would scurry and fluster through the collection of structures. However, their crops began to whither and die. The herds left them in search of warmer climates and predators began stalking their midst more aggressively. Even the berries and roots that they foraged were growing scarcer and scarcer as the village continued to draw from the same meager offerings of their surroundings. All were enticed by the stone and mortar structures rising ever higher in their midst. Their lives focused entirely upon these offerings to themselves. Men and women would rush from store to store, from building to building, even off to neighboring cities they had built, despite the lack of people to populate these superfluous settlements. When not frantically rifling through the contents of whichever store was nearest, they would talk and prattle on endlessly about the stores they had been to and the stores they would go to next. All discussion was about prices and quality, a rather odd thing considering their currency was worthless and the stores only sold rocks or bits of wood. Still, debates would rise about the advantages of oak sticks over river rocks. They would quarrel as to whether or not coniferous needles were more adaptable than granite pebbles, or if hazel bark or sandstone was a better bedding material. In all this madness, He continued living. He had been on the fringes of society for a while now and no one seemed to notice His lack of age, disease or injury. He had become almost a staple of their society, yet was still ignored by all of them, an invisible statue amongst the others. He had lived with them long enough to see the rise of their first strip mall. Before then, it had been nothing but street vendors and rolling carts. That strip mall started everything. Permanent enclosures gave rise to bigger and more lavish establishments. Soon, people were selling wood and sticks along with the rocks. It was only a matter of time until the department stores offered financing for boulders and the city helped establish a coalition for providing entrepreneurs with their very first seedlings. All the while, no regulation of currency had ever been established. People would declare anything as money and pass it around willynilly as long as it was accepted. It was never thought that one would need something of value to back the etched wood chips, charcoal sketched rocks and chips of dried manure. As long as the currency looked official or shiny enough, officialiaty is often measured in the item's luster, it would be readily and happily accepted. He was completely dumbfounded by this. How could such an irresponsible group continue to prosper? And yet, prosper they did. They built higher and grander, developing structures that would dominate the landscape. They expanded and claimed everything they came across. If someone found something new and pleasing, they would try to claim and barter with it. Many wild animals entered the economic system of trade, much to their distress. Finally, when they had begun construction upon a massive tower in an attempt to bottle and sale a rainbow, He had had enough. "What the hell is wrong with you people?" He bellowed from the base of the rapidly stretching structure. "Your people are growing faster than this land can handle! All you do is wander pointlessly from one store to the next,
buying useless shit you could find on the roadside and then selling it to some fool base enough to buy it from you!" "Yes, but the markets up by 6 points!" came the cheerful reply from half way up the tower. "The market?! THE MARKET?!! What good will the market be when you've killed the entire world?!" But they had stopped listening to Him at that point and continued with their construction. He furiously stalked straight up the side of the tower until he had reached the top. Finding the leader of the construction effort there, he quietly approached him. "So what would be the best expression of the engineering required for this tower?" "Ah, magmatic equations, most certainly," the chubby foreman replied. "Magmatic? The answers definitely perennial codified linguistics," interrupted the man to his right. "You're both nutters. Alpaca packas is the only system for undergoing such an effort as this." "We're using math? I just thought we were throwing stones on top of one another..." "No, you see right here, magmaex specifically states this layer of roundish stones are to be stacked here," came the foreman's defense of his beloved system. "That's nonsense. The AlPackPack is what we need to understand how to rotate those stones before we lay them down." "I never! PCL says we gotta flip ‘em over before turning ‘em any!" Soon the discourse had shifted from an engineering demonstration to more of a ballistic demonstration as the stones were plucked from the wall to fuel the torrential rain of construction supplies. He briskly, yet casually, strode back down the exterior of the tower and off to a nearby hill to watch as the tower slowly wobbled and then collapsed upon itself. As the last of the dust settled, He began plotting what to do about the rest of them as he strolled back into town. Humanity has proved itself an easily distracted race. Maybe not so much an easily distracted race, but more of a continuously distracted race. It seems as if distraction is quite possibly the natural state of the race. Such a shame. If humanity had been distracted by arts, development or compassion, imagine the Utopian world they would have before them. Instead, see how their distractions lead to one thing and one thing only. What makes me better and how do I get more of it? Or: What makes me better and how do I ensure they have less of it? People often praise those amongst them known for great works, which they should, yet they forget just how easily these numbers are outweighed by everyone else. More so, the true capabilities and intentions of those people. Perhaps Mr. Thomas Jefferson wanted the freedom of slaves so he wouldn't have to live in a world without multiracial strip clubs? We both know how weary he became of only mingling with Caucasians. Of course, even that is a bit of a reach. Suffice it to say, that good guys are never all good and evil tends to be too much fun anyways. See what I mean about distraction? I only talk about humanity's propensity for it for a short length of time and manage to lose all of my focus in the process! Anyways, distraction leads man to enticement which leads him to acquisition which leads him to exchange which leads him to currency which results in consumption. Consumerism is rarely something restrained to times of prosperity. Instead, it's more of an instigator for those times of hardship historians seem to think civilization's past is rife with. But what the historian is forgetting is where does the money go in those times? Usually, the answer is vice. Humanity may be beset on all sides by poverty and squalor and still it will seek stronger and stronger distractions. That's really all they're good for, making something shiny and blincky enough that even I get caught up in it from time to time. Now intervention isn't even strictly necessary in these moments. Man's nature for acquisition also provides him with a strong thirst for dominance. Meaning, conflict is inevitable. Not necessarily bloody epic wars and all that lot, but conflicts none the less. You see, it's almost as if all of man's evolution and development has gifted him with the ability to sabotage everything he does. And whenever this happens, it's usually quite fun to watch. Something rang in the dark. He jerked back to consciousness as the tone grew louder and more urgent. It sounded faster and faster, his heart palpitating almost in rhythm, approaching the very brink of cardiac arrest. Finally, it rung solid and he let out a sigh of relief to learn he was still alive. In celebration, he turned the alarm off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Instantly, he was struck by another near heart attack from the shock of how cold the floor really felt on his bare feet. He breathed in slowly and deeply as he hopped on his toes all
the way to the bathroom mat. He welcomed the fibrous salvation as he turned on the shower and tried not to fall in. After about an hour of his usual morning ritual, he stepped out the front door and hurried on to work. He checked his watch again and smiled to himself as he calculated that he was still 15 minutes ahead of schedule. Another 45 minutes later, he raced back up the stairwell to his door, this time closing and locking it before trotting back down the steps and out of the building. "Late again, Garry?" "Forgot my keys," he mumbled to the desk clerk who was masking a set of mischievous eyes behind her swarthy locks. The elevator chimed, ringing him back from a mild relapse into near unconsciousness. He looked up in time to catch a glaring stare tumble down the long, angular slope of his boss's nose. "I see we're staying late again today, Mr. Richards." "Sorry, sir. I forgot my keys and" "Excuses, Mr. Richards, are like buttered pecans." "...sir?" "Excitably delicious until you realize they're covered in cow ejaculate. Now get to work and you WILL be staying late to make up the time. This trend had better not continue." "Sir." He stalked forlornly off to his desk, past the swiveling stares of coworkers following him down the unbearable long cubicle aisle. He imagined this near daily commute must be akin to walking a mile down a church aisle with a dildo strapped to your forehead. Then his mind wandered, tallying all the different possible combinations of wardrobe, dildo and denomination. He settled on Cheese Whiz/Plastic Wrap, Glitter filled translucent six inch buttplug and Zen monastery as his personal favorite before edging his way into the cubicle past the collection of filing cabinets that obstructed about two thirds of the entrance. It seemed Cliff was in the bathroom, he always started work an hour before Gary was supposed to be there. Gary wondered just why he so desperately needed that extra hour every afternoon. He concluded that Cliff must be indebted to the mob and paying off his life through nude jockeying on the underground burro racing circuit. When he realized the imagery coming from his head, Gary knew it was going to be another one of those days. With great deliberation, he quietly unwrapped the cellophane from his pot brownie and took a bite. "Mary Jane, my muse and courtier," he said to himself and to the brownie, telepathically, "please escape me from this dreaded realm." I have been many things in life, you see. From this to that, to something completely different. There are few facets of the universe, of being, of existence that I have not stretched myself into. Everything and nothing are but quips to me, passing suggestions coming with a tshirt from some tourist shop out front. I have many tshirts, but tshirts are not what I desired. All of these, eternities and instants passing at the same pace, lives lived too many to count, more than there are numbers or infinities to be found. All of these and then there's this guy. I mean holy shit, how much more fucked up can you get? He basically epitomizes the entire Sisyphean culture of the developing west during Earth's rule by humanity. The guy is so jilted, he can't even remember which floor he's on in the stairwell. And there are only 2 floors in his apartment complex! This guy is the exact reason I made drugs. To avoid people like him. He isn't supposed to be using them. You are, whenever you have to put up with him for more than five minutes! Take my goddamn drugs already you heathens, or I'll have to unleash even more of these fuckers on you! He sat and watched them from the ruins of the tower on the tallest hill next to the town. For forty days and forty nights, her perched upon the strewn rubble and watched them continue in their lives. "My god, they're disgusting!" The sight of their daily routines of consumption and expansion was starting to wear on him. Already, a downtown had sprung up in the midst of their village, mud hut stacked upon mud hut until they taunted passing birds. "There's really not much left to do. But is there not one I can save?" Still, he
watched the village, until he saw him, the one, the only. Quickly, he floated from the hill into the midst of town and appeared before his chosen. "Jeebs. Jeeeeeebs..." "Great fucking fuck stick!" the terrified Jeebs cried as he sprung back from the gutter. "Be not afraid, Jeebs. Know that I am the Lord your God. I come to you to save you from the daunting peril about to befall this land." "Peril... lord? Wait, you're god?" "Yes, I am the Lord your God." "Prove it." "I'm flying." "So's he," Jeebs pointed at a sign hanging down the street, 4 floors up. "But he's using ropes!" "How do I know you're not using ropes?" "Because I'm moving. And above the buildings! And you can see there aren't any!" "So what about him?" Jeebs pointed to a man plummeting from a roof top further down the street. "He's not flying. He's suicidal!" He was growing impatient as He wondered to Himself just how dense these people could really be. His thoughts were interrupted as the man impacted and splattered across the road. "Well, if you're god, bring him back." "Alright, alright." He waved His hand and the man coughed and sputtered, then rose to his feet, dusting himself off. At that moment, a large boulder took the opportunity to run him down. "He's still dead..." "Alright! Hold on a second." The edginess was starting to wear into His voice as he waved His hand once more. The man coughed and stood up again, stretching and cracking his back. However, while reaching towards the sky, he managed to ground himself and catch a freak lightning bolt. "You're not very good at this, are you?" "This has never happened to Me before! I swear!!!" "No reason to get all excited. Just bring him back already." He took a step towards the man and waved His hand once more. As the man arose, He made a complex series of gestures, enclosing the man in a trauma proof, glass box. Silently, the many gasped and clung to his throat while slapping the walls frantically. "I'm not quite sure that counts..." "He's alive, isn't he?!" "Yeah... but not for lo" "Listen. If you don't want to end up like him," Jeebs looked back worriedly at the man rolling on the ground and lolling his tongue out. "Then you're going to want to get your family and leave town." "Leave town? The hell am I supposed to go?" "I don't know... Your mother's place?" "She lives with me." "Really? Damn... Aren't you a little old..." "She moved in with me. Now what the fuck is going on?" "Oh yes. Well," He began. "I'm God and I've had it up to here with these fuckers, so I'm killing them all." Jeebs stared blankly, mouth agape. "Yes, I'm wiping them all out for the greater good. So you need to leave town with your family and repopulate the planet." He began to wonder if He had broken Jeebs. "Jeebs?" "What? You're going to kill everyone?" A broad, satisfied grin emphasized the emphatic head nodding. "You're looney!" "No I’m not. I'm God. So how about we play it my way for now." Jeebs screamed and ran off down the street, calling out names and desperately trying to inventory everything he would need to pack for the journey ahead. He walked back up the hill, perching once more on the tower's remains as he watched Jeebs and his family flee from the city. He thought for a while about the most appropriate means of dispatching the remaining human infestation and decided on one particularly pleasant idea. Deep in the city, the air grew still and all was quite. Andy stopped for a moment and looked up at the buildings looming over him. He thought he heard something break the silence. "Meow," the kitten called, it's large, brown eyes entrancing Andy as it called to him.
"Oh what a cute, little OH MY DEAR GOD! WHAT IS IT DOING!?" The kitten had dropped down from the ledge and was now devouring the face of the woman in front of him. Andy ran and screamed and ran some more, wheezing and panting as he turned a corner. Before him spread the city center, raining with kittens as their blood curdling shrieks and hisses echoed down the alleyways. Everywhere people were running, falling and bleeding. Some people think it's pretty easy to do my job. They say "hey, you're god. You've got all the powers and shit." But that still doesn't mean they'll actually listen to you. You would think that by the same extension of argument, they would understand that maybe I'm not the right one to be pissing off here. But do they think that? Noooo. To them, life is just one big party. They just fuck off and do whatever they feel like under some misguided premise for not having to listen to The AllMighty Creator of Fucking Everything or they just flat out forget about me. Even more outrageous, they make up their own gods. Helloooo, you've already got one. Most times, these new gods develop unconsciously, just sort of spring up over time. A meme permeating through the social psyche and infecting it like some good hearted whore passing out aids ridden freebees from her herpetic and gonorrheal weeping lips. Given enough time, almost everyone will catch the bug. Especially if she's brand new and has a huge set of zonkers. That's really where most of the competition comes from, zonkers. Before man ever questions the source or significance of life, the universe and just everything in general, he looks at the woman. Man realizes two things. First, the woman is the source of new life. Two, she has tits. And thus are born the earliest fertility goddesses and their respective fetishes. These aren't even fully fleshed out goddesses. They're just this abstract notion of something worth paying significant attention to. Of course, man gets tired of having to worship this stuff after a while, and becomes a shaman leading his people off to pray to rocks and give him special cuts of the animals and their most beautiful virgins and all that other stuff. Point being, if you’re man, get in the holy game. It pays. If you're not man, quit fucking encouraging him! He's got the attention span of a ferret in a bin of marbles. Holding his attention and reverence is already hard enough! You have no idea how many people I've had to smite to make it this far and if you think I won't extend that to you goddamn magic mushrooms and effervescent badgers, you're deluding yourself. I will rain badger hell on your asses so furious you won't even be able to count the number of times I've actually smited you! Which is, actually, only just once. You don't even want to know what the second smiting is like. I'm watching you... And Jeebs went forth, from the presence of the minimalls, to the land of hills, east of the city. And Jeebs settled with his family in these hills and made a sacrifice of burnt offering to the god that had brought him here safely. Quickly, they established themselves by collecting herd animals and planting crops. As their city grew, they expanded out into neighboring tribes, intermarrying with them and developing a cultural melding of all that they came cross. Over the ages, the city grew stronger and mightier until it ruled the seven hills. They built a great wall about the city, established a powerful army and developed infrastructure to rival that of their former hometown. Jeebs stood as the king of his great city Jeebopolis and governed his people fairly. The citizens came to love Jeebs and his armies and civil servants' ranks swelled with those loyal to him and the city. All this time, He watched until the city had grown respectable on strong. When it had a proficient army enough to begin campaigning, He went down into the city and approached Jeebs. "Hello, Jeebs." Jeebs jolted out of his throne, tumbling over the back of it in surprise. After realizing that he wasn't dead yet, Jeebs collected himself and responded to the glowing man standing on the ceiling. "Do I know you...?" "It's been many years, Jeebs, but without Me, this city would not be here." "You're Him, aren't You?" Jeebs didn't understand how he had managed to capitalize words while speaking or what compelled him to do it. He began to understand the significance of glowing Things walking through your ceilings. "Yes, Jeebs. You have built a fine city and have honored Me. I come to repay your servitude." "But I don't even know who You are."
"I am He that has spoken everything into being. I am He that erases it all with a thought. I am the bringer of kittens and the savior of men." "That's a rather long name..." "I am Yehosephetova." "That's still kinda long." "How about Absetomenofet?" "Ehh..." "Rawsome?" "Better, but not quite there." "How about Jahwehno?" He sighed with exasperation. "Yeah, but it sounds dumb. I think I'll just call You 'Hey' instead." He rolled His eyes, content simply to be done with the trial despite its outcome. After establishing the appropriate titles of "Hey" and "All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs," they proceeded to discuss the establishment of the city. Hey explained to All Mighty, Good King Father for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs that He had witnessed and was pleased with the burnt offerings offered Him upon the safe arrival of his family and prior to the establishment of the city. All Mighty, Good King Father for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs carefully explained to Hey that he and his family were very hungry and had simply decided to roast meat on a pile of heated stones and that it was not burnt, but flambé. Hey found little humor in this and explained his disappointment in the city's uprising. They had well developed infrastructure and fulfilling lives devoid of rampant commercialism, yet there was no spirituality expressed within the budding city. He chastised All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs, saying unto him, "Oh, All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs, hast thou not seen the error of thine ways?" All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs politely cleared his throat to interrupt. "Yes?" replied Hey. "What's a 'thou'?" Hey sighed and proceeded carefully. "'Thou' means you. Have you seen the error of your ways?" "What way? I'm not going anywhere." "Not in actual travel... Look, can't you see where you went wrong building your city?" "Not particularly. I thought it was a rather nice city." "Very pleasant lighting and agrarian culture," interrupted his wife who had been tending to All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs's feet throughout the conversation. "Yes. Very pleasant culture." "Agrarian culture," she corrected Him. "Very nice Agrarian Culture." His pause was especially poignant this time. "But can't you see what it's missing?" "Well we won't have found coffee for several thousand years yet. But if you think I should go ahead and put up the coffee houses..." "Not coffee houses. Something else. Something more... ethereal..." "Oxygen bars?" "No. Not quite ethereal enough." "Palmistry? We've got three of those already," All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs's wife offered. "Not palmistry. Ethereal, but not silly." "I don't see what's so silly about palmistry," she continued. "My good friend, Salliupiter was telling me just the other day about a friend of her sister's friend's roommate's auntinlaw. You know, married to the mother's brother's daughter's husband's father. And she told me that this one palmistrist told her to tell her mother to tell their gardener to take Friday off. And what do you know? That Friday, a lightning bolt strikes the tree out front and drops a gigantic limb right on the flower bed. It killed their cat, it did. And she knew it was co" Hey stared at her, awestruck by the sheer lung capacity demonstrated through her prattling. After 15 minutes and no breaths, He finally regained His composure and struck her mute. "Now, why have you not built anything for me?" "Why would I build something for you? You've got hands and fancy powers, can't you build it yourself?" "Well, yes, but"
"But my butt. If you think we're going to do all the work just so you can go flitting about and striking people's wives mute all the time, you've got another thing coming." "But I saved you." "Says who? I was planning on leaving the city anyways." "No you weren't! You were delivering a soliloquy to a storm drain!" "I was just finishing up. Was rehearsing for our roadshow." "Roadshow?!" "Yes, my wife and me. Stars of the lowlands, traveling the world delivering laughs and cheers to all." "Well you're not doing that now." "Course not. You struck my wife mute." "But she wasn't mute before!" "But why go halfway round the world just to see my wife go mute and leave me high 'n dry in our act? Better just to settle here." Hey stuttered and stammered. He turned and stalked back out through the ceiling. "Teaches him something. Coming round here, telling us to build him homes and such." "o they learned all about it ahead of time on account of her relations not knowing what to do with the dead cat in the first place." All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs's recently restored wife paused for a moment and looked up from his feet. "So where's He got to? It's rude to leave while a lady's talking, right in the middle of the conversation like that." Of all the advice I've imparted in you and will impart to you through the remainder of this tale, understand this. Do NOT get a woman talking. Ever! He walked off the roof and up into the heavens overlooking the town. His shoulders slumped despondently as the gravity of his situation began to dawn on Him. It seemed humanity was beyond His grasp. He who had once shaped the farthest reaches of space, even though it was space at it's most minute form. He that had established and cared for the first humans, raising them to dominion over the rest of the earth. Even if they had become powercrazed and indignant, ultimately bringing about their own demise in a fiery hell. He who had resurrected the seed of humanity and brought them to glorious wealth, even if they had become blinded by this wealth and he was forced to wash them away in waves of kittens. Just how many times would he have to keep starting over? The whole process was growing to be too great a burden for even Him. There just seemed no answer to it. No! Such thoughts were nonsense! He rose to His feet and made a pact with Himself and the earth that He would guide man to righteousness. All He needed was a better way of dealing with them. A more direct means of interaction. There had to be some way of bringing things to their level, of helping them understand and guiding them. As He paced the dusk lit skies over the growing city, it dawned on Him what He must do. Desperation can bring a man or god to many things. But, no matter how low you may think you have sunk, at least truckers aren't stuffing pine cones up your ass for $5 a pop. Life can always be worse or more desperate as long as your anus is pinecone free. The trick to this one is pretty nasty though. Really, most of your life is just a continual slide spiraling down to that point. The lucky ones are the ones who die with virgin assholes. The rest are pretty much rock bottom or complete freaks. Either way, they don't make it to heaven. You think I watch a bunch of rectal stuffing nutters up here? We'd be stuck together for eternity! He waited in the car. They always left him in the car whenever they went into the video store with the covered windows. He tried to imagine just what sort of special videos would be in there. It had to be something especially
special to keep it so hidden. He considered whether The Gift Mad Badger was inside, giving parents the movies and video games their good children had asked for as a present. The Gift Mad Badger was his favorite. He tried very hard to be especially good every year before his birthday. He hoped that if he was good enough, maybe he wouldn't just get presents, but would get to actually meet The Gift Mad Badger. He still hadn't gotten to, but he knew his chance would come someday. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he waited for his parents. He watched the neon lights as something vaguely resembling his mother, except outlined in neon pink, lay back and stretched her legs wide. As she repeated the routine for somewhere over the 23rd time, he had only learned how to count to 23 so far, he caught a glimpse of movement behind the car. He struggled to crane his neck back in time to see, but couldn't move fast enough. Seeing that the parking lot spread out behind the car was devoid of monsters or strangers dressed in black hats and long trench coats, he opened the door and climbed slowly out of the car. He knew his parents had told him to wait in the car, but this was an Adventure! He plodded to the back of the car, pulling his precious Gumshoe McGoo Magnifying GlassTM from his pocket and peering through it at the asphalt. He found seven nickles and a large glass tube with a metal spine protruding from one end underneath the rear bumper, but no trace of The Gift Mad Badger yet. Yet. That was the keyword. All he needed was more time and his GMG Magnifying GlassTM and he would find The Gift Mad Badger. It was only a matter of time. A sharp pain rain up his arm from where the needle had pricked his finger. It shattered, scattering glass across the ground as he clutched his tiny wound, staring at the blood welling up slowly. A car honk jolted him back and he looked around slowly. Everywhere he turned was shadow, brick, concrete and cars. Everyone he saw was clothed in black hats and trench coats, insidiously offering candy to whomever was closest to him. He began to feel very sick and worried. As he looked back at the trickle of blood seeping down the back and sides of his dirty, half chewed fingernail, he noticed something funny. His insides began feeling warmer and the blood was shimmering a bright crimson. Yes, not just crimson, but orange and yellow and green and blue and purple, a veritable rainbow slowly trickling down the back of his pointer finger. "And how are you, Mr. Tom?" he asked the rainbow spouting extremity. "I'm doing very well, Gary! Thank you so much for asking. Would you like to play in ice cream land today?" "Would I!" he chirped excitedly. He held the finger aloft as they ran through the field of lush grass and candy canes, the snowy peaks of ice cream land growing on the horizon. His parents stood over him as his eyelids fluttered and drug themselves open. He moaned and turned over, clutching his stomach. "Now do you see why we told you to wait in the car? Your mother and I don't ask much of you, Gary. Just that you obe" Gary cut his father's speech short by vomiting off the side of the bed and onto his shoes. "Good lord, Gary! What is wrong with you? Those were my good loafers!" His father ran screaming out the door as the sound of running water and desperation filled the room in his place. "Would you calm down, dear? Gary's sick as a dog. You poor thing," she cooed softly. "Where am I? Mommy?" "Yes dear?" "Why is there a troll on top of your head?" "Because you're tripping balls dear. Now get some rest honey and you'll be fine." "But the troll says it will kill me if I sleep..." "The troll's just grumpy that you ate all it's ice cream. Mommy will take it for more ice cream so you can sleep now." He nodded laboriously and rolled back over, his father's curses serenading him to sleep. Hushed whispers drifted in through the crack in his door as his eyelids flickered open. "u heard him. He was going on and on as if he had been studying this stuff for ages. Phenobarbital this, Feds that. Something is up with him." "Sodium pentathol, honey. Phenobarbital is for seizures. And anyways, what are we supposed to do about it?" "I told you not to take that acid while you were still nursing. Now the kid is some sort of druggie, hippy guru." "Don't blame this on me. You and your 'Virgin of Yehosephetova' games didn't help much either." "So we both fucked up. Point being, what are we going to do about this? Something is up with him." He stood up and dropped out of bed, treading out of the door way and down the stairs slowly.
"Mommy? Daddy? What's wrong?" His parents jumped at the sound of his voice. His mother swiftly scooped him up and carried him down to their living room sofa, sitting with him placed delicately on her lap. "Honey, do you remember anything after daddy and I left you in the car?" His head throbbed terribly and it seemed all he could do to keep from passing out. He stammered for a short while until words finally came to him once more. "May I have some water, please?" The water was collected and administered with all the care and precision of a practiced surgeon aided by an inebriated orderlie on loan from a lumber yard. They talked, encouraged and interrogated with the utmost sympathy and care. He stammered, yammered and stuttered with a flawless gracelessness. They concluded that his mind was still unfit for memory and he lapsed back into sleep on his mother's lap. After depositing him in his bed once more, they returned to a quieted discussion, debating not only whose fault the entire debacle was, but the true significance of it all. They concluded to keep him under observation as he aged and grew, to watch his development and to keep him away from syringes. A CAT scan was also agreed upon and the family settled down for a restless night of sleep and anal play. You may recall all the things I said about Gary earlier. Well, Gary wasn't always Gary. At one time, Gary used to be Gary. Just as "normal" as you or me. Well... just as normal as you, I don't think that word is very applicable to me. Not many words are applicable to me. And that is assuming you're normal in the first place. Are you normal? Of course you're not, you're all freaks. Anyways, Gary used to not be so Gary. There was this incident, it seemed fleeting yet rather significant at the moment. That's pretty much how it went. Little came of the occurrence other than better parenting for about a month. They didn't let off the sex parties, but they did pay more attention to him and hire a baby sitter this time. Well, that ended when the baby sitter refused to hold the video camera and they couldn't find a replacement. I would tell it all to you later, but it's really just disappointing. So things didn't really become evident as to the significance of Gary until much later in life. Some time after his whole boring "I'm a young professional who has to get baked to live through a day at work" phase. Not so much a phase, but a life. A life that came to an abrupt screaming suicidal end with the introduction of a certain individual to his life. No, it's not a whore. That would be pretty cool, but that's just not how things turned out. Of course, I could go back and change it myself if I want... Things were going to change. He had had enough of man flitting about doing whatever the hell it was he wanted. He may not have personally sparked life on this planet, but He had definitely contributed to its rise. Far too much had been invested in matters to simply let people fuck it all up with their rocks and architecture and all that nonsense! Man was His and He wasn't going to let it run off by itself. So this morning, instead of simply floating above and watching matters. Instead of trying to give a guiding nudge of inspiration every now and then, instead of standing back, getting completely pissed and wiping out all of humanity every third decade, He was going In. He donned the form of a wise sage. Well, what He presumed man would think a wise sage would be. It didn't work out too well, initially, what with all the muteness and pretending to be trapped in glass boxes. The white face seemed to encourage people to toss Him spare change, which was rather nice. Maybe this wasn't the best idea, however. There must be another form. The next day, people simply ran. Especially young children. With lots of screaming. He plodded through the streets in his large, floppy shoes and honked his nose at bystanders. Reactions ranged everywhere from outright terror to being beaten with a bar stool. He departed before the bar patron could find a new stool. That following Tuesday, which was quite impressive considering Tuesday hadn't been conceived yet, He walked back into town wearing a simple, yet flowing and elegant toga. He approached the town center and lifted the hem of His toga, bellowing at the top of His lungs. "I am a whore!" He screamed delightedly to the crowds. "A whorey whorey whorey WHORE!" The crowds cheered and surged around him, condom wrappers and lubricant flying through the air in an incredible frenzy. "Whore me! Whore me good! Whore me Looooooong! Whore me HARD!" He began gagging and coughing on the many appendages thrust at him. The frenetic debacle surged and quelled over a series of hours and days.
Finally, the crowds dispersed, desperately seeking showers and penicillin. In their midst, he lay broken and defeated. He resolved to try a far less direct approach next time. Rumors and whispers began spreading throughout the town. The people didn't understand these coming signs suddenly entering their lives. Where all had been quiet before, now there were white faced men trapped in invisible boxes. There were red haired demons making unholy noises as they rode through the streets on one wheeled contraptions. Mass orgies had erupted in the town center and no one knew what to make of it. After the same confused speculation and explanations were passed around long enough, they began to develop embellishments. Soon, it had been not one but 10 mimes. And then 100 mimes and an 8 foot tall clown. Then a 20 foot clown and levitating mimes. Next was an army of walking asses raping men in the street. Before the week was out, the town had been subjugated by flesheating mimes, liberated by a planet sized, space faring clown and then destroyed and reconstructed by a large phallus made of energy. Even more spectacular were what the people believed the signs were hinting at. While it may have easily been explained as a misguided god attempting to enter the midst of humanity under the guise of a wise sage, humanity's knowledge of Him was severely limited in those days, hence the desperation on His part. All He knew was that He needed to have more of an influence on wo(manity) to be able to guide them in an appropriate civilization. He had saved the founders of this town, therefore He must be entitled in guiding its development. The idea that He had also wiped out the last civilization entered His mind, but he didn't know whether He should feel bad for this or not, so He let it go and pressed on. Thus the coming signs. The more spectacular the rumors of the past signs were, the more spectacular the coming signs became and the incredibly more spectacular the speculation of what they heralded was. Soon, the single sages and seers entering the town and putting on wondrous displays then leaving gave way to small troops. One week, a group of carnies came and spent three days screaming and running in circles with their heads on fire. Two weeks later, a polar bear came and ate ice cream with its feet while walking everywhere on it's hind legs. The next day, a band of talking Chihuahua's led a coup and briefly ruled the town, banning all clothing, except those worn by the unattractive. Of course, what a chihuahua finds attractive is far different than a human's standards. The speculation stretched higher and higher. Some rumored a great warrior coming to take over the town. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs didn't really appreciate these rumors and organized a secret police to dispatch those spreading them. He also started a rumor that a star would fall from heaven and instill upon him divinity. The masses generally laughed this one down and countered with a rumor that a great wave of fire would wash over the land. Half of the town left, deserting the area to try and find safety amongst the surrounding hillside. Most came back after a weekend on the coast when they learned the town was still standing though. Then one day, he came. Probably the most frustrating thing for humanity to do to it's deity, to any deity interested in it, is to ignore it. An infinitely powerful being set upon ruling a or guiding or even just being the moral conscience for a culture does really not like to be ignored. This has sparked various reactions from many different deities. Some give their people drugs. Some send prophets. Some perform miracles or great works. Others turn into giant red pitchers of fruit punch and run screaming through walls. And, finally, others come as mimes. All was still in the town as the townspeople quietly recuperated from the undeclared holiday of "Lets Drink For No Damn Reason." It had been announced and initiated by a massive popcorn ball orbiting the planet 500 meters off the ground that spent a pleasant Sunday afternoon bellowing commands, demands and occasionally spurting caramel upon hapless bystanders. Employers and civil officials had attempted to discourage the masses, but after the first three rounds of Patchouli and Vodka shots, completed in less time than it takes to say the name, all hope was lost.
And so, as the town noisily slumbered its collective hangover away, a lone man walked into the town center. After a half hour of constant door knocking, he was found crucified upside down in the sanitation pit. He speculated upon the disastrous failure of His prophet. There must be some simple way of breaking through to these people. Something to let them know that there's more out there, that there's something watching, helping and ... watching them. Just how did you relay this to people so caught up in being human? It's not like living was all that great anyways. Still, there had to be some way. Hark, ye mortals and hear my word. Door knocking on a Saturday morning will bring NO ONE to salvation. All those bastards are burning in hell too, along with the anal freaks and the chartered accountants. Everyone else gets to party with Marx and Nietzsche. And man have you've never partied until you've thrown down with Nietzsche. There comes a time in every man's life when he mast cast of the constraints of his father's home and venture out into the world to make his own. He must unrein himself of his father's guidance and make his own decisions, become his own man, establish and reign in his own world. Or at least that's what Gary told himself as he held the joint in one hand and the cigarette lighter in the other. For all that lay oppressed by tyrants, for all too afraid to be their own person, for all forever subject and constrained to the idle laws of man, it was his duty to smoke this joint. Thus he stoked, toked and choked. When the coughing finally subsided, he caught his breath and tried again. Slowly, the world began to ... shift? It wasn't as if things were actually changing. I mean, he was still here, he was still Gary, Gary was still this person, this thing, this idea of a being that had convinced himself to be him, Gary. That is to say, Gary was he and not necessarily the other way around. And Gary was still present in Gary's dorm room. At least he believed it to be Gary's dorm room. What if he really wasn't Gary, but was some other person who had been drawn into the essence of Gary, some passerby forever ensnared within the .... miiind of Gary. The Miiiiiind of us All. Heh heh. Ohhhh my GOD! Gary is sooo toasted. One more drag, Gary. One more. Do your civic duty Gary. For the people! For the masses! For FREEDOM! Gary was beginning to wonder just where his joint had gotten to. It was here just moments ago... He began wondering about the location of his precious weed. It was his first joint and loosing it half way through could be a disastrous way to start off a long and promising drug abuse career. There must be some way of locating it... The possibilities raked through his mind for hours. He stared pensively at his reflection in the blank television screen for days upon days. Finally, after about 10 minutes, he realized it was sitting in his other hand. He laughed heartily to himself and then calmed down enough to take another drag. Draaaag. Drag. DrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaG. Gary marveled at the sound of the word. "Duh," Gary said to Gary's reflection. "Uhh. Rrrr. Aaah. Guh. Gggguh. Gggggggg" Gary's elocution was cut short by another coughing fit as smoke burst out of Gary's nostrils closely followed by a wad of phlegm and mucous which Gary wiped from the palm of his hand to the back of his knee. Gary looked back at the TV and stared deeply into it. Apparently Gary had turned it on at some point, unless the television had made up it's own mind to turn it's self on. Gary pondered the implications for proper gender usage in pronoun selection for possibly partially sentient objects. Obviously, if it had decided to turn itself on, it deserved something other than a neuter pronoun. Gary thought about naming it and calling it a him instead, but the implications seemed male chauvinistic to Gary. Then the possibility of a feminine pronoun entered Gary's mind, but this seemed almost misogynistic to Gary. Finally, Gary concluded that the TV must be a zhe, see? Gary didn't know who he was talking to, other than the funny looking man idly wiping the back of his right knee and staring back at Gary. Gary began to wonder how the funny looking man who happened to be idly wiping the back of his knee and staring at Gary had managed to get inside Gary's television. Gary wondered how much this man of the knee wiping persuasion was paid for the
idly wiping of the afore mentioned appendages and all the staring he was doing. If it was a decent living, Gary thought that Gary might like to try Gary's hand at that. But how would Gary even go about getting started in the wipe and stare industry? Perhaps Gary needed an agent. Agent. Agent. Agent. Agent. Agent. Agent. Agent. A gent. A Gent. A gentry. Gentry A. Today... hey hey. Let's plaaaay. Don't say. What to say when the hay comes our waaaaayyy. Agent. A moment after the last embers of the roach had died away in the ash tray, Gary strode off in search of food. While happily and eagerly masticating his barbecue ribs slathered in blue cheese dressing, he began making markings and designs on the pile of napkins at his side. A collection of lines appeared to form the letter "S" and Gary figured, what the hell, he might as well finish the sentence. Three hours and 4 plates of ribs and blue cheese later, Gary had filled over 200 cocktail napkins with scribblings and nuances, the very golden eggs of knowledge and wisdom laid by the Hen of life herself. Despite what people may tell you, yes, marijuana does make you more intelligent. You just have to be stoned to understand the higher intelligence being emitted. So the next time you're about to start degrading some stoner telling you about how the enamel on your teeth will outlive all of humanity, instead of writing him off as some weirdo hippy, try to actually think about what he's saying or take a toke and join him. The people seemed to remember a time when crops were plentiful, when there had been ample enough run without this overpowering sun withering everything green sprouting from the earth. They thought there had been a time when seas of grain had enveloped the fields. Just what had happened? What had changed to take away their bounty and prosperity? There must be something different. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs formed a council of the city's elite. He had social leaders, economic leaders, architectural and city design leaders, military and militia leaders, even leader leaders. There wasn't a facet of the city's life that he hadn't brought into his council. Each one of these advisers presented himself before the glorious prestige of the All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs as they discoursed the course of the city's past decades. The social leader stepped forth, proclaiming the rising numbers of the city's populace, how they had spread and enveloped the surrounding tribes, driving some away and assimilating others. The cultural leader stepped forth, describing how the recently assimilated tribal arts and rituals had been brought together with their prior beliefs of rock and bark exchange resulting in the dwindling focus of any arts or ritual. The military leader stepped forth and discussed how militia groups had expanded the city of their own free will by setting out into the country side and decimating any who stood in their way. He discussed the recent drop in aggression due to them preparing an army for even greater conquests. The leader leader said nothing, but pointed to a pie chart with various smiley faces painted into each segment. The smiley face with one eyebrow cocked seemed to be leading while the barfing smiley face was in last place. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs called for the city's philosopher next. Originally, there had been much anticipation in the post of Royal Philosopher causing a brief fad to spark up and philosophers to sprout from the wood works at the mere mention of anything slightly existential. However, soon interest had dwindled and the turn out consisted of 2 applicants and a rather intelligent cat. When the cat spontaneously combusted and took one of the contests with him, the choice was clear. Stan, the Royal Court Philosopher and Questioner of Things and Matters That Simply Were, begun by reviewing the recent signs and disturbances happening in the city lately. He started from the arrival of the first mime and progressed through the mobbing and subsequent murder of the first clown on too the insanity that was the Levitating Popcorn Ball of Doom and Caramel. He even covered the widowed virgin's birthing of the twelve headed kitten and how it spouted long ballads predicting the future of the local insect populace in iambic pentameter. Stan the Royal Court Philosopher and Questioner of Things and Matters That Simply Were layed a set of options as to the meaning of these many signs before All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs consisting of: A, An exterior being was attempting to communicate with them through some force or means unseen normally by there eyes or senses but registered as the occurrence of very strange incidents; 2,
Some very powerful being was trying to give them a very important hint about the prosperity and survival of their city; or Gamma, Their lack of military action and conquest had angered the spirits of the dead and caused them to interfere in daily affairs and therefore they must engage in organized genocide. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs postulated these possibilities for a while. Finally, he flipped a coin and discounted the first option on the grounds of it being "just a load of bunk." The coin landed on it's edge and rolled in intricate patterns on the floor. He decided to flip again and again and again, yet, each time it repeated these actions. Finally, he threw it at the floor where it bounced off and lodged in the larynx of the Steve. He took this as a sign that the ghosts of the dead were encouraging them to finish their conquest and what followed was marked in some very short lived historical annals as the bloodiest moment in the history of this bit of the world's past three years. There's not really a whole lot I give a damn about in life, but the one thing that really gets up my kilter are philosophers and theologians. First, philosophers are just douche bags with way too much time and respect. Second, theologians are worse. Who the hell do they think they are to not only postulate whatever nonsensiscal deictic traits they can (loving, pshaw! Whoever came up with loving???), but they then go on to pretend as if I told you to live however they want you to live! The audacity of those cockfucks! I really don't give too much of a good goddamn how you live. I mean, I'm motherfucking God here, I've got more important things to do with my time than worry about some silly planet in the middle of this shit hole I somehow made. But, whatever you do, don't listen to the theologians. Not that they're all wrong, but they're a pretty bad fucking source for anything. Especially the apologists. Jesus, do those guys bug me. Go get laid already! With two girls! At the same time! And their brother, maybe. If you're into that, I mean. If not, it's worth a shot. Really, trust me on that one. I mean, I am God. Would I lie to you? The years had passed. The populace had scattered and waned. The amassed army of the city state Jeebopolis had left a wake of blood and decimation spotted by burnt out rubble which was spotted by bloodied corpses which were spotted with arrow holes and other wounds. The sheer concentration of spotting throughout the country side was a thing of nightmares and legends. Not the nice frilly legends with the princesses and heroes and kisses and all that nonsense, but the really good, gory ones where people miss limbs and cats dance in boots on top of mass graves. As the time had trickled away and the great city of Jeebopolis's influence, or domination, whichever you prefer, was spread far and wide, All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs lay slipping away with age upon his death bed. He had established the city many years ago now and his reign had been illustrious. His city had sprouted from the land and quickly fed upon the death and blood of all who opposed it. Needless to say, there had been many protectorates falling under his hand as the years had slipped by, many tribes had succumb to the might of his army and his governers were installed across the land. ALl this conquest and development and still his people were unhappy. It had been exponential growth completely unrivaled by anyone else they ran across, but the people were dissatisfied. They complained of a hollow pointlessness to everything. To them, their life was nothing more than drudgery and unnecessary espenses. There must be something more worthy, something more satisfying, some significance to life. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs called once more for Stan the Royal Court Philosopher and Questioner of Things and Matters That Simply Were to beg of him some satisfaction for his life. Stan harkened back to the early days of the city, before it's imperial reach had spread across the lands, before its mighty barracks had housed the terror of the 7 plains, before the days of blood had begun. He remembered a day, a morning, spent in the park, starring at the bark of a mighty sequoia tree as it shaded a hill overlooking the waters. Under that tree he had sat for 7 days... well, more like an hour and a half, but he had nodded off seven times in that short duration. Upon the last time his eyes had drooped closed as his chin
had dropped to his chest, an incredible firmament had sprouted up in his mind. He found himself not in the center of a populated park on a sunday afternoon, but on top of the very world itself, looking over all the domains that the the future empire of Jeebopolis would cover. The mighty tree stretched over all the domain of All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs, but above it stood a brilliantly burning and bright sun. When he awoke, Stan the Royal Court Philosopher and Questioner of Things and Matters That Simply Were was drenched, his clothes clinging to his frail, existential frame. The philospher sprung to his feet and delivered the story to the king, explaining to him that sun had gifted his people and his nation and they had failed to pay respects back to it. He told of how to achieve fulfillment and satisfaction in life, they merely had to remember and pay homage to the sun. As it had guided them to this land of seven plains, so must it guide them through the rest of their lives. All Mighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs smiled at this explenation, knowing that an answer to his people's unsatisfaction was at hand. With his dieing breath he decreed that a great temple be erected to the sun, along with an altar in the middle of town at the steps of the palace. On that altar, his people must pay their respects to their mighty savior, the sun, and when the sun was happy with them, perhaps he may come down and visit them. He warned his people to stay ever vigilant of these visitations and to always be welcoming to outsiders. With that imperial proclomation, the empire of Jeebopolis had transformed from a conquering, conquesting sprawl to a welcoming, multicultural and accepting nation. Every sunday, for the day was named of the sun, the newly proclaimed High Priest of Solar Powers Stan would sacrifice 37 puppies and a yellow apple upon Sol's altar in front of the old imperial palace. Over the years, his new temple sprouted from the ground, as the men of Jeebopolis worked tirelessly, day after day, upon it's construction. Somewhere, He finally felt a difference, a shift in the matter of this world. There was a new concentration brought upon him by the masses of Jeebopolis. When He finally opened His eyes, He peered down upon the entire world from the Sun's perch as He traced across the sky, marking the day's progression. He wondered just what the hell He had done to bring this on. Everyone knows the old saying "be careful what you wish for." Take it from me, those are words to live by. Yeah, it's not a lot of fun to have wish after wish blow up in your face, but if you can get used to it over time. Who knows, you may find it was exactly what you were looking for in the first place. Just with some added... responsibilities? Changes? Dissapointment? Essentially, your desires shape your life. What you desire, whether it is obtained or not, shapes your pursuit and concentration as long as that desire still waits to be attained. Sometimes, even after it is attained, people still wind up caught in the pursuit. They either forget or don't realize they've reached their goal, or they ignore it and keep chasing. Gary wandered down that same tired, empty road that he had every day while coming home from work or walking to the market for ravioli and spinach dip. The trees stood, abandoned along the walk as they were left to watch whichever passerbyers did come through here. He could hear voices and cars, as he usually could in the city, but he never seemed to see anyone out of doors, no matter the weather. A stray cat would scurry down an aisle between the crowded tenement buildings or a dog would piss all over a fire hydrant, eyeing Gary suspectively with his tounge lolling out his mouth as the urine dribbled down into the dirty gutters. Bottles, leaves and old condoms stared up at Gary from the river of concrete and asphalt stretching before him, uttering silent recognition as he carefully picked his steps amongst them. Somewhere, lost amongst the many buildings, Phil towered over the old car park upon his trashcan perch. He spread his arms and spoke to all who were gathered of the coming messiah. He proclaimed how there would,
one day, be a man far greater than any of them. A man whos knowledge could not be contained by the entirety of the universe, much less any of them. A man who was so convoluted he became completely incomprehensible to lesser minds. A man who had this model, you see, of everyone's brains. And he studied them and ran them through all these tests so that when the people thought things, the model brains had already thought of them, so he was reading their minds and stuff. Gary happened across the scruffily bearded wino as he tumbled from his steel peak, falling with a resounding and squishy thud into the dumpster behind him. "Are you ok, sir?" Gary peeked over the edge of the dumpster. The wino's eyes fluttered open and he stared up, trying to focus on the backlit visage silhouetted in front of the looming street lamps. "uhhh... Dracula? I told you I don't pay no stinkin taxes, you filthy denizen of the IRS!" "It's Gary, actually. And I wasn't asking about taxes, just if you were ok." "Gary...?" He rustled in the midst of the garbage, trying to sit up but only sinking further into the pile of plastic and various disposable accouterments. "Gary? Gary Kazenzakis?" "Yes? Do I know you?" "It is him!" The wino burst up out of the dumpster in a flurry of limbs and flying bottles trailing diaper leavings and cat litter as they arced out across the parking lot. "You would all do wise to heed this man. Hear his words and follow his example. There shall come a day when the Lord Himself will look upon this land and all but the faithful will feel His wrath. His wrath, I tell you, His wrath!" There was a scurrying of movement amongst the populace of cockaroaches and rats that had gathered to hear the wino's teachings. "Well, I guess you're ok then," Gary muttered as he briskly turned and tried to leave the parking lot. As he crossed the far sidewalk, a light shown down from heaven, illuminating him. A great wind had rised up out of no where and a voice came to him from on high. "You with the face. Stop and be annointed." Gary froze in place, peering up at the voice. He brought his hand up to shield the blinding light so that he could possibly make out some image above him. Slowly, he recognized the vague outline of a helicopter. Before he could move, something warm and wet splashed upon his outstretched hand and raised forhead. It trickled down his face and the back of his neck, seeping underneath his shirt. He caught a wiff of a strong sour odor and lurched back. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted as he shook his hand and wiped at his face with his sleeves. Quickly, he sprinted back to his home down the street. The police helicopter hovered over the parking lot for a while longer as the two cops sat incapacitated by laughter. Gary shot the demonic machine a vile look over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. Inside the helicopter, their laughter was cut short by a loud grating and spurt of flame from the engine. Warning lights lit up across the panel as buzzers sounded a symphony of agonizing tones. The pilot struggled with the stick and screamed as the helicopter plummeted to the sidewalk, following the remains of the pigeon that had challenged its engine. Somewhere down the street, Gary began to feel a little bit better for some reason. Phil had hauled himself out of the dumpster and walked over to the wrecked airship. He was warming his hands as he sat on the curb next to the raging fire. Slowly, a light spilled from the sky and illuminated Phil from above. A lone dove descended as a voice echoed close behind it. "Gary, my son whom I have sent." "No, I'm Phil." "Phil?" the Voice questioned. "Yeah, Phil. Gary already left. Some tosser pissed on him from a whirly bird then wrecked it into my storm drain." "Oh. You wouldn't happen to know where he's gone, would you, ...uh... Paul?" "Phil. And no. He just ran off. Probably somewhere with a bathroom and clothes though. I'm guessing home." "Home. Do you have an address?" "Course not! This is the first time we've met! Aren't you supposed to know that?" "Well, it's just that I've been rather busy lately and... uh... what with the war on and all..." "Your own son and you can't even get a hold of him." "Well I was here." "Yeah, 10 minutes after he skedaddled around the corner!" "I was stuck in traffic! There was a goddamn black mass on 8th and 17th! A black mass! Have you any idea what sort of trouble those cause deities?"
"So much for divine will..." "Oh sod off! Go back to your garbage can you good for nothing wanker!" Phil wandered back to his trashcan with an impromptu torch made out of a dismembered arm lying on the outskirts of the fire. The cockaroaches gathered back around to listen to the rest of his story, but all the rats had gone home to roost. Gary opened the door to his apartment and carefully walked inside, quickly discarding his clothing in the wastecan next to his toilet. He cranked the hot water handle and slunk into the tub as fast as he could. "Motherfucking pigs," he muttered as the water rose up around him. A theme that I do not believe is addressed nearly enough in life is that of the police. Many people will tell you I have some sort of good will involved in placing authority figures in charge of humanity, but the truth is I have absolutely fuck all to do with it. People just like to take charge and feel important. Invariably, when that happens, they have to push the limits further and further to sustain the power high they got from simply being a helpful public servant in the beginning. So never trust a cop. The ones who aren't back stabbing wankers just don't care enough to cut your legs out from underneath you. They're either completely lethargic or fuck up your life for enjoyment instead of actually getting some compensation, be it money or whatever. About the only worse than the enforcement has to be the establishment, those who make the rules in the first place. I'm not quite sure what it is about humanity and abuse of authority. It must be some intrinsic characteristic left over from ages of evolution and my previous attempts at meddling. Whatever the cause, humanity is not the better for it. Sure, there are some respectable individuals who genuinely care for others, but that's only because they're not actually in charge of anyone. Or they're brain damaged. Really, that's what it takes to be a good leader, brain damage. A very specific kind though. Most people fall short of it or completely over shoot it. Either way, it isn't pretty. The people had finally finished constructing the mighty sun temple within the center of their town. A day of celebration was held as everyone drank openly and puked more openly. They finally had established a purpose behind their existence and pursuits. The people knew that whatever they did, must be done in the name of the sun. The night that AllMighty, Good KingFather for Eternity (and then some more) Jeebs had passed away, he was canonized as the first incarnation of their solar father. All the people of Jeebopolis paid their respects at his memorial service, offering to his family the best that they could afford. Many presents were thrown away that night. Above it all, He watched and waited, wondering what would come of this and how He had gotten suspended in the midday air in the first place. He didn't quite know what to make of the altar or why so many families were sacrificing their unruly children upon it. If they didn't want their kids, why would He want them? Finally, after the shrill screams had begun to give Him a headache, He sent down a pillar of fire and the children were gone when it ascended back up into the heavens. For a while, humanity was pleased in its new purpose. The sun provided the warming rays that brought life and bounty to their fields, sustaining and growing the life within their city. They continued to prosper and lived peacefully and happily amongst the neighboring tribes who were freely welcomed amongst them. Then, one year, a drought struck. The sun was overbearing and no rain was had for weeks. Months began to trickle by as the crops lay amongst the dirt, little more than crusted remains and after thoughts. So the people looked to the heavens and questioned, wondering that if they worshiped the sun already, who must they turn to for that nourishing rain they so desperately needed. The philosopher interpreted another dream for them, one he had had many weeks ago at the start of the drought, although they did not know it was a drought at the time. He told them of walking through an endless
waste, mountains of sand spilling before and all around him. The further he trudged through the desert, the further his feet sunk into it until he felt that he was becoming the sand. The sun was sapping all the moisture his body could spare and he eroded into dust as he kept walking, looking for just an ounce of water. Slowly, the sun settled beneath the far horizon and darkness settled across the land. Then, the moon rose up from behind him, spreading a soft glow across the endless wastes. At that moment he had awoken to the welcome sound of rain pouring upon his roof. The people heard his words and were elated. They poured their combined efforts and resources into constructing a new temple to the moon, the Luna Tower, with its own altar in the city, just opposite the Solar Tower. Another festival came to pass and the streets ran with spilled alcohol and a widely varied assortment of regurgitated party foods. The people, once more, sacrificed what best they had, although a few learned to hold back this time, just in case. The next day, another memorial service was held for those who had died during the famine. They were known as The Lost and canonized as the Moon, Lost Luna looking down upon the land. Over Jeebopolis, He awoke once more, this time watching Himself slink into a slumber beneath the horizon. He slowly crawled up the darkened night sky, feeling His weight pulling upon the waters of the earth. He looked down at the nation and saw what His abundant rays and unchecked power had done to their crops, destroying nearly all of their sustenance. Finally, He wept for them, for the lost that He had taken in the midst of their service to Him. His tears welled up in the skies and poured out across the land, ending the famine He had unknowingly spread. "They loved me and I abandoned them. Yet, how was I supposed to know just what I was doing? They prayed to me for light and warmth and I gave them all that I could. Now many have died begging me to bring them rains and so rains I will give them." The people were overjoyed, dancing in the rains as the washed the dust from their streets and rejuvenated the rivers and ponds. Fish began to swim and children ran throughout the streets, hurtling themselves into the largest puddles they could find. The crops sprung back up and the animals were able to quench their thirst. Prosperity, once more, returned to the land of seven valleys and all the people were happy. However, the rains just kept pouring. Soon the rivers spilled over their banks and the waters rushed through the streets. What had been so welcoming of a life saver only weeks ago was now eroding the many foundations of the city. Crops and animals were swept away and homes began to sag and crumble. People climbed to whatever heights they could find and cowered before the furies of nature. Again, they cried to the philosopher, begging him to bring them a new god to pray to and so he peered into his dreams once more, searching for their savior in the heavens. He remembered another dream that had come to them with the mass memorial of The Lost. In this dream, he was beset by torrential, muddy flood waters washing everything away around him. He was left stranded upon a creaking wooden tower as it swayed and buckled in the rapid onslaught. Suddenly, the waters rose above him and he fell far below, all the way down to the bottom where he walked amongst the drowned fields and countryside. There, beneath the rising water, he caught a glimpse of color from the corner of his eye. He turned and walked to it, bouncing through the buoyant medium as he approached. He stooped low and peered upon the flower as it budded and grew, stretching ever higher through the waters. A field of lush grass and many colored flowers sprouted up all around him and the waters soon receded. He told the people of this and they rejoiced, constructing yet another temple between the two previously built temples. This time they erected the Parthenon of Gaia between the two mighty towers. An altar was built in the center of the holy construct and the people came and made many sacrifices upon it. There was a great feast and memorial where the graves of The Lost were dug again and refilled, placing those honored within back into their final rest that had been so blatantly and rudely disturbed by the rains. There, they canonized the earth itself, thanking it for entombing their sacred lost ones and begging it to drink up the rain waters so that their crops may flourish and the rains would cease. He awoke, for the third time, watching Himself chase Himself across the skies. He felt the many feet trotting upon Him as the people danced and rejoiced in praise at the birth of their new god. Cheerily, he absorbed and diverted the waters, begging Himself to give the people some rest so that their crops would have time to grow and that they may live their lives upon Him. He reassured Himself that a time for His rains would come once again, and the people would welcome His bounties once more. Solemnly, He agreed to this and ceased His rains until a time when the people would ask for it again.
With this, the waters passed and people's lives were enriched again. Their fields and hunts were prosperous as the life returned to the lands of their nation and surrounding seven valleys. He smiled upon the people and gave to them all that He could from his very being. They welcomed Him again and again, offering sacrifices from every one of His gifts to them. Until, one day, the lands started to rumble. Great rocks and walls of dirt were shaken loose and flooded their city. The land slid all around them, crashing through homes and buildings, pilling up against the walls and enveloping that which was not toppled before it. The people cried out to the philosopher again, begging him to bring them salvation, to rescue them from their growing plight. Once more, he looked into his dreams, harkening back to the day the rains had ceased. He saw himself sinking into a sort of molten earth as it flowed up around him. He struggled in the mire, but the more he moved, the deeper he sunk. His situation seemed inescapable as he was sucked beneath the rippling surface of earth that swallowed him up. Then roots grew about him, wrapping around his form and lifting him to the surface. Many roots propelled him back upon the earth as it rested still beneath him. When he broke the surface, a forest greeted his eyes, holding the earth at bay with their myriad of roots. He spoke this to the peoples and instructed them in the construction of a new temple and a new altar. Quickly, they complied, building as fast as they could. On top of the Parthenon of Gaia they constructed the Grotto of Fauna with its own altar standing in the center. The people gathered, offering their many sacrifices once more and celebrating the reward of their efforts. They held another memorial and, this time, enshrined the flowers growing upon the graves of their people. They called to the many plants to keep the earth in check and thanking them for all they had provided to the people of their nation. He awoke, feeling Himself beneath Him as He gave the sky over to Himself. He asked Himself, calmly and contritely, to keep Himself in check. He instructed Himself to give way to Himself so that the people may live once more upon Himself and of Himself. Amongst His many limbs, the people walked, ran, danced and gathered up their bounty from Him. He welcomed them as they thanked Him for all that He had done and once more their nation prospered. He offered pieces of Himself to them each time they came needing food, goods or shelter. Their artisans shaped these fragments of His being into totems and relics of Himself, carrying Him into their homes and praying to Him daily. But, as their numbers grew once more, He began to spread, intertwining with their city which He had largely left untouched. At first, it was welcomed by the people until His numbers were too many. His roots cracked the walls of their homesteads as they crept up their sides. His seeds littered everything and His once cherished blossoms now spread their pollen thick across the city. People choked upon the pollen and their homes crumbled around them as the city was over grown with greenery. Again, they turned to the philosopher, asking him for deliverance. He searched back into his mind and memories, finding a dream that had come to him with the budding of the first flower upon the wayward land. In this dream, he was lifted off the ground, entangled in a mass of roots and branches. Uselessly, he struggled against them, but the more he broke and cast away, the more would grow and wrap around him. He was continually ensnared anew each time he desperately made effort to be free of his organic bonds. He relented to their woody grip, his body sagging in the weight of their embrace. He herd a strange cracking and groaning, opening his eyes to see a great beast gnawing on the branches that entangled him. The beast effortlessly ripped them from the trees, freeing him of his bonds and set him upon his feet once more. The people quickly set about erecting a new temple. Around the Parthenon of Gaia, they constructed the Labyrinth of Anima, with an altar standing at each one of the four entrances facing the four cardinal directions. When the Labyrinth of Anima was completed, they celebrated and made many sacrifices upon the altars. The midst of the labyrinth resounded with the cheers and laughter of the many people as the celebration peaked and waned throughout the night. Many disrobed citizens drearily wondered through the midst of it, desperate for an exit as they sought some solace for their hangover. When all had recovered and assembled, a ceremony was held in honor of the beast spirit that would deliver them from the unending overgrowth of plants. He awoke, stretching His many beings as He scattered across Himself, roosting within the branches of Himself and being nurtured by Himself of the morning sky and Himself of the evening sky. He asked Himself to quell his growing in favour of the peoples who had beseeched Him and He relented at His request. The people thanked Him for this, welcoming a field of crops they could actually harvest and benefit from. They hunted Him and each time He was struck down by them so that they may live of Him, they would thank Him for His sacrifice and He would forgive them the pain they caused with the cost of their living. He nurtured them as they grew once
more and watched as their city spread across Himself. He would light their fields and bring them warmth and He would water their fields and bring them water. He would sustain their fields and offer them foundation and He would be their fields and offer them sustenance. Now He watched their fields, keeping them in check and lived amongst man once more. Over the years, the great nation of Jeebopolis was insurmountably prosperous. It stretched across all of the seven valleys and was composed of all the tribes there within. Its many peoples traveled the earth, spreading their news of Him and His works through their stories, history and civilization. The land was peaceful as the many travelers and tribesmen lived across it for they had no differences. Soon, the tribes sprouted gods of their own to watch over them and provide for them. Minor deities would spring up over the land, like the daisies of the fields or herpes after the good sort of parties. However, all this time in peace and prosperity had caused another to go unnoticed. You would be very surprised as to the actual amount of power the typical human holds over the universe. Well, perhaps not the typical human, but what the typical human used to be. You, you just don't care enough about the universe in general or yourself to hold the sway your kind once did. It used to be the simple thoughts or belief of enough people could seemingly alter reality itself. What it was was a thirst for knowledge. Back in those days, there were no explanations for anything. People would witness natural wonder and were forced to conceive these explanations and events for themselves. Thus you have lightning hurtled by Gods and thunder being holy flatulence. These days, things are completely different. Now, humanity is spoon fed answers for everything it can conceivably come across in its indoctrinational period, otherwise known as school. Sure, you've gained a lot of benefit through science and education, but you've also lost an incredible amount of belief, curiosity and imagination in the process. Yeah, there are still some great thinkers amongst you, but the laymen no longer care. When the explanations grow that complicated, they see their interference or participation as impossible. Indeed, even the answers you provide them are unknowable to them. So they leave it to their contemporary gods and prophets, the sciences and their servants. Really, the more unlikely an explanation, the easier it is to believe it. You may go on about right and wrong answers, but I ask you if you will ever have a right answer. Or, if you do happen across one due to whatever accident you've made, how will you possibly know it to be right? You may believe it or convince yourself it is right. You may tell everyone you can find that it is, but will they believe you? Probably not. Tell a man that thunder is the movement of air particles striking against his eardrum having been set in motion by a static discharge that has built up in the clouds and he will not know what so say. You use complicated language and convey complex ideas and he'll think you're some how superior to him, but your answer is still all greek. Tell a man that thunder was the hammer of the gods crashing down upon his opponent's brow and he'll whole heartedly agree. A man can hold a hammer. He's struck wood many times with that hammer. He knows the sound it makes and he can make it again any time he wants to, so long as he has that hammer available. So if a man must believe, or if you must have that man believe, you must give him something he can understand before you can expect him to possibly believe it. That's probably why the trinity has such a hard time for nonChristians or Hinduism and Buddhism are so hard to grasp to their respective outsiders. If you just don't get it, why the fuck would you believe it? Gary woke that midafternoon feeling rather more upbeat than normal. For one, he didn't have a raging hang over and his hands weren't animated like some cartoon rodent wearing monstrous, white gloves. In celebration, he decided to go to the park. He noticed an unusual number of people seeming to watch and even follow him as he went. By the time he had arrived at the park, the crowd had grown to a substantial size. He tried to speak to them, but they simply pressed in and kept touching his clothes. It was beginning to make him very nervous. A small rowboat passed behind him and he leapt at the rapturous water vessel. The single patron of the rowboat was very startled, but when he noticed the crowd, he understood Gary's desperation.
"Man, these people are freaking me out, man! You gotta get me out of here," Gary nervously gnawed on his thumb as his teeth chattered the words. The man nodded solemnly and piloted the small boat out to the center of the duck pond. "Alright people, you can't just keep following me everywhere, man... s. I've got stuff to do and stuff. I don't have time for this sort of stuff, man. Don't you have hobbies or something? I know I'm awesome and everything, but you've got to keep your cool. You can't just chase people down and follow them everywhere. They have things they want to do to. Like, what if they want to go to the bathroom, huh? Did you ever think of that?" The people murmured collectively, postulating the possibility of the predicament they had posed upon his person. Slowly, the crowd recognized its wrong doings and petered out along the coast of the pond. Gary let out a sigh of relief and collapsed in a heap upon the boat. He rested a while, drifting off as the boat drifted off from the waning crowd on the coast. As he slept, the pond began to grow rougher. Waves built up upon the surface, even reaching up to three feet high. Birds cried out as they circled the vessel, waiting for the occupants to spill into the mirky water so that they may feast upon the bloated corpses that would resurface. The boatman began to grow very afraid as he fought with the rudder, trying to draw the boat to the opposite shore before it was turned over or they were otherwise wetted. He cried out, waking Gary as he slept amongst his tackle box and beer cooler. "Hey! Hey guy! Wake the fuck up! It's storming out, we're going to get wet!" Clouds had collected over the torrential pond as the winds whipped the boat lazily. Gary sat up and rubbed his eyes, gathering himself back to consciousness. "What? Whaaaaaaaat? What is it?" "A storm, man! Can't you tell!" "So?" "So what if we get wet? Come on, do something!" Gary threw the boatman his jacket and went back to sleep. "You've saved us! You sacrificed yourself so that I may stay dry!" He collapsed in front of Gary, bowing deeply and weeping as he kissed his feet. "Whatever you want, sir! I'll give you anything." "Just let me get some sleep already!" The boatman quietly returned to steering, weeping as he held the jacket, the rains pouring down and soaking the both of them. After another 5 minutes, the drizzle had passed and the boat approached the opposite shore. The boatman helped Gary out of the boat and onto the shore. As he looked up, he noticed the masses reassembling around him. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?! I told you to leave me alone!" "The master speaks," exclaimed one of the many lost in the midst of the crowd. "Master? What? Who the hell are you people!" "Your humble servants, sir. Teach us!" "Teach you what? Who do you think I am?" "You're he that comes in shadow of God, aren't you sir?" "What the hell are you people on!?" He charged through the side of the crowd, speeding off as fast as he could before collapsing twenty yards down the path. The mass surged up around him before he could return to his feet. They hoisted him aloft, carrying him through the park and chanting loudly. "All hail the coming of the Lord! Welcome he that is Phil the bagman!" "Phil?! PHIL?! My name is GARY!" The crowd was silenced. The muttered amongst one another as they stood frozen in their steps. Finally, a consensus was reached and Gary tumbled to the ground. The drifted off, murmuring about false signs and sacred doves. Gary was left in a cloud of dust of rubbing his ass as he rose to his feet. "Your jacket, sir." Gary turned to see the boatman kneeling before him, his jacket held outstretched in reverent hands. "Oh give it a rest!" Gary kicked the man in the chest and ran off before he could get back up.
The single most powerful moment in any man's life has to consist solely of utter disappointment. Nothing is quite as disastrous to man or the general continuity of the universe, the very fabric of reality, as watching a man raise a premise to an absolute certainty and then having it fall apart in front of him, slipping through his very fingers. People like to talk a��big game about lost love and broken hearts, but no tragedy is as great as losing that which you never had in the first place. The problem with lost love and all that mess is that it never turns out to be as great as you really expected it to be in the first place. However, if you never actually achieved that holy grail, then the expectation is never lowered. Instead, you lose the perfection that you knew was yours. So close, and then right through your fingers before you can barely even register it slipping away. Most times though, people really don't care enough about whatever they were chasing in the first place to really miss it when it's finally gone. Hell, they hardly even notice. He watched the city as it spread, each new age bringing a newer incarnation of Him for them to worship. Every time, He tried to do His best, to use every ounce of his power and ability for the aid and benefit of the people. He wasn't even selfish about it; He would work just as hard to bless the nonbelievers as the believers. In the end though, the people were forced to develope more and more Hims as a means of balancing Him out. Before He could figure out what had happened, He was inhabiting nearly every single roack in the mountains and tree in the forest. Of course, now it should probably be every Rock of the Mountains and Tree in the Forest. Not that the people really cared. Yeah, they would have their troubles time and again, but each new problem that arose, they came up with a new god for it and every thing was cheeky again. It seemed to work well enough each time they had required it in the past and He always responded to their prayers. Granted, it was with a certain overzealous aptitude, but you could hardly fault Him for that, could you? As the ages passed, He grew to innumerable quantities and the people were ever continually prosperous. Prosperity became such a regular description of their national growth that it was almost an insult to them. Instead, they developed greater degrees of prosperity, such as Prosperity, Prosper Plus and Ultra Cow Town Magna Prospero. There was even a rumored Double Mega Prosperity that was passed in hushed whispers amongst patrons of dark alleys and selective, underground night clubs. Soon, the prosperity had grown so extensively prosperous that even exclusive party clubs couldn't keep the commoners away. Even the most elite establishments were being over crowded on wedsnday nights, not to mention the weekends. People quit going to clubs on the weekends due to the size of the crowds and only attended in the middle of the week. It wasn't long until friday and saturday night would bring no income even to the most notorious establishments. Shortly after that, people started only going to unpopular clubs and, before anyone knew what was happening, the city consisted entirely of losers. No one wanted to have fun on weekends and what had been the most popular businesses were now facing bankruptcy. And then it began. Finding the city of Jeebopolis devoid of any nightlife, the nerds moved in. They rolled across the plains of the seven valleys and swept into the cities before the sentries could sound an alarm. They flooded the book stores and basements, spilling out onto the streets due to their sheer numbers. Nerds would argue amongst one another about the appropriate hit dice for a level 37 halfDraenae sorcerer and whether that archetype was even possible. They spread stories of player characters so powerful the Game Master's were forced to lace their beverages with mild hallucinogens in an attempt to disable their problem solving skills. The legends of mighty barbarians gilded in exotic animal furs wrapped haphazardly around their genitalia, of mysterious spell casters whose egos were only bested by their hats, of treacherous rogues who could steal the boogers of your nose before you could even stir passed through the mortar and gutters of the city. Children whispered them to one another, the details and heroics becoming ever more embellished. Soon the people chatted openly of Vral Thunderbane, whose mighty oaken club (tree, really) could crush mountains with a near miss. They gasped at the mention of Slivoculi Silmeran, the wizard who shaped reality with an unwary sneeze.
They shuddered in fright at the thought of Tyrstel the unmentioned, a thief whose prowess and reputation alone could steal the shadow out from under a rock made of eyeballs. Story after story circulated throughout the land, frightening, jading or delighting whoever they came across. However, none of the heroes ever arrived to reaffirm the tales. The nerds began to grow frustrated at the lack of living legends amongst their midst. Their fervent fanboy worship was dwindling as it was held without any sight of reassurance. The culmination of idolatrous fervor and subsequent cavity of frustration led people to forget their gods. All the carefully established rituals that had built up over a period of years, about six of them to be precise, were going unheeded. People made mention of the gods only in times of hardship or holiday. The clergy grew despondent and jealous. They gathered before the nerds, challenging them to produce evidence of their heroes. The nerds countered with demands of proof of their gods. “Proof? Can’t you see the rocks of the earth, the mountains, trees and homesteads? Do you not see the moon and sun above us or the Earth herself that brings us all our life? Our gods are plain as day, seen and needed by everyone of us. What will you do without the wheat and grains to feed you? Without the waters to quench your thirst? Without the trees to provide your shelter? Or without the animals to offer you goods? The gods are kind gods, providing and caring for every one of us, even the unbelievers like you. You who has grown so distracted by man he can not see the bounty of the Earth Mother, Gaia, or feel the warmth of the Sun Father, Sol.” “Sol? Gaia? Luna and Fauna? All of these are just things! When was the last time you heard the earth call to you? When was the last time you saw a mountain cross the land? When was the last time even the ambulatory bear ventured to save a maiden from despair? If those are certainly great and powerful gods, then why don’t we hear their stories instead?” The clergy were stumped. The gods had never been questioned before, much less by such a gaggle of utter nerds. Who were these socially inept rejects to question the nature of divinity? Yet, cry out as they might, they still could not counter the accusations made by their bespectacled opposition. Instead, they offered a counter. They agreed to accept the legends of the heroes provided the nerds could offer more substantial evidence for their existence. Even if the former gods weren’t actual deities, their physical manifestations were still plainly seen by all. The clergy posited that this should not be considered excessive as a basis for belief. After all, how could they ask anyone to believe what they could not see and did not feel for themselves? The nerds accepted and pondered. It is absolutely dumbfounding how not only the nature of faith, but its quality as well, has so shifted throughout the span of humanity. Visual evidence used to be a precept for belief by even the less skeptical laymen of the time during the early ages of humanity. Their deities weren’t abstract figures lurking beyond a realm of gender or physical existence, but were concrete parts of their world which they interacted with on a regular basis. If you’re familiar with the particular sect of Judaism, you’ll know that the Bible talks extensively of man walking with god in the Garden of Eden and at other times. Even the Hindu text of the Baghavad Gita has direct interaction between the human Arjuna and the great incarnation of their deity Sri Krishna. Again, we see man directly interacting with god. Only in more contemporary religions, Christianity, Islam and other monotheistic traditions, do we see an abstract nature of the existence of god. God is said not to exist on the human, physical side of the universe, but above it somewhere. These thoughts always made me wonder where I’m supposed to be in the ethereal realm of Heaven while all The Saved prance around in their newly reconstructed physical bodies. Am I somewhere beyond ethereal? Am I just a whole new level humanity is incapable of perceiving? Maybe I’ll move to a dimension that mankind has to use an imaginary letter to designate? But, if there’s a message to this, it’s very clearly not to underestimate nerds. Fervent obsession of that caliber is rarely manifested without results. Unless, of course, the nerds don’t believe it to actually exist in the first place. A saving grace for modern society.
Gary wandered fitfully through the city. He happened across an unusually wide alley and walked down it, staring at the trash spilling from the dumpsters on either side. He reached the back wall and ran his hand across it, feeling the rough brick and cheap mortar edifice dragging against his palm. As he turned back to the alley's entrance, he spotted something. An empty box was sitting behind a small outcropping of the wall. It's prior inhabitant had built a small, makeshift dwelling with an old tarp and some rope. The box was mostly unfolded and braced against the two walls behind it. Along its sides were scrawled a collection of elaborate drawings interspersed with various words and statements. He approached the humble dwelling and crouched down underneath the tarp. Looking at the drawings more closely, he noticed they were intricately more complex than he had originally thought. What appeared to be a simple depiction of some ancient hunt bloomed into an entire world throughout the ages. He saw the birth of the universe and the expansion of the cosmos. He saw the creation of the Earth and its sun. He saw life growing upon it and gathering into tribes that erupted into civilizations throughout the ages. There was something else scrawled upon the wall as well. An end to the story, to time and to everything lay at the top of the wall. He couldn't tell what exactly it was. There appeared to be two men, the greater one peering down upon the Earth with his arms spread wide as if to welcome them all. The lesser man was standing atop the world, his arms folded and his eyes downcast in defiance. From the center of the Earth and the center of the greater man, something bright and magnificent was blooming, a flower made of scarlet and fire. The image was rather incomprehensible to Gary, but he could not take his eyes off of it. He folded his legs underneath him and stared at the collective visage, tracing multiple paths through time along the mural. Every time, his finger inevitably stopped at the duo. "Wayward moles lost amongst the unending knolls." The thought flitted through his mind. He held it for a moment, staring at the visage without really seeing anything. Time slipped past him as he relaxed, mulling the thought within the depths of his consciousness. A spire aspiring to pile a pyre… Unending endings ending the end… Fearful fighters flitting on in flight… Let us find ourselves amongst the all. He sat with his palm resting upon the wall. He felt Gary’s palm resting upon His face. Gary drifted amongst the depths of His mind as I watched myself sitting, a wall beneath my palm. There are no answers or questions in life, merely subjections. I waited for something, something Gary will never find as He sat, the mural becoming a part of me as I leaned against the wall. “Just what am I, Gary?” “Really, what are you, Gary? What are you?” “Who is He? Where is He going?” “Why am I going anywhere? I thought I was only sitting.” The world was lost to me, at that moment. It had become a part of everything and a part of me. I found Gary and myself as He found everything, but couldn’t see it. What shall I be left to now, Gary asked himself, the wall. “Be that which…” he began. Stuttering as Gary tried to vocalize my words. “Be that which…” I tried again, urging Him to speak with me. “Be that which where will what will be done.” Be everything, I had told Him. Be nothing, He had said to Gary. Be. Simply be. Just be. Be. Be me becoming myself. "My words are empty," GarI said. And W/we waited.
You are not yourself. The world is never itself. Nothing is really anything. Find yourself amongst the fragments you leave behind and you may find what you once had thought to be your life. Disappointing, isn't it?
He watched the city, speculating what would come of the recent disturbances. The nerds had been hard at work. Once the ultimatum had been delivered, they decided that they would not fail. Thus, they scattered across the lands, flying from the city and spreading chaos and destruction in every direction in an attempt to weed out the great Heroes of whom they had spoken. Town after town feel before the awful wrath of their nerds, until they realized they were loosing to nerds. The barbarian tribes stood up against the coming onslaught. Wedgies were delivered, books were thrown away and feet were left out in the hallways and roads. Nerds lay sprawled across the land, their pants at various positions and some with a growing collection of items stuffed in their anus. With this violent turn of events, they regrouped and planned once again. This time, they spread across the lands calling for help. Hordes chased them across all of the known world and even out into the unknown world. Surveyors and cartographers were called in to plot and map out the new territories so that the nerds may be pursued more efficiently. There would not be a nerd left unwedgied. When the last nerd found himself backed into a corner, he let out the cry of a fifteen year old girl seeing her favorite boy band live for the first time. A thundering boomed across the land and the sky grew dark. Upward stares were greeted by a lumbering mass plummeting from the sky. A great roar of a battle cry was let loose as the full weight of the titanic tree/club crashed upon the head and shoulders of the band's leader. He exploded in a mess of bone and entrails. The people stared, mouths agape at the terrible sight. Before any reactions could be registered, the unknown man from the heavens hoisted his great club/tree once more and let loose a flurry of blows. Bodies and fragments therefore of scattered across the land as the earth was painted red with pink and grayish highlights. The crowd tried to flee, but the newcomer flung a rock up into the hillside next to them, causing a landslide that mutilated another dozen men and trapped the rest with their attacker. They scrambled and screamed, thrusting one another in front of them in futile efforts to alay the force of the mountain he swung at them. Showers appendages somewhat ungracefully removed from their previous hosts splattered across the countryside for miles to come. Onlookers from the great city of Jeebopolis would comment on an odd, reddish mist far off the south that day. The blood lingered in the atmosphere for almost a full week, adding an irony tint and scent to the coming rains. The plants enjoyed it, however, so people didn't complain. As the indignant fury subsided, the hulking brute of a man turned to the wailing nerd cowering underneath a shrub. He wistfully plucked the shrub from the earth and cast it aside, staring down at whatever it was that had made such an ear shattering scream. "Oh... it's a ... man," he muttered disappointedly and began to walk away. The nerd peered up from his exposed position and took stock of his situation. He sprung to his feet and chased after the retreating figure. "Sir! Sir! Good Sir, please wait!" The nerd panted as he collapsed upon the brute's feet. The brute stopped and poked at what he still thought might be a man with the end of his club. "What is it?" he huffed at the huddled lump. "Thank you for saving me! I don't know what those heathens would have done to me if it hadn't been for you!" "Heard a scream. Came to save the girl. Found you. Go away." "Disappointed, I guess? Well, worry not, I can repay you for your efforts." The brute's eyebrows piqued at the mention of payment. He waited quietly. "Well, you must be thirsty. Here, you may have my wineskin for starters." The brute quaffed the contents of the wineskin in a single gulp and let out a belch even more tremendous than his battlecry. "Is good, but what else?" "Well, there will be plenty more where that came from. And those women you were hoping for? Plenty of women." "You don't look like you would know any women."
"Well, no. I don't know them personally. But when I bring you to the city, you'll have more than you could handle!" The brute began counting on his fingers, stopping after three. He looked up at the nerd with a suspicious eye cast upon him. "It had better be more than three." "Yes! Plenty more. Don't worry! And all you have to do is" "I already saved you. Why should I have to do more?" "Well, because I don't have any of this with me... at the moment." The brute shouldered past the nerd and continued on to the pile of rubble blocking the exit to the pass. He began flicking boulders away as the nerd ran up to him again. "But I know where you can get them all and whatever else you want!" The brute paused and huffed. "Where?" "In the city, the great nation of Jeebopolis!" "Never heard of it." He flicked another boulder into a mountain, causing a minor landslide that raised the ocean depth three feet due to the displaced material entering it. "It's just back there, where I came from!" The nerd pointed, gesturing wildly to try and distract the brute from clearing his path. The brute sighed and finally acquiesced to return to Jeebopolis with the nerd. After a few more minutes of clearing rubble, he got bored and threw a hill out of the way instead. The nerd and the brute ventured into the city, gasps and stares following them the whole way through. They walked directly up to the High Temple of Everythingness that was erected out of the old palace. The High Priest of Everythingness stood waiting for them on the steps of the temple, having been sent word by a guard on the city walls warning him of a nerd being followed by a gargantuan ogre wielding a club obviously hewn from the world tree itself. He greeted the two travelers with a contingent of the city's scariest guards he could muster. More than a few tribesmen from the outskirts of their civilization were in attendance, but even these were dwarfed not only by the ambulatory mountain, but his titanic weapon as well. The shuffled back slowly until a sharp hiss from the High Priest halted them. The priest peered down from his levee of guards at the duo approaching and the crowd collecting at what they hoped was a safe distance away. "And what is this... thing you've brought before me? Is this supposed to be one of your 'heroes'?" he spat the word out as if to remove the sour taste it produced in his mouth. "Of course it is! Look at him. He's a lumbering mountain of a man carrying a club the size of your palace! He travels the lands of the earth fighting evil and disciplining people who bounce checks." "So he's an accountant then... Hardly deeds worthy of the tales you've been spreading." "Bitch! You see that club he's carting? This motherfucker aint no fucking accountant! He threw a mountain at a rampaging horde of barbarians and saved my life! Blood and guts just raining from the sky! I tell you man, the eighth plain will forever grow red grass after that display." The priest contemplated the significance of what the excited nerd was telling him. He quickly dismissed the story as an elaborated falsehood and countered by pushing the nearest guard at the nerd. The nerd shrieked and jumped back, his high pitched squeal shattering glass and inviting the baying of dogs for miles around. The brute's face contorted at the noise and he instinctively swung a back hand at the nerd, propelling him through a nearby building that subsequently collapsed upon him. The crowd stood awestruck at the violent outbreak and six of the remaining guards had wet themselves. The brute clambered up the steps to the line of quivering guards, clutching their various instruments of death in shaking hands, and the High Priest behind them. He looked up into the eyes of the Priest with a stare that could send the Devil himself back into hiding. Really, he was trying to remember how to speak. "You. Girls and wine. Now." The priest fainted. "Excuse me, good sir." A lone boy had stepped from the crowd behind the brute. "But what is your name and what is your purpose here?" "Vral Thunderbane. Here for wine, women and gold." "And might we ask why you have dispatched your previous escort so spontaneously?" "Was annoying. Made a sudden move too close to me." The boy contemplated this and a small murmur rippled through the crowd.
"And was he the last of the nerds?" "Only one I've seen." A jubilant cry erupted from the crowd. They danced forward, attempting to hoist Vral upon their shoulders and carry him through the streets. Instead, six of their numbers were crushed under his weight, so they settled on walking him through instead. They paraded him directly to the best house in the city and gathered all the liquor they could find along the way. When the owner of the mansion protested, they kicked him out of the city, right over the side of a 30 foot wall. Few other objections were met after this event. The party raged for a week. After which, a scouting band was sent out to procure more liquor from near by settlements. Upon their return, the party continued for another three and a half weeks. Once the town finished recuperating, they brought Vral Thunderbane to the high temple. The people proclaimed him a champion of their city and lived for some time under his rule. When it finally became apparent that he had no interest in politics or any idea what so ever how to even run a nation, they quickly relegated his position to an honorary title and moved back to their old system of politics. However, the excitement of the presence of Vral Thunderbane within their city failed to die down. Focus was shifted from the nation’s traditional deities and religious worship became a thing of the past or for holidays. Soon people spent most of their time spilling the old stories of Vral’s deeds or attempting to get into his good graces. Vral lived like a king. The admiration given to him by the people was nearly over whelming, but he certainly tried his best. It wasn’t long before Vral received his first formal challenge. There had been numerous fights up until that point, drunken brawls ending in the destruction of some section of city and the deaths counted in scores, but this was the first formal challenge. A man approached his house bearing a large sword, nearly the same height as him, strapped to his back. He stood outside Vral’s front door and screamed his challenge. Vral wearily opened his bedroom window and peered down at the man. The newcomer voiced his challenge up to the window. There was a stir from inside as Vral walked around his room for a bit. He returned to the window with an old mug and threw it through the man's torso. What remained of the challenger stared at the gaping hole that was turning most of his insides into outsides and then collapsed upon the ground. It was a while before another challenger approached. After the fifth challenger lay dead outside Vral's favourite restaurant, the front half of a spoon protruding out the back of his skull, Vral decreed that all challengers would be fought in the city's arena. Up until that point, it had only hosted the children's science fair and occasional billiards tournaments. The following Friday, Vral invited all challengers to fight him on that day. An hour and forty five minutes later, the arena now hosted two hundred and seventeen corpses, as well as three fifths of a corpse hanging from one of the walls. Wild dogs were released to dispatch the remains and then the town feasted upon them that night. Most people regarded it as "a rather pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon." With that, Vral demanded that every third Sunday he would fight any and all challengers in the arena. The rapidly growing population of the city soon began to dwindle.
Never, never, NEVER underestimate a nerd. Even if it may lack the required ability, things are still likely to go against you. They may not go in the nerd's favour, but the certainly won't go in yours. Other then that, keep an eye on your heroes. Most of them just enjoy killing and are pretty twisted fucking cunts. Anyone praised for bloodshed should have many a suspicious eyebrow raised when regarding their character.
He awoke in a dark place. An odd noise hummed over his head and a cold wind sent chills down his exposed spine. He fumbled to sit up, searching for some boundary to his location. He ran his hands along the wall closest to him, searching for the source of the noise. At the moment of standing upon his bed in an ever rising search for the source of the sound, he remembered it was just his air conditioner. A wave of relief and then dissapointment settled over him as he fell on his way out of bed, striking his jaw upon the hardwood floor and twisting his wrist as he tried to catch himself. "One of those days..." he muttered while lying upon the floor, wondering whether he should persist or desist. He remembered his car keys the moment his door closed and locked behind him. Fortunate for him, he had taken the door key off of his key ring when he had used it to pick his office lock the previous night. Unfortunately for him, the key jammed in the lock and then broke when he tried to pull it loose. The familiar wave of another small death washed over him. In a brief moment of excitement, he remembered his cellphone and decided to call work and explain first and then the locksmith second. In a subsequent moment of disappointment, he discovered his cellphone's battery had cracked and ruined the pocket of his sports jacket, along with a missing twenty dollar bill with the remains of a stripper's phone number written upon it. He looked at his watch, noticing that he was still 15 minutes ahead of schedule. He congratulated himself on his timeliness in lieu of the mornings occurrences. A half a block later, he noticed his watch had stopped. His heart raced as he pounded to the bus stop, barely catching it in time. He bounded through the closing door and dropped his change into the meter then collapsed upon his seat. He gave a sidelong glance back at the bus stop as he rounded the corner. There, pulling away from the stop, was the bus he needed to go to work. At that moment, he realized he was traveling southbound instead of northbound.
He bounded off of the bus as fast as he could. Of course, with his luck this day it just had to have been an express line. He spotted a payphone and ran for it, rummaging through his pocket for spare change. He tripped six feet away from the payphone, scattering the handful of loose coins across the parking lot. A small trickle of blood trailed him from his palm and chin as he scuttled around the asphalt hell, collecting his coins. As he dropped the exact change into the coin slot, he lifted the receiver in time to notice it's cord was cut. He pressed the money return lever, but it broke off in his hand. While looking around for another pay phone, he finally noticed the man with a large coat and larger handgun standing behind him. He slumped against the side of the building and began laughing to the world and sobbing to himself.
He finally reached work at just before noon. He plowed up the steps, not daring to brave the elevator in the midst of the lunch break rush. He only had five floors to go, he continually reminded himself as he raced up the stairwell. Only three more. Just one and a half more flights of stairs. Only two more flights. Now just one more. He peered out of the stairwell in a dazed frenzy. This was not his floor... He glanced at the number and realized he had missed it by two levels. He cursed as he flew out the door, tripped on an abandoned door stop and tumbled down the stairs. He fall was broken, but not before his nose was, by his boss's secretary stepping out of the correct stairwell. Blood sprayed onto her fresh, white blouse as he lay with his face firmly planted in her bosom, still recovering from a daze. He came to just in time to see his boss peaked out the door way at the behest of the frantic woman's screaming. "You're fired," was all he heard before passing out.
He was standing in his bosses office, ripped and rolled toilet paper thrust into the bleeding nostrils as he finished excitedly muffling replies, defenses and explanations at his wary boss. "You're still fired," was all that came from the man's lips. Gary wasn't even graced with a change of expression. He couldn't believe it. The inhumanity of it all... He slammed his fists on the desk and started speaking louder, trying to keep his calm but still make his point. Awareness of his situation began slipping from him. When he finally realized what he was doing, he was a crumpled ball on the floor with a puddle of urine growing in the crotch of his pants as a few security guards kicked him again and again. He felt a sharp pain in his side as one of the guards screamed misused racial obscenities and vulgarities at him with a Canadian accent and smacked staple after staple into his ribs. In a surprising burst of motion and desperation, he sprung off the floor and bounded over the desk. He managed to catch a glimpse of sheer terror on his boss's face as he hung in midair for a second before crashing into him with all the force of an underweight pot head. The chair toppled backwards and he rolled across the floor, breaking through something behind him. The look on his boss's face made everything worthwhile, until he felt himself slip out of the window and drop. He wasn't quite sure what had happened or what was happening. Between the several mild concussions, the psychological near amnesiatic state and the adrenaline coursing into his brain, he ended up a very confused individual rocketing through the sky. He was traveling somewhere and in quite a hurry too. That was about all he could figure out. He turned his head to look behind him and see where he was going. The realization of his predicament hit him in about the same manner the ground would in another five seconds. He closed his eyes, tears streaming along his face as the wind whipped up past him. He didn't see his life or his dreams flashing before him. For a while, he didn't see anything. Then it came, a bright point of light at some infinite distance in front of him. No matter where he looked, all he could see was the beyond black inkiness enveloping him and this inconceivable point of light out in front of him. Then it exploded. The cosmos ruptured around him. Well, the space around him ruptured into the cosmos. The entire universe unrolled itself before him, pressing our the wrinkles in its robe. Finally, Gary caught it's eye. "Excuse me, but what are you doing here?" the universe asked him. "Me? I'm just falling... passing through. Or on. I guess." "Pardon?" "Well, I'm falling from this building, so I'm about to die." "Are you so sure of that?" Gary pondered this for a moment. "The ground is beneath me, the sky is above me and there's about another hundred meters until I hit. So, yeah, I'm pretty sure." "Look again." Everything winked out around him as his eyelids slowly openned. Gary looked around, searching for what the universe had been talking about. He saw the sky. He saw the building. He saw the window washers. He saw... His inventory was interrupted by the resounding whump as he impacted into the softish trash filled dumpster. As he came to, he noticed a smell. Then he noticed the surrounding faces of a crowd of people. Finally, he noticed the very odd, squishy and warm feeling in the seat of his trousers. Quietly, he wished himself dead.
People can die from many different things. Get scared suddenly or hard enough and you'll have a heart attack. People have even died of heartbreak, just loosing their will to live. You know what people don't die of? Embarrassment. Know why? Because it's too goddamn funny to let them off easy. Ages had passed since any of the city's people had come to Him. It seemed all they ever did was fight and fuck these days, interspersed with the occasional drinking binges. He remembered a time when the people had prayed to Him and praised Him for everything. Ever since the heroes had come to town, they had ignored Him more and more often. His temples had quickly degraded in their maintenance and prestige. Why, the High Tower of Interminably Tall Heights had become a brothel before it finally collapsed and then another brothel sprung up in the ruins. Soon the entire city had slunk into a mire of despicable waste and endless want. The heroes had only stayed for a relatively short time. After all semblance of order had withered from the city, a few of the heroes had remained for a while. When the novelty of constant violence wore off or the blood began to stain their assortment of loin cloths and robes, they finally departed. Soon, their names were relegated to that of legends. Stories passed of their exploits from various travelers, the ones who dared to venture within the walls of Jeebopolis, of their actions and adventures. People would speak of men leaping out of the sky to behead a dragon that had devoured half of their caravan. They spoke of men speaking dark words as the hordes of ravenous sheep plaguing their once proud villages dissapeared in a flash of flaming wool. Other reports of great holy men, wielding titanic hammers and mauls who could call fire and lightning from the gods with only their humble words also came to the city. The people took these stories to heart, remembering the past deeds that had personally witnessed or participated in. As the chaos spread more thoroughly through the city, seeping into the very flagstones of its streets, the people turned to the heroes. They made offerings and begged the winds to carry their words to the heroes anywhere willing to come and quell the forces rapidly growing beyond all control. They were met with intermediate and temporary responses.