Ch. 10, Satan’s Revenge

Big Black Hole

The CIA Goes to Hollywood made its debut in Amerika’s innumerable outdoor, walk-thru cinemas. But, while the nation laughed, Governor Chuck Bollocks was not amused. He quit his job with the CIA, changed his name to Saint Asshole, or Azole, or whatever, and began to plot how he could destroy Me. He called all the generals and military experts in the world for advice and learned that no one had the faintest idea of how to find let alone kill, destroy or blow up even the smallest god or angel.

Next, Saint Azole assembled a team of astro-proctologists. Their search led them to an unknown region behind Washington, to the cave of Septagon, the most fearsome and insatiable dragon. Septagon regularly swallowed up half of the world’s energy and resources, so they calculated that with a little help it could easily devour God.

To lure Me into Septagon’s cave, they transformed his cave into the world’s prettiest church with a “Holy Hole” in the center. Next, they transformed the dragon into a cute little infant and put it at the bottom of the Holy Hole, where it cried most pitifully.

Of course, I wasn’t fooled. But, just for fun, I travelled through the Earth and entered the pit undetected and horizontally. Seeing the evil kid, I gave it a lollipop and chocolate kisses that inspired it to sing, “God is sweet, so I lo-o-o-ve God,” words that spelled doom and unemployment for the astro-proctologists. Before they could infer what had happened, I emerged unscathed from the pit in full view of my enemies, all female scientists who called me “a cruel old man” because I didn’t bring the brat up! That infuriated Me. I told them in rhyme, “I’m sure the Earth will give birth within the month, and when she does, don’t call Me. I do not do breastmilk miracles.”

I was right. Of course I was. So, the whole scheme came to nothing and evolved into a new scheme. Saint Azole figured if abandoning children couldn’t ruin Me, he would use sex against Me. So he tracked down the prettiest woman in Amerika and put her up in the luxurious Emerald Suite of Walt State Tower and said, “If you want to see God, dance in front of the window and pray for His loving touch. And please pay no attention to the cameramen hiding behind the plants and under the bed.”

Well, of course she wanted to see Me! Everyone wants to see God! So, she danced like a serpent and prayed like a dove. This inflamed my desire. I had to respond. But, in my wisdom, I arrived in disguise. I wore red silk pants and gold collars and buttons and diamond shoes. Plus, I entered without knocking, sat down on the bed and said my name was Damn Bollocks. She instantly flung herself upon me and cried, “My sexy lover! Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“Because there’s a black hole inside you that’s so insatiable it could destroy a million angels!!!! Is that a good enough reason for you?”

I don’t think she listened. “Oh, God,” she wailed and as she threw herself onto my penis she continued, “make me feel whole again! I’ve missed you so much!”

I knew what she was doing. She wanted to ruin my good reputation by proving that even God lusts after strangers, I mean after women he does not know. But I did not to give her the satisfaction! Who wants to know how I survived and remained pure? No, not with circumcision! That’s for babies! I did what only God can do: I cut off my mighty testicles and my fountainous penis and threw them into the Vatican, where they became the greatest pope to ever rule the world!

After this humiliating defeat, Saint Asshole resorted to the coward’s favorite weapon, the written word. He dictated numerous letters to editors claiming that his mother had no evil intentions and that God was a cruel bastard for sacrificing his grandchild to the all-devouring Pentagon.

Obviously, anyone capable of inventing such preposterous lies had lost his mind.

Babylon 116

Saint Asshole abandoned his pathetic effort to destroy Me and began plotting to destroy my beloved and most precious creation, the Amerikan economy. First, he founded the Bank for International Sodomy (BIS). Under his management, this monstrosity gave billions of luv to any Amerikan who wanted to purchase government buildings for exorbitant prices and convert them into museums and rock quarries. This same financial monstrosity also sold toxic insurance insurance (not a typo) and insurance insurance insurance for all the clever elites who specialize in making money make money (not a typo). But, BIS Insurance was actually a subsidiary of BWICIC, an extremely shady company devoted to ensuring the destruction of the heart of civilization, Amerika.

In his most evil money-losing scheme, Saint Asshole provided a gigantic donation to the Green Terrorists of Christ (GTC). The GTC was a radical group of Christian terrorists who believed that to help initiate the End Times, the return of George “Jesus Christ” Washington and the establishment of Heaven on Earth, their Christian duty was to demolish any building with more than one floor as well as to break, burn, or otherwise annihilate any false god Amerikans worshipped, money included.

Why were Christians so confused about what I wanted? The trouble lay with a completely unauthorized Holy Bible, a ridiculous book that, in Part One, claims God hates towers, knowledge of evil, slavery, and everything that makes people feel godlike. This is a load of bullshit! I love those things and civilization could not exist without them, and without civilization no one would need God. Next, that ridiculous book claims that God hates idolatry. This is crazy! God speaks in a human language, so Me-God can certainly be in human form and be captured in statues, paintings and rugs! Another pernicious piece of dung in the Bible is its argument that Christians should live like Jesus and that Jesus lived without technology, democracy, medicines, pets, galleries, doctors, guns, and so on and so forth. If believed, this dangerous lie would spell the end of earnings, profits and civilization!

The GTC had be stopped! So, I came to one of their congresses as a man with an enormous white beard and an electric halo. They immediately knew that I was God and began to worship Me. But, when the men bowed I lost control of my miserable body and got such an erection and farted so violently that the divine spell was broken. I begged their forgiveness, but they told Me that only God could forgive my bad manners.

While I tried to forgive myself, Saint Azole took advantage and gave the GTC interest-free loans, and his damned money they purchased the best terrorism equipment on the arms market and began doing the deeds that terrorists do. They bricked banks shut, they rendered elevators inoperable and cut buildings down to size, they deflated airplane and terrestrial vehicle tires, they redirected sewer pipes back into government buildings and they wrote books against books.

Their campaign of terror was so spectacular that the news and entertainment media were swamped with GTC stories. In fact, the GTC made the media profitable and made Amerika exciting, possibly too exciting. So media felt deeply conflicted: they recognized that the GTC was evil because it made Amerika stink, but they also recognized that the GTC was good because it created business for the construction, medical, and media industries. So, half of every news report was devoted to criticizing them and the second half to praising them.

The GTC was so good for the media that they issued this statement to the media: “Unless you start paying us for our favors, you will either become a target of the GTC or the GTC will be dissolved and you will have nothing sensational to report.”

What could the media do? What choice did they have? Real excitement was in short supply. So, media executives reluctantly agreed to split their profits with the GTC, which immediately invested its share of the profits in better terrorism equipment such as airplanes that could fly through buildings and chainsaws with diamond-tipped teeth for cutting down skyscrapers. The following days, Detroit vanished. Pictures cannot do that story justice. Amerika was amazed—and no one was more amazed than the people of Detroit.

In a televised interview, the USBS news anchor asked for Saint Asshole’s comments on the wave of terrorism he was funding. He gleefully remarked, “George Washington would be proud! He profited from cutting down the tallest trees of the land! Now Amerika’s economy is booming because my people are cutting down Amerika’s cities. Long live the GTC!”

I suppose I should thank Saint Azole for enriching my newspapers and magazines, but I can’t because he made even bigger profits than Me!

LWC and the Flood

But if you asked Saint Asshole, he’d have told you terrorism wasn’t for profit and he had no interest in money. Well, maybe that was true, but if it is that’s what made him so dangerous. No one else would take huge financial risks to destroy the economy from within, and in his latest effort he founded Love Works College (LWC), and institution for converting hard-working Amerikan students into lazy fucking sex maniacs!

LWC’s methods weren’t exactly subtle. Its campuses featured the nation’s hottest and most scantily clad professoresses who taught the following soul-rotting courses:

  • Fucking Chemistry
  • Basic Hedenology
  • The Mechanics and Physics of Love
  • Pussiness Management
  • Orgasm Engineering
  • The Rise and Fall of the Penis
  • Sex in Sacred Cliterature

LWC only offered one course that involved reading, but that was no reason to celebrate. Reading material consisted entirely of books authored by Satan under the pen name Petrushka Dudinka. Their heinous titles included God Is an Evil Bastard, Compost Your Money!, Fuck the Law!, the two-volume Our Noble Ancestors Were Full of Hollywood Shit and the two-volume How the Bible Encourages Sin. These horrible, despicable and truly disgusting books were calculated to infuriate Me and to brainwash students into thinking they can build a Heaven on Earth by turning a perfectly centralized economy—an economy secretly ruled by Me—into anarchy, chaos and gardens of pandemonium!

What was I supposed to do? Of course, I did the most rational thing I could do: I commanded a thousand prophets to give Amerikans hope and faith in the future of civilization. Among my prophets were Hilarious Clinton, Rat Robberson, Operah Winfrey, Tony Robbings, Elvis Press, Deepak Hopra, Saint Eastwood, Wane Dyer, Angelina Golly, Jorge Looney, Cony Servitus, and Bobby “Happy” McFerrin, not to mention many celebrated talents I can’t be bothered to name. Anyway, it was a textbook con. While the people sat like schoolchildren glued to the words of their teachers, the principal—I mean President Angel—ordered Satan’s free colleges bombed. And just to make sure they understood that they were being taught a lesson, the bombing was supposed to happen during history classes.

Funny thing is, although the president was bombing schools for being free and for encouraging anti-economical behaviors, the schools would be charged for their destruction. Well, that was the original plan. That was before the president realized that Satan’s countryside campuses were camouflaged, extremely numerous and tiny, sometimes housing fewer than 15 students and only 80 staff. So, the president wisely saved money by using drones. But, he’d used up all his drones in earlier operation, and anyway their batteries were dead. So, he decided he would personally set fire to each and every campus, starting with the one operating in his neighborhood. He went to work under cover of darkness, but he could not find any dry wood or paper, and none of his matches sparked a single fire.

“Satan must really hate fire,” he muttered. “The bitch has made all her campuses inflammable!”

Frustrated, President Angel for returned to Plan A and ordered the army to kick Satan’s ass. That’s the spirit, I sang! Well, I was looking forward to a good show, but—goddamn my luck—Angel’s executive command was ignored. Turns out, everyone in the army, navy and air force had already begun studies at LWC campuses, joining millions of other bums and economic suicide artists who’d quit good jobs to pursue Satan’s useless lifelong L.O.V.E. degree as well as her Living after Civilization diploma!

Economic and social catastrophe seized the world. Due to Satan’s evil college, unemployment exploded. Foreigners offered to help Amerika, but President Angel proudly replied that Amerika can take care of itself. I don’t blame him, but how long can anyone make a profit if everyone is busy jerking off in a free college?!!!!

I pleaded with Saint Asshole. He took a deep breath and said he wouldn’t listen to Me till he was president of Amerika. Damn that boy was impatient! I never seen such impatience with destiny. Didn’t he know that God has a schedule? Maybe he just didn’t give a shit. Whatever the case, something had to be done to annihilate that damned college! I needed a supernatural disaster to shut it down, so I covered Amerika’s streets with a flood of heavenly cum. Revenge never felt so good. From coast to coast, vehicles slid off roads, trains slid down hills and pedestrians slid into doctors’ offices. But, to my infinite consternation, Saint Asshole did not lose a single student or close a single campus. Somehow, their architects, landscapers and sexologists had anticipated divine vengeance and had cum-proofed their campuses!

The Apocalypse of O

I had barely recovered from my orgasm when Saint Asshole launched his most devious attack on civilization. It was called the Black Women’s Islamic Communist Insurance Company (BWICIC). This diabolical abomination offered a range of FREE policies calculated to kill even the most resilient economy! I’ll list a few of their worst and most blasphemous policies below so that you can know that you must do everything in your power to avoid losing everything to Satan’s latest purple banana!

  • The Incredibly Bad Life Insurance Policy was so unpopular that it made the company’s other bad policies seem good by comparison. Satan really is a master of manipulation.
  • In his Good Life & Health Insurance Policy, Saint Asshole promised life and health to anyone willing to give him their immortal souls in return for the “privilege” of living in one of Satan’s sickening Gardens of Love. A worse deal can hardly be imagined.
  • The abhorrent Women’s Happiness Insurance Policy promised happiness to all women who joined one of Satan’s sick, hedonistic covens. There men and women destroyed the biological family by treating everyone as equals, so that every child had dozens of “parents” and women practiced consensual adultery with as many as forty faithless scoundrels.
  • The Personal Life Insurance Policy was an assault on the natural Constitution. It encouraged people to stop feeding the lions, tigers, dragons, whales and other man-eating creatures that have just as much right as anyone else to live.
  • The Home Insurance Policy undermined the economy by promising an affordable and nearly indestructible home to anyone willing to embarrass neighbors, impoverish builders and bankers, ignore civilized building codes, and essentially live, for free, in Satan’s mound of dung.
  • The Intelligence Insurance Policy wrongly assumed that everyone is capable of being intelligent. It advised everyone to stop believing in a smart world run by computers, professionals, and leaders and to devote much time each day to creating an intelligent design in Nature, in senseless sentences, in childish doodles as well as in intolerable cacophony.
  • The blasphemous Premature Death Insurance Policy promised an early death to anyone who “believes they have an immortal soul and/or believes civilization is not a suicide machine.”

 

Billions of investors fell for these priceless insurance scams, destroying hundreds of pensions, charities, NGOs, churches, governments and a central pillar of the economy: the insurance industry. In a brave effort to save the economy, President Angel declared war against BWICIC and all its allies, including the PD, the CIA, the GTC, the BBH, LWC and Mother Nature. I was pretty excited until I heard the news that the military was not available; it was busy ‘studying’ at LWC!!!!

I roared like a wounded lion, “If you don’t stop this nonsense this instant, I’ll soon collect a fortune on the life insurance policy I took out on you!”

Holy Mother Nature!

Maybe no one heard God, but Chuck could feel the danger in the air, so one morning he stole a spaceship from Hollywood Studios, flew it to Venus, was extremely disappointed, and flew back and crash landed in the Vatican. There he hid in the dusty library, among stacks of rare manuscripts and books. That was a brilliant decision, because I loved that library and couldn’t blow it up. So, for a whole week, he barricaded himself inside and painted a mural that gave me a headache, but, not satisfied with that atrocity, he also played a flute so badly I was paralyzed with horror. Then, perhaps to kill Me, he read all my secret cookbooks, learned their recipes for boiled paper and parchment, and every night vomited out of a different window.

After his second week, Chuck exited the building and explored the rest of the Vatican grounds. I was sure the beauty of the place would make him fall in love with Me again, but the philistine criticized everything: the Vatican Gardens, the Sistine Chapel ceiling and even the monumental Saint Pete’s Basilica. In a fit of jealousy, he pissed on everything, the Sistine Chapel ceiling included. I think he only enjoyed the fountains, which he used like bidets after the strongest one gave him an enema.

Well, I had one last hope. I was sure he would love Pope Papa X. He found the old reclusive king of the Vatican in his papal palace, killing useless brain cells with fine Italian wine. He was seated before his high-resolution, 40-inch Mirror of Godlistening to news about a cult whose members stood accused of making a mockery of religion by worshipping shit as the alpha and omega, the end and origin of life.

Saint Asshole made quite a dramatic entrance. He shattered the pope’s deep hypnotic trance by smashing his fist through the expensive monitor. Pope Papa was speechless.

“HOW YA DOING, P.P.? REMEMBER ME?” the saint shouted.

“Satan! You punched a hole through my soul!”

Saint Asshole laughed. “Satan is a woman! Probably my mother. She has dozens of lovers. Do you know her?”

Pope Papa gasped, “Spawn of Satan! You are the prophesied one! The original Bible written in ancient gobbledygook says in verse 2.0.1.6 that this year the son of Satan will resurrect God and the Church from the bottom of the popularity charts! So, are you gonna start a great war that will give God a chance to show off his powers again?”

Saint Asshole did not answer. He simply stood, arms akimbo, radiating confidence.

The pope’s eyes sparkled with excited disbelief. “Oh my God! You’re really here to make religion cool again?”

“Oh, you of little faith!”

“How will you do it? Can you demonstrate your powers? Will you use your Awesome and Fearsome Fist again?”

Saint Asshole broke into laughter. “Oh, Papa, be serious! Amerikan fists and missiles are a joke. Let me tell you how I will make God cool again.” He sat down on Pope Papa’s lap. “First, a little devil will write a new, updated and upgraded Bible for you. You know it’s overdue. The old one is too bulky, too violent and too unbelievable for modern ears. You’ll love the new Bible. I’ll be its main character and I’ll let you be my sidekick.”

Pope Papa squirmed uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think God can write his own books?”

“God could communicate all his wisdom in a hundred words or less, but He’s busy blowing the Sun around and around. But, if you still don’t care for a better Bible, perhaps I can boost your ratings with an even more sensational miracle!”

Pope Papa pushed the saint off his lap and burst into excited chatter, “Could you do that? Could you? Oh, it would be ever so exciting! We used to have a miracle every year! Do you remember how Pope Moses miraculously made water and how he broke a wind? Oh, and I still remember how Sister Mary turned wine into urine. Hahaha! That was a good one. And let’s not forget how Saint Dorothy rode a bolt of lightning into Heaven and found a little magician there. Oh, but all that excitement was ages ago!”

“Perhaps God is on vacation,” Saint Asshole joked, rubbing his ass. Then, forgetting his own troubles, he squeezed the Pope’s hand and uttered these soothing words, “Dear Papa, don’t feel blue. Open your eyes and you’ll see that miracles are more common than pizzas. The fact that the Sun still moves is a miracle.”

Pope Papa smiled. “And the fact that it doesn’t burn me to ashes for my sins is a miracle.”

“Indeed. But the biggest miracle of all is that you didn’t kick me in the balls for busting your monitor. I thank God for that. So you see, the world is full of miracles. The only trouble is that nowadays most people think like rabbits and instead of crediting miracles to God they credit them to Mother Nature.”

“Yes! Damn that bitch!”

“Dear Papa, there’s no use cursing a woman made of stone, dirt, gases, and water. So, let’s be practical. We’ve got to fix God’s credit rating, so let’s steal His credit back from Mother Nature.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

“I know.”

“But how will you steal God’s credit back?”

“Easy! First, we’ll rebrand God’s church. We’ll call it the ‘Church of God’s Super-Nature.’ Next, we’ll convert your network of churches into a network of schools that will teach everyone that Mother Nature is really God in disguise.”

“Wow! God in disguise! You mean God is cross-dressing as Mother Nature?”

“Exactly!”

The Pope gasped in adoration.

“But, for success, I’ll need help. Can you sing and dance?”

Pope Papa lifted his skirt, revealing varicose veins on limpid blubber. Blushing, he replied, “Sorry, my legs aren’t what they used to be.”

“Well, then just smile and act like you love Nature.”

“Sure. I’ll wear fig leaves and pray in a tree.”

“Good. And no more cosmetics, pacemakers, electronic screens and sexless nights, okay?”

Pope Papa nodded, but his heart pounded in terror.

Back to School

To bring billions of rabbits back to God, Saint Asshole and the best public deception firm designed an education program for the whole world. It was promoted as follows:

Come and Discover Where God Lives!

The Vatican is now offering a special educational program to help all the world’s godless numbnuts discover that God is Nature and that you—yes, you—have been eating, drinking, breathing, smelling, hearing, seeing and touching God since the day you were born. With our patented education, you will also learn to make God happy with your fingers, lips and other God-given parts. So, if you want to become intimate with God, pay and sign up today!

It was brilliant. Billions of rabbits leapt into debt for the supreme privilege of attending the Vatican’s first Holy Science classes as Saint A taught the world to appreciate the beauty of God’s physical shapes, particularly his wacky ears, floppy penises, thick skulls, pubic hairs, drippy noses, and smelly sweat glands. Special attention was paid to God’s mouths, for, as Saint Azole kindly explained, a mouth is not only for breathing but has numerous functions such as preaching, joking, insulting, slandering, spitting, vomiting, gasping, groaning, whistling, kissing, sucking and licking. Saint A ended his first scientific sermon by praising God for putting teeth in our mouths and not in our vaginas, for making nails that grow outwards, and for designing bodies that die before they become too disgusting. This amazing first lesson was a hit among people of all faiths and nearly of all ages.

If possible, the second scientific sermon was even better. This time, to my astonishment, he taught everyone to give God credit for not only creating trees, but for being the billions of trees that give life to the living. He taught all his students to recognize that trees must be God because they have super-natural powers only He could have. This is how he explained it: “Every tree is a miraculous free-food dispensary waiting to be exploited for profit! Trees are God’s machines for turning noxious carbon dioxide, solar radiation, piss and poop into pure profits! Trees even produce free oxygen that we can package and sell for profit! And let us not forget that trees provide saleable scratching posts, police batons, branches for hanging criminals, wood for burning witches, and so on.” This sermon became so popular that millions of fools started worshipping trees and blocks of wood as the true image of God.

In his next masterpiece, Saint Azole praised God for being present to the senses as an exciting universe full of falling trees, forest fires, floods, volcanoes, earthquakes, cancer, crocodiles, holocausts, viruses, guillotines, divorces, warts, wars and other things that are both exciting to write about and stimulating for the economy. Politicians, naturalists and economists all loved the economic angle of this sermon and were awed by God’s paradoxical wisdom.

In his next holy lesson, Saint Azole delivered an overly-clever theological analogy. Basically he argued that just as holy books make God’s words physical, mainly in paper and ink, so the natural world makes God’s spirit physical, which means that by taking care of Nature we take care of God, and when we make others happy we make God happy, and when we enjoy masturbating God enjoys masturbating, “which He does, for why else would He give himself opposable thumbs? And He must certainly enjoy sex, otherwise He wouldn’t have made it pleasant, at least for some people.”

After this somewhat inappropriate sermon, Saint Asshole suffered horrible and simultaneous cases of head lice, flatulence, constipation and excruciating hemorrhoids. Nevertheless, so great was his wisdom that upon his recovery, he praised God for having assholes, because, as he argued and proved every day, without assholes all living things would suffer, sicken, stink, and die of shame.

In his next amazing sermon, the old saint praised God for having bodies that obey gravity, and especially for being a planet with just enough gravity. According to him, gravity is the greatest miracle, because without gravity even Jesus would have floated off into the dark hole of outer space.

In his last sermon, the saint praised God for giving all his bodies the power to obey the Ten Natural Commandments, which are to eat, to drink, to poop, to pee, to sleep, to menstruate, to parent, to breathe, to talk, to die and to worship shit. Thinking was deleted from the Commandments, and you can thank God for that.

Each educational sermon was a hit. Children were skipping school to attend church seven days a week. In an act of economic desperation, President Angel offered to lease all the nation’s public schools to Pope Papa, effectively turning them into Churches of God’s Super-Natural Nature. Pope Papa was delighted by the offer, but Saint Asshole had such horrible memories of public schools that the deal was nixed.

Truth be told, the Church didn’t need to expand. The Vatican Internet Channel reached the whole world and gifts of gratitude (luv) were pouring into the asshole’s bank account. Meanwhile, I really was not getting the attention I expected. I had been tricked into thinking that everyone was thanking and praising God when while they were praising Mother Nature, the vile, green, old whore who each spring flaunts a vile new body!

Deal with the Devil

I could have blown the whole universe up, and I had half a mind to do it. Luckily for everyone, myself included, I am an infinitely patient and intelligent being. So, I simply asked what the Hell might make Saint Asshole live in peace with Me. Guess what he said? Maybe I should have foreseen the damn answer. Of course, he still wanted to be president of the world! What could I do? Out of patience, with great reluctance, I promised to grant his wish on Christmas Eve if he promised to stop working for the CIA and stop supporting the GTC, the LWC and the BWICIC and confess to the world that Satan wrote all his lessons.

He agreed and made his confession to the whole wide world. Poor Pope Papa was furious. Children still wanted to study and demanded more lessons, but an era had come to an end. Saint Asshole would never teach again, and P.P. gave God’s churches away to artists, prostitutes, homeless refugees and mice and termites. Then, one night, as discordant gypsy music filled Saint Pete’s and graffiti artists vandalized the walls, P.P. climbed to the top of Saint Pete’s dome, set his clothes on fire and sang to the sky, “I’m almighty Jupiter, the ruler of the Heavens! Whee-e-e!”

I wish the flaming idiot didn’t slide down the dome and splatter his brains all over the Carla Materno’s fountain. Didn’t he know that life on Earth was just about to get interesting?

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