Pukers puking on pukers.
Over 60,000 chocolate, cinnamon and marshmallow bodies writhing in the late afternoon under the golden glow. The nearby lake is frothing and foaming from the heat their bodies put off.
It’s the biggest orgy of all time, one last blowout giant fuck for mankind. “God has failed us, so this is it. The meteor impacts in 6 hours.”
Some are pulled across by their hair because they like it, others are being dragged by their hair because they’re simply too weak from all the sucking, gumming, riding, ribs with sauce, ribs without sauce, fatty foods, sex machines and trance music heat.
A thousand bodies writhe in mud to a familiar techno beat, shoving pecan pies and cocaine-pot-brownies into mouths, anuses, orifices and anywhere else the imagination can dream to imagine. The Tyrannosaurus Sex pleasure-bots use their tiny hands to pleasure, their mighty tails to clear out space for the battle pits. In the pits, thousands of newly freed federal prisoners are offered a virgin in exchange for the craven slaughter of doves, lambs, mules, ugly horses, beautiful horses, horses that would probably rate a 6 or 7. Some forget about the virgin and take what they can get.
The pyromaniacs light the still-locked-in-coitus nymphomaniacs on fire. 10,000 Maniacs refuse to play their only good song.
The king and queen preside over their filthy subjects, finding that their pleasure does not rely on pecan pies, but defecating on one another while reciting poetry that was never appreciated, never enjoyed by human ears, they chirp the song of the dolphin, sing the song of the whale and croon the graceful manatee.
Russell Brand, Nicole Richie and Richard Dawkins shout to the crowd, one last moment of being loved by strangers before all are beheaded, speaking in tongues as an 8-foot abomination tears their still convulsing corpses apart. A beast man, the DNA of Andre the Giant (for size and power) combined with the chromosomes of Rita Rudner (for insane tenacity) finished destroying the bodies before living out his dream: to dance slow with a girl. The ghost of Anna Nicole appears, mentions that she doesn’t give a fuck, then disappears. The crowd squeals with pleasure. It’s moments to the end.
The surface of the planet erupts. All the scientists observe from their Mars based colony.
That’s what my friend told me, anyway, since I was in the bathroom with an awful case of the shits.
This is like that one poem from Godspeed You Black Emperor’s “The Dead Flag Blues”:
The car is on fire, and there’s no driver at the wheel
And the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
And a dark wind blows
The government is corrupt
And we’re on so many drugs
With the radio on and the curtains drawn
We’re trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
And the machine is bleeding to death
The sun has fallen down
And the billboards are all leering
And the flags are all dead at the top of their poles
It went like this:
The buildings tumbled in on themselves
Mothers clutching babies
Picked through the rubble
And pulled out their hair
The skyline was beautiful on fire
All twisted metal stretching upwards
Everything washed in a thin orange haze
I said, “Kiss me, you’re beautiful -
These are truly the last days”
You grabbed my hand
And we fell into it
Like a daydream
Or a fever
We woke up one morning and fell a little further down
For sure it’s the valley of death
I open up my wallet
And it’s full of blood
Jon! I’m so glad you’re getting back into children’s books. This is a big departure from “Captain TumbleBump’s RollerRide” and I applaud your dynamism!