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Well... I, uh... I like writing! So that's a good thing. And... uh... I like reading and stuff. And watching the tube, (but only some of it, there's not a whole lot that I enjoy on)... I don't have Flash, so there's no point in this account.
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All right, now... This story is not for the extremely easily offended. It contains quite a bit of religious parody, and we poke fun at vegans. A lot. So, if you're trolling around, looking for something to get mad at, and you're a very easy person to get all worked up... this is for you.
This would probably be PG-13, if it were a movie, for scenes of religious parody, language, violence, disturbing images (not really), etc. Usual television fare, for the must part.
This was written by my friend and I, who for purposes of privacy, we will once again refer to as Jurgus.
Satan is upset. And when Satan is upset, Hell is less fun than it already isn't.
If you were to look around Hell at any moment, you would notice massive piles of bones and lumps of broiled flesh. The walls are caked in thick, jelly-donut like blood. You kind of want to eat it, but then you spontaneously combust, and then you don't feel like eating anything.
The souls in Hell are what can only be described as "fwooshy", meaning "clear and transparent". Doesn't that describe it well?
In summation, Hell is like a dream Kurt Cobain would have after a night of excessive partying.
So, after this unnecessarily ridiculous description, we can move on to the story. Hooray!
Now, Satan is upset for one reason: a soul of the damned has escaped.
This is normally something that causes mild inexplicable rage. However, Satan was all ready in a nasty mood after having a particularly good day, and when this particular soul escaped, he snapped. And so, he took his whiny-angst out on his own demons.
This, for demons, is the equivalent of screaming into a pillow or kicking a wall--if the wall is made of every single soul in Hell pressed into sheet-rock, and the pillow is human flesh that bleeds when you kick it.
But anyway, the soul that escaped was that of a man named Christopher, thrust into Hell because Satan was really bored.
Christopher is twenty-four, and his death was interesting, to say the least. Numbers are very significant in death, and his age would normally play a key role in any other story. However, this number has absolutely no significance, and as thus, the following description is totally unnecessary. But, because people enjoy laughing and reading about people with multiple stab wounds, we present you with this paragraph.
Christopher was walking down East LA, something you don't do normally, especially at night, as Christopher was doing. Suddenly, people who wouldn't stop swearing and who wore red shirts and wielding knives and guns jumped out from an alley.
The next second, Christopher was dead with twenty-three stab wounds and a bullet hole in his chest, dawg.
He was pronounced dead at Midnight, or twenty-four hours into the day.
He also died on 2/4/00.
But, seeing as how none of this has to do with anything, we continue with our story.
Christopher is, (or rather was), tall, 5"11, weighs, (or weighed), 112 lbs., and had blonde hair.
He also harbors a secret obsession with Days of Our Lives, something he has never told anyone. Ever.
But now, we get back to the story, which you good people would probably be wishing I would get on with now.
When Christopher made his not-so-grand exit from Hell, his soul escaped into the nearest body, which was, of course, a baby.
And, of course, this baby's parents were Vegan, a demographic Christopher is rather prejudiced against.
The baby's name is Clarence, a name Christopher has always hated.
Was this coincidence?
No. This was a cosmic joke played by some force that has the first name God, last name unknown.
His situation is made worse, eventually, by the fact that Satan's demons are constantly after him, trying to get his soul back.
And, as you can tell, this is the story of Christopher, and his battle with the forces of darkness and potty training.
The human New York is much like Hell, in the sense that every hour is Rush Hour and that every damn person is a struggling artist.
However, New York has numerous diseases and skyscrapers.
And, because every decent work of contemporary fiction does, this is where the bulk of our story takes place.
Christopher was disappointed with New York. Especially Broadway. He wished that Cats wasn't still running at every theatre in the whole ruddy place.
He then realized that he was moving forward, saw that his legs weren't moving, and then looked around. He saw that he was in a carriage, and when he saw his "mother", he suddenly realized that his mother was one of those Vegan people.
Of course. Out of all the parents in the world, I'm stuck with vegans.
His carriage was uncomfortable. He went to say so, and all that came out was a very babyish groan.
"Does uh baby wantsa dried peachy? Yesh he doesh!" asked his mother.
The mother then began forcing a dried peach into his mouth. He gagged.
"The baby likesa peachy!" his new mother squealed.
Christopher was about to say something, but then he saw a black shadow blaze by.
Demons, Christopher thought with disgust.
And now, some background information is in order.
Demons, as you may think, are demonic. They are ugly, putrid, disgusting things. Christopher had an experience with one as he escaped from Hell, involving the "death" of one of them by impaling on a stalactite due to a good hard shove.
The demons went blazing by, blowing up the dust and newspapers behind them. It seemed that no one else could see them. He then realized that because he was technically still damned, he was the only one who actually could see them.
One flew right in front of his carriage. It looked straight at him, as if analyzing his existence.
Christopher was vaguely reminded of Predator.
It signaled the other demon. It flew over and started analyzing him too.
After a few minutes of this, the demons flew away, muttering something in the language of the beast.
Christopher looked at his arm, and was horrified when he saw cuts blazing into his arm, something that only happens if you're damned and in the presence of demons.
The numbers, "616" appeared on his arm. AH HAH! You thought the number of the beast was 666. Well you would be wrong. But anyway...
Jesus Christ that hurts, thought Christopher, unable to think of anything else at the moment.
This was not the last time these demons would visit Christopher
That wouldn't make a very story if they didn't, now would it?
Christopher was slowly getting used to the idea that life was going to be different from now on.
For starters, there would be no one to push into stalactites.
Other than that, it would be better. As a baby, he wouldn't have to do anything other than lay down. If he could take books from his "parents", (always assuming they had any good books), he could read, and he could always watch TV.
And then, it seemed, God created nap time.
Nap time is, in Christopher's mind, the most amazing thing ever created by a human being.
His brain could not comprehend the idea at first.
I get to sleep at set intervals every day!? He found himself thinking.
He was also having a lot of strange dreams where everything was spinning and flashing.
Why is there a seagull in a pear tree smelting coal? He wondered.
Then he started dreaming about demons.
This bothered him for two reasons. A), because he had only seen the demons once since leaving hell, and B), because Christopher was never prone to prophetic dreams as Christopher, but as a baby, he had quite a bit of them.
For example, he had a dream about his mother cutting herself with broken glass accidentally after dropping a pitcher of water and picking up the pieces.
This then happened the next day. She had to get stitches at the hospital within five minutes.
Another time, he dreamt that his father said a string of four-letter words at the family cat, which then ran away.
This too happened.
It was unsettling, (and made him a bit jealous) to find out that, as a baby he could predict the future, but as an adult he couldn't. Maybe that's why babies are always crying.
Christopher was beginning to grow very worried of the possibly prophetic demon-dreams. If demons really were after him, then he was in some hot water with the people down below.
The last time a soul escaped, (twelve years before Christopher escaped), the soul was brought back without a head. The demons had tracked him down for ten days before they brought him back.
Christopher had been out of Hell for nine.
It was almost unreal. Why would demons behead a little baby? Everybody loves babies.
He was thinking about all this when his "mother" stepped in.
"Clarence! Time for your supper-wupper!"
Oh my God, my name is Clarence...Christopher thought gravely.
After eating a hearty meal of mashed carrots, mashed potatoes and mashed Jell-O, Christopher, (or Clarence) took his fifth nap.
Waking up at 3:29 a.m. and feeling invigorated, he scanned his room looking for something to do.
His call of boredom was resolved when a black mist appeared in his room. His arm hurt.
It's like Harry Potter all over again. Except Harry Potter doesn't even 616 carved onto his arm, thought Christopher.
The black mist faded in and out around the room, looking for some sign of damnation.
It then found Christopher. Christopher's mark was glowing crimson-red.
The demon transformed from its mist-form to demon-form.
For a more detailed description, please refer to "The Idiot's Guide to Demonic Possession".
Christopher, used to demons, was remotely unaffected.
He then realized that this was the demon he impaled.
The demon hissed, snarled, and lunged at Christopher. It stopped for a second, in mid-air, and sneezed.
"Eh hem... Sorry about that," the demon growled in standard demon-tone.
Christopher relaxed. This demon was dumb.
He shouldn't have done that, however, because the demon then used the opportunity to lunge at Christopher. The demon began struggling, trying to get his hands around Christopher.
Christopher, on the other hand, had some tricks up his sleeve. Mashed food goes well through the system, but it makes great spit-up.
Damnation does weird things to your digestive system, and so all food, when digested, turns into acid that eventually does a number on your intestinal lining.
He had a problem working his spit up.
He clenched his tonsils together, forced his rattle down his uvula, swallowed his fingers, etc. The demon was just about to bite him when it came. He spat it up into the demon's face, and the demon howled as it burned his "flesh".
Christopher spit up some more, and the demon flew out the open window, returning to mist form.
Man, that tastes nasty.
The demon coming into his room had shaken Christopher, (Clarence) and he had taken some extra safety measures.
First of all, after a rather long period of trying to find a hammer in this damned vegan household, he started to bash open his rattle. He then flattened the pieces using hot water and his toy mallet into lots of tiny sharp bits of plastic.
When he realized that he had NOT made blades and now just had a bunch of tiny bits of wet plastic, he decided it was time to learn how to vomit at will... Correctly.
At first it was hard. He had an awful time doing this, because a), his rattle was a bunch of wet plastic, and b), his wittle fingers didn't go all the way down his wittle throat.
Oh my god, the narrator is typing in baby talk...
Well it's not my fault. It was a stream of consciousness sort of thing, and with those vegan parents and all...
Anyway, he eventually tore open his teddy bear with his little teeth, (he was just starting to teethe, and so this proved difficult). He then tied a huge rope out of teddy bear fur, which he would swallow, and keep down his throat until he vomited. The leftover acid that hadn't burned off sections of the rope, he stored in a sippy cup in his crib for if another demon intruded on his nap-time. And he, an ikle, wittle babykins did all of this without his parents noticing.
Dammit, I'm seriously considering killing you right now.
Anyway, this proved to be ever so helpful, (even though he had this ridiculous string of vomity teddy bear that would probably make any Fear Factor contestant wince) when a third demon came into his room in the middle of the night.
When he heard the signature moan of a demon, (which, by the way, sounds like a cat and a mongoose fighting each other while a coyote howls in the distance, while at the same time a husband and wife are in some sort of domestic spat or other, with the sound of a child screaming after he wet himself being thrown in for good measure) he instinctively grabbed for his sippy cup filled with acid, but hadn't taken into account that the acid might burn up his sippy cup.
His sippy cup, now a pile of mush that felt like slime to the touch, lay there, taunting him. As the demon lunged forward, he grabbed his wet rope and wrapped it around the demon's neck. The demon howled in pain, writhing as Christopher pulled his vomit-rope tighter around it's neck.
The demon choked out some words, and Christopher loosened on his death-pull so as to let the demon talk.
"A... Message... From... God... Seriously... Can... You get... This thing off... Me?"
Christopher loosened enough so that the demon could breathe.
"All right then. God has given you this message." He handed Christopher a piece of paper that said the following:
Congratulations! Vestri nomen eram traho raffle, quod Diabolus licitus mihi transmitto vos is nuntius! Vos es Antichrist. Filius of Diabolus, satraps of quicumque est unholy, quicumque. Quicumque Usquam, utor vestri subsisto in Terra. Vestri adventum mos addo sono desctruction of universus universitas. Vos exsisto ullus magis jerk? Is mos ultimately plumbum ut a sto off inter copiae copie of bonus quod malum in near posterus. Forsit super 15 annus, ut utique teenager ut vos grassor attero civis quod talis. Have a great day!
When translated, this comes out as:
Congratulations! Your name was pulled in an unholy raffle, and Satan allowed me to send you this message! You are the Antichrist. Son of Satan, ruler of all that is unholy, etc. etc. Anyway, enjoy your stay on Earth. Your arrival will bring the utter desctruction of the entire world. Could you be any more of a jerk?
This will ultimately lead to a stand-off between the forces of good and evil in the near future. Probably about 15 years, so that at least you're a teenager when you go about destroying cities and such.
Have a great day!
Christopher sat there, shocked for a moment, and then said, timidly, "I... I..."
"What is it?" the Demon asked.
"Dude, I don't speak Latin! What made you possibly think that I could speak Latin? What does it say?"
"Dude, why do you expect me to know?" replied the Demon, annoyed.
"Well, you're a Demon! I mean, haven't you seen The Omen? The whole theme song is in Latin!"
"I find that offensive... Just because I'm a demon doesn't mean I've seen The Omen... I mean-"
"Forget it! I'll figure it out myself!"
Christopher had spent nearly eight hours decoding the message, since he had to sneak onto the computer when his parent's were chopping up nasty-looking vegetables for their dinner, which usually looked like something that would jump out and strangle you if you weren't looking.
He eventually decoded it, and decided that, while God has a good sense of humor, he wasn't about to become the Antichrist.
He tried jumping out of his crib so that he would become brain-damaged, and therefore unsuitable in the duties of the Antichrist. When this only provoked a mild bruise and some swearing, he attempted to jump out the window, but as he did so, a demon swooped out and grabbed him before he hit the ground, returning him to safety.
"Can't have you going around jumping out windows and getting splattered all over the sidewalk, now can we?'
Christopher spit-up on him.
When he finally gave up on destroying his chances of being the Antichrist, he decided to wait until the battle. He would just give up. Let the forces of good destroy us bad people.
Satan, upon hearing Christopher think this, came up from Hell and gave Christopher a spanking. Once this was done, he set him ablaze, and scolded him for thinking such things. After one good smack on the face, Satan went back down, leaving a giant, smoldering crack in Christopher's carpet.
A few weeks later, Christopher turned one.
He was excited, until he realized that technically he was around thirty.
Of course, he didn't get a normal cake. He had low-fat, sugar-free, vomit-in-your-mouth carrot cake.
Most of the guests left after the cake.
He did get some presents, however, from the demons that would suit him in his Anti-christial duties.
First, he got an acid-resistant bottle, which he stored vomit in. He found this useful in protecting himself from demons, which was not exactly what they were hoping for.
He also received a bat. It was your average, run of the mill bat, at least at first glance. When he took a second look at it, he found that it could hear his thoughts, and could communicate with him through strange demonic sonar.
If his parents weren't vegan, they would have certainly hit it with a broom, then taken Christopher in for a rabies vaccination, but, because they were so peaceful, they let him keep it.
And even if they hadn't, the bat probably would have disemboweled them and ate their eyeballs anyway.
The purpose of this gift is to aid him in his duties as Anti-Christ, something that will come up in this novelette sooner or later, depending on how willing the author is to continue writing it.
As if we could not skip time any more than we already have, we are now at the time of Christopher's tenth birthday. Five years away from Armageddon, he has since honed in on his abilities as the Anti-Christ.
He has also, by some strange cosmic irony, befriended the Anti-Antichrist, or the Second Coming of Christ. Christ, how many times have we said Christ in this already? Christ, Christ, Christ.
Anyway, it was during a play date at Jesus' house that they found each other out. This happened very quickly, and so the following events have been slowed down for your reading enjoyment.
First, when Christopher lost a game of Risk that they had been playing for three hours, he yelled at the board and set it on fire.
Jesus stared, and then looked at the flaming board that was starting to stain the carpet, and then stopped the blaze.
They both stared at each other, and then the following dialogue occurred:
"You're Jesus!" yelled Christopher.
"No, you're Jesus!" retorted Jesus, lamely.
"No, you're Jesus! I saw you do Jesus things!"
"Well maybe I am Jesus, but then you have to be the Antichrist."
"I am not the Antichrist! I'm just badass!"
"You will not swear in the house of the Lord! Oh, s**t." replied Jesus, realizing that he had revealed his identity as the Second Coming.
"Ah ha! So you are Jesus!"
"All right, fine, I'm Jesus."
"So we are now enemies!" yelled Christopher.
"Yup. Now get out of my house!"
"Fine!" yelled Christopher, and then burned a large pentagram on the carpet. He then left in a huff.
Once outside, he called upon his bat, and told it to do naughty things to his former friend's house. "Naughty things" were not so much naughty, as evil and destructive. Like acidic guano.
The apocalypse came a whole lot sooner than anyone expected. Whether it had to do with the falling economy, or just divine intervention, no one knew for sure. But Armageddon was pretty anti-climactic. As were the events leading up to it. Only Michael Crichton could make it sound exciting and adrenaline inducing.
Basically, both Anti-Christ and Anti-Anti-Christ were summoned by their respective Gods, and then called to the battlefield, which was a large open field that was once New York.
"I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN EPIC BATTLE BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL!" screamed the Anti-Anti-Christ over the now howling wind.
At this comment, God produced a red and white ball from his pocket and threw it, mumbling something. The ball opened, and about 500 angels shot out.
Satan, however, also had a similar ball, and threw it and mumbled as well. Out came about 501 demons.
"I GUESS WE SHOULD START THEN!" shouted God.
"I GUESS WE SHOULD!" shouted Satan, slightly louder, just to annoy God.
After a long, awkward pause... Satan piped up.
"ENOUGH OF THIS INSANITY!" he yelled. The battle commenced.
The battle turned out to look a lot like a game of Pokemon.
Christopher and the Anti-Antichrist both shouted ridiculous commands, telling their armies to do things like, "Attack with electric thunder". It was all very ridiculous, and it would make for a better story if I didn't go into a long and detailed explanation of the events that took place.
And then, Mother Nature exploded from a swirling vortex of daisies and dandelions.
She was a beautiful thing, dressed in a long silk robe with flowing blonde hair. She was also mad as hell.
"SA-TAN! You have been a very naughty boy!"
"MOTHER! I'm trying to take over the forces of good!"
"That's PRECISELY the point! You've been nothing but trouble these past few years, and frankly I'm sick of it!"
God stuck out his tongue at Satan, who set it on fire.
"That's it! Grounded for a millenia!"
"You'll just have to wait for your precious apocalypse a little longer, Mr. Man!"
And with that, Mother Nature dragged Satan by his horn into a swirling vortex, where they then disappeared.
"Well boys, I must be taking off." Said God.
He tipped a hat that he produced from nowhere, and then left in the same vortex.
"That was certainly... Anti-climactic." Said Christopher.
"Indeed it was." Said AAC.
"Well, I best be getting home to my insane parents." Said Christopher.
"Odd how your parents are so..."
"Actually, I was going to say not evil."
"Yeah, normal doesn't really work at all, does it?"
There was a long pause.
"So... Friends?" asked AAC.
"Sure." Replied Christopher.
They shook hands, and walked off in separate directions.
Thus concludes our tale of good and evil, vegans and people who aren't vegans, the prefix Anti, the suffix Christ, and absolute dementia and insanity.