The CIA Goes to Hollywood made its debut in Amerika’s innumerable outdoor, walk-thru cinemas. The nation laughed uncontrollably, but the suddenly sensitive Governor Chuck Bollocks was not amused. In fact, he quit his CIA job, changed his name to Saint Sphincter and began plotting the torture and destruction of God. Well, that’s my boy. Always ambitious. And resourceful. But how to do the deed? He consulted Amerika’s best military experts, but they wanted no role in torturing and killing anyone, especially not someone who could toss them into the blazing barbecue of Hell.
General Softarse, an exceptional Christian, encouraged the saint to consult with Satan. He did, and of course Satan was glad to share these thoughts with him, “You want to kill God? I don’t blame you! I’ve been trying for centuries. But with your help, we might succeed.”
“What do you propose?”
“We’ll humiliate him. If we lure the bastard into the great Septic Cave of Septagon, the beast will make him wish He were dead,” Satan assured him.
“But He hates Septagon.”
“Only her smell and her behavior, and that’s why I need your skills. You know all about women’s mannerisms. You can train Septagon to be a lady and civilized just long enough to convince God that she’s kosher wife material.”
That evening, while trying not to breathe the fumes, Saint Sphincter sat in the legendary Septic Cave and shared his plan with Septagon. She loved the plan, for she wanted god’s power. So, to lure him into her cave, she curled and dyed her hair blonde, and she bought herself some clothes, a pink hat and a pair of tennis shoes. Dressed like that, you never would have known that she was a nuclear powered dragon that could chew God into tiny bits.
For the final touches, Saint Sphincter renovated Septagon’s cave. He plastered and painted the exterior of the cave until it looked like the prettiest little whorehouse you ever saw. Then Septagon started flirting and sending invitations. I knew what she was up to. When Septagon danced and called Me “the most handsome and bravest god in all the universe,” I tried to close my ears, but God is all-hearing, and she sang the most lovely truths, as verses like this one prove:
Sweeter than you-know-what,
And he’s so irresistible,
I can’t stand the heat
Thinking about all of him,
From his nose to his feet.
I couldn’t resist! I arrived in my best costume: red silk pants, a jacket with gold collars and buttons, and diamond shoes. She was so damn impressed, she flung herself at me and cried, “Oh God, why didn’t you come earlier? I’ve been waiting, like, forever!”
“Sorry. Guess I was busy. So, do you know anything about sex?”
She laughed her head off and said, “You’ve got three heads, but none of them knows the magic you can make with your little pestle?” It was the most embarrassing moment of my life, and the damn paparazzi recorded all my errors and failures for posterity!
After destroying my self-esteem, Saint Sphincter plotted to destroy my best friend, the Amerikan economy. To this end, he founded the Bank for International Sodomy (BIS). Its malicious purpose was to give billions of luv to any Amerikan who wanted to ruin the economy. He offered negative-interest loans to anyone who wanted to purchase the government and turn it into a circus. He 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).
In his most evil money-losing scheme, Saint Sphincter provided a gigantic donation to these criminal terrorist groups: God’s Dragon Slayers, the Green Terrorists of Christ (GTC) and the Homos Apiens. These groups believed that in order to start the End Times and bring back George “Jesus Christ” Washington, their Christian duty was to live like Jesus, demolish any building with more than one floor (for One is the only sacred number) and destroy all Amerikan idols, money included.
Well, if you’re wondering why Christians were so confused about what I wanted, the trouble originated in a completely unauthorized Holy Bible. That ridiculous book that claims that God hates towers and idolatry. What utter babble-beep! Civilization needs towers, and since God speaks in a human language, He can certainly have a human form! And another lie was that Amerikans should live like Jesus, which is true, but people are not supposed to remember that Jesus lived without technology, democracy, medicines, pets, galleries, doctors, guns, and so on and so forth. If taken seriously, such misunderstandings could threaten earnings, profits and civilization!
Something had to be done, so I descended from Heaven to set them straight, but when they saw my three heads they dismissed Me and rushed away to receive Saint Azole’s interest-free loans. With his dirty money they launched legitimate terrorism businesses. They deposited excrement in their bank accounts, shortened buildings, glued elevators to the ground, broke airplane wings and redirected sewer pipes back into government buildings.
Their campaign of terror was spectacular. In fact, terrorism made the media profitable and made the Ultimate Super-Ass exciting, possibly too exciting. The media recognized that death and destruction were bad for life but good for business.
The terrorists didn’t like being portrayed as terrorists by the media, especially because terrorism was good for the media. So, the GTC wrote this letter for all the editors of the nation: “Unless you start paying us for our sensational work, we will stop working and you will have nothing sensational to report.”
What choice did they have? Real excitement was in short supply. So, they reluctantly split their profits with the terrorists. They in turn invested their money into organizing bank runs, for they saw no evidence that Jesus used banks or money. Next, they purchased food and chainsaws with diamond-tipped teeth for swiftly cutting down skyscrapers.
Not surprisingly, during the following days, Detroit vanished. Pictures cannot do that story justice. Everyone was amazed—but no one was more amazed than the people of Detroit.
In a televised interview, the USBS news anchor asked for Saint Sphincter’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 both the demolition and construction industries are booming because God’s urban assassins are cutting down Amerika’s cities. Long live terrorism! Long live terrorism—the highest form of capitalism!”
In yet another effort to destroy the economy, Saint Sphincter founded Love Works College (LWC), an institution for converting hard-working Amerikan students into lazy fucking sex maniacs! LWC’s methods weren’t exactly subtle, either. Its campuses featured the nation’s hottest and most scantily clad professoresses who taught the following soul-rotting courses:
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 destroy civilization by turning a perfectly centralized economy—one 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 inspired a thousand teachers to preach the truth and give Amerikans hope and faith. Among my chosen sages and 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 they preached the goodness of progress, President Angel ordered Satan’s free colleges bombed, but the government could only afford rotten eggs and sour milk, so that plan was scratched and the president ordered the army to kick Satan’s ass.
Well, I was looking forward to a good show, but Angel’s executive command was ignored. Turns out, everyone in the army, navy and air force had already begun studying 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 without a Job diploma!
Due to Satan’s evil college, unemployment exploded. Economic and social catastrophe seized the world. Foreigners offered to help Amerika, but President Angel was a true patriot by warning that no one can make a profit if everyone is busy jerking off in a free college.
I got so desperate, I told Saint Sphincter to close his colleges or else! He took a deep breath and said he’d listen when he’s 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 Sphincter did not lose a single student or close a single campus. Somehow, Satan’s architects, landscapers and sexologists had anticipated divine vengeance and had found ways to make their campuses profit from the seeds of wrath!
I had barely recovered from my orgasm when Saint Sphincter 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 let you sample their suicidal ideology, but only if you promise to remember that they are Satanic jokes!
Billions of investors fell for these insurance scams and shenanigans. In a brave effort to save the economy, President Angel declared war against BWICIC and all its evil allies, including the PD, the CIA, the GTC, the BBH, LWC and Mother Nature. I was excited until I heard the news: all military personnel were unavailable; they was busy ‘studying’ at LWC!!!!
I roared like a wounded lion, “Sphincter, if you don’t stop this nonsense this instant, I’ll collect a fortune from the life insurance policy I took out on you!”
Chuck could feel the danger in the air and knew he had to disappear. So, he stole a clunky, rusty, leaky, poison-spewing, smog-belching old spaceship from Hollywood Studios, flew it towards Heaven, had a peek, and crash landed in the Vatican. There he hid in the dusty Holy Library, among stacks of rare manuscripts and books. For a whole week, he read all my secret cookbooks and diaries, and when he was hungry he ate them.
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. He pissed on everything, the Sistine Chapel ceiling included. I think he only enjoyed the fountains after the strongest one gave him an enema.
Well, I had one last hope. I was sure he would love Pope Papa Bo Peep. 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 God™ listening to Italy’s worst standup priests and politicians.
Saint Sphincter made quite a dramatic entrance by casually smashing his fist through his expensive computer monitor. Pope Papa was speechless.
“HOW YA DOING, P.P.? REMEMBER ME?” the saint shouted.
“What’s da madder wi‘ you? Holy diavolo! Why you punch a hole through my soul? ”
Saint Sphincter laughed. “Diavolo is a woman, maybe my mother and maybe your girlfriend.”
Pope Papa gasped and blustered like a punctured balloon: “Spppppawn of Shatan! You are the prophesied one! The ogreginal gobbledygook Bible forecast that this year the son of Satan will be recruited by an angel to resurrect the Church from the bottom of the popularity charts!” Pope Papa stared wide eyed. “Is it true?”
Saint Sphincter stood, arms akimbo, radiating confidence.
The pope wrung his hands. His eyes sparkled with excited disbelief. “Oh my God! He’s gonna make religion cool again! How will you do it? Demonstrate your powers! Will you use your awesome-fearsome fist again?”
“Please, be serious! Amerikan fists are out of fashion. Let me tell you how I’ll make God cool again.” Then he gracefully plopped himself down on Pope Papa’s lap and improvised a fresh new speech while the pope stared into his eyes with wonder. “First, a little devil will write a new, updated and upgraded Bible for you. No, don’t argue! You know it’s overdue. The old Biblely-babble is too big,” he exclaimed and flung out his arms, knocking Pope Papa’s dentures flying. “And, you and I know that old book is too violent and just a little too unbelievable for modern ears. But, don’t worry. God has authorized me to write the New Bible. It will cover the history neglected by the old one, approximately the last ten million years. 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?”
Saint Sphincter had to think. “Well, I suppose he could. I suppose he could communicate all his wisdom in a hundred words or less.” Then he turned very seriously towards the pope, leaned forward until their noses were touching, and added, “But He can’t because he’s busy.”
“Doing what?” asked the pope. “We have no miracle for centuries!”
“Blasphemer! Who do you think is blowing the Sun around and around?”
“He does that?” asked the pope in awe.
“Yes, but since no one seems to care, perhaps I can boost your ratings with a more sensational miracle. It will be better even than the time God accidentally created the humankind by ejaculating on a monkey.”
Pope Papa pushed the saint off his lap and burst into excited chatter, “Will it be better than the time Pope Moses miraculously made water and broke a wind with his ass? Will it be better than the time Sister Mary turned wine into urine?”
“I’ll be better than them all! Better even than the time Saint Dorothy rode a bolt of lightning into Heaven and found a little magician there! Better even than the time Saint Charlotte saved a poor, innocent pig from a cruel death.”
Pope Papa sighed. “Yes, we’ve had some great miracles. But they happened ages ago. Perhaps God is on vacation.”
Saint Sphincter squeezed the Pope’s hand and spoke these caring, soothing words, “Don’t feel blue. Open your eyes and you’ll see that miracles are everywhere, and the biggest miracle ever might be happening right here.”
“Really?” asked the pope, looking eagerly around.
“The fact that you didn’t kick me in the balls for busting your monitor is a miracle. I thank God for that. If we just open our eyes we’ll see that the world is full of miracles. But nowadays most people think like rabbits. Instead of crediting miracles to God they credit them to that miserable old hag, Mother Nature!”
“Damn that bitch!”
“Dear Papa, there’s no use cursing a woman made of stone, dirt, gases, and water. Let’s be practical. We’ve got to fix God’s credit rating. We’ve got to steal His credit back from Mother Nature. I’ve got to—so that He forgives me for being a pain in his royal ass.”
“You’re a true Catholic!”
“I know.”
“But how will you steal God’s credit back from Nature?”
“Easy! First, we’ll rebrand God’s church. We’ll call it the ‘Church of God’s Super-Amazing-Terrifying-Awesome-Nature.’ And we’ll convert all your churches into schools that teach the world that Mother Nature is God in disguise.”
“Wow! God in disguise! God cross-dressing as Mother Nature. Bravo!”
“I thought you’d like it.”
The Pope gazed in adoration.
“But I’ll need help,” Saint Sphincter began as he paced the floor. “To inspire the world to return to Nature, I mean God, we’ll have to reform the Church. Can you wear fig leaves and mimic a praying mantis perched on a tree branch?”
Pope Papa lifted his skirt to reveal white legs marbled with an intricate network of varicose veins. Saint Sphincter paled, gagged and asked Papa to cover up again. “I’ll have to think of something else for you. Can you demonstrate Nature’s—I mean God’s—wonderful design by bringing a woman to orgasm?”
Pope Papa nodded, but sweat poured from his armpits and his heart pounded in terror.
To bring billions of lost and confused rabbits back to God, Saint Azole’s public relations firm produced this advertisement:
The Vatican is now offering a special educational program to help you 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 godly parts. If you want to become intimate with God, pay and sign up today!
It was brilliant. Lots 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; it 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 levels of intelligence.
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, so if we bag them we can collect and sell bagsful of oxygen 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. But the most divine tree of all is the banana tree, for every banana is made in the image of God.” Since bananas were already very popular, millions of idiots started worshipping bananas!
In his next masterpiece, Saint Azole praised God for constantly being busy creating pretty galaxies, flat planets as well as floods, meteors, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, cancer, crocodiles, psychopaths, viruses, nasty wives, warts and a million other destructive forces that terrify the ignorant while the educated recognize their value in stimulating the divine economy. He like to end this sermon by asking, “What, my dear students, what would doctors do without diseases, wars and warts? Why, without them, wouldn’t the whole medical profession die?”
Next, Saint Azole argued that just as holy books make God’s words physical, so the natural world makes God’s spirit physical, which means that by taking care of Nature we take care of God, its spirit, and when we make others happy we make God happy, and when we enjoy masturbating God enjoys masturbating, “and He certainly does, for why else would He give himself opposable thumbs? And He must certainly enjoy sex, otherwise He wouldn’t have made it pleasant to watch and hear.”
I had heard enough. It was time to stimulate the divine economy. So, I punished Saint Sphincter with simultaneous cases of flatulence, constipation and excruciating hemorrhoids. But the bastard refused to go to his doctor and instead treated himself with his mother’s home remedies! Damn that witch! And, to rub salt in my wound, Sphincter delivered “All of God’s Creation Is Divine, Even Our Assholes.” In this sermon he praised assholes, arguing with incontrovertible proofs and evidence that without assholes all sensate creatures would sicken, stink, and die of shame. He even compared assholes to God’s birth canals, claiming that assholes give birth to life, which is true, for every creature’s poop is full of dangerous bacteria, and its mineral content is food for life, just as breast milk is food for life.
Thankfully, his next sermon was a little more serious. In it 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 birth would be more difficult, and even Jesus would have floated off into space.
In his last sermon, the saint praised God for giving all his bodies the power to obey the Ten Commandments of Life, which are to eat, to drink, to poop, to pee, to sleep, to bleed, to donate reproductive fluids, to breathe, to give birth and to die. Fortunately, thinking was optional, and I strictly warn everyone against it, for thinking is the root of skepticism, confusion and idleness.
Thanks to my blessings, the saint’s educational sermons were a hit. Children were skipping school to attend church seven days a week. Teachers protested before becoming the most faithful church goers. The whole economy was in danger of becoming stupid. President Angel declared a state of emergency and tried to make a profit by leasing all the nation’s public schools to the Church of God’s Super-Natural Nature. Pope Papa was delighted, but Saint Sphincter 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 strumpet who each spring flaunts a vile new body!
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 Sphincter 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 did the deed. Poor Pope Papa was furious. Children still wanted to study. They were on the streets demanding more knowledge, but a glorious era had come to an end. The disgraced Saint Sphincter quit teaching. The disgusted Papa Bo Peep lost his sheep, so he gave his churches away to the evil Company of Clowns and its friendly rival, the Saturnal Society. Having lost faith in God and the economy, even Christians had turned (in?)to Satan!!!!
As demonic and discordant gypsy music and graffiti art filled Saint Pete’s Circus, poor Papa Bo Peep climbed a rope ladder to the top of the dome, set his clothes on fire and sang to the sky, “I’m a little firefly going up to the sky! Whee-e-e!”
I tried to stop him, but I was spellbound as the flaming idiot slid down the dome and splattered his brains all over the Carla Materno’s fountain. Darn it, didn’t he know that life on Earth was just about to get interesting?