Well, Satan’s Burning Period was a dud. Like all of Amerika’s weapons, it backfired and promoted life instead of death. And so, the great Amerikan dream was kaput. The great experiment of civilization was finished. Amerika, and in particular Chuck Bollocks, that heroic leader whose only weakness was for women and possibly for food, he and a long line of pious presidents had exhausted themselves in an effort to bring the whole world closer to God. Millions of Amerikan saints had tried to guide the world through the gates of Death and into Heaven, all in vain!
Amerika had been the world’s conscience and guiding intelligence, the supreme head of the world, but the foreign parts and organs had rebelled. The arms had beaten the head, the ass had made a stink, the genitals had refused to be productive and individual cells had tormented everyone with trivial complaints about unemployment, poverty, poor air quality and long winters.
Then the desertions started. Millions renounced their citizenships, burnt their money, and joined Satan around wood fires that were—alas—too clean and small to cause harm, climate change and the death that precedes the passage to Heaven.
In the face of my apparent defeat, I became depressed and nostalgic. I longed for the days when people respected Me more than life, and I tried to return to those good old days, but NASA’s time machine was a piece of crap.
As Amerika lay dying, I communicated yet another ingenious plan to my puppet in Washington. In a dream about his childhood, he listened to his primary school principal speak immortal words of wisdom.
“Chuckie, I have an important job for you. Are you ready to scrub the toilets again?”
“No sir! I do not believe in toilets!”
“You don’t believe in them, do you, you little toilet atheist! What about the metaphorical toilet?”
“You mean the one inside your head?”
“Numbskull! Oh, I am bored to death of you naked apes! God created a beautiful planet for you to inhabit. I know it was full of poop piles, pee puddles, bad beasts and prickly plants, but with a little work you could have earned God’s luv and joined him in Heaven! Instead, what did your kind do? You built the Empire of Death that leads you to Heaven, but you lacked commitment, you lacked faith. Even as you destroyed your disgusting bodies and edged closer to Heaven, instead of leaping joyfully into the oven and letting your weary souls rise up to Heaven in clouds of holy smoke, with fear and trembling you tried to stay on this miserable planet! Do you know how foolish that is?”
“No sir!”
“Of course you don’t; you’re a numbskull, but you’re the best man I have, so I will share a secret with you, Chuckie boy. Do you want to hear it?”
“No sir!”
“Too bad, you’ll hear it anyway. Listen, for centuries I helped civilizations destroy the material world because I was certain you would never appreciate the spiritual world until the material one was destroyed. But I was thwarted by your damn mother!”
“You mean Satan?”
“Don’t interrupt me! Everyone knows your mother is Satan! She is not have government authorization to teach or preach, yet she dared to corrupt you with her teachings, she persuaded you, the Pope and millions of other to believe you should save ‘Mother Nature’s stinking bodies—didn’t she?”
“I’m awfully sorry.”
“Oh, the child has apologized for its mother and for mankind. Well, I don’t believe in apologies!”
“Sir, please watch your blood press–”
“My what? Oh, right. Thanks for the warning. Ahem, where was I? Oh, right, the spiritual world. Well, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, I created a religious economy designed to lead everyone to the pure spiritual essence of love, namely luv. I expected everyone to work for it, but you didn’t. You made a mockery of my constitution and you made machines and slaves do your work. Finally, you insulted Me, for you traded my spiritual luv for material junk. For these reasons, Amerika will be terminated! You will all go back to the ape tribes from which I plucked you, for you do not deserve governments working to provide your water, energy, heat, roads, security and education! And you do not deserve a million highly specialized businesses providing you with state-of-the-art roller coasters, candy bars and toilet paper! Do you understand?”
“I guess all those material luxuries have made us lose interest in the spiritual world.”
“Exactly!”
“But won’t terminating civilization play into Satan’s hands?”
Mere coincidence! Listen, you have an assignment, or call it a job, if you like. You shall work to clean my toilet! Erase civilization from the blackboard of the world! Begin with North Amerika! Remove the strumpets, the thugs, the thieves, the sick and ugly—in short, everyone! I want the coastlines, the riverbanks, the mountains and the northern half completely emptied of whites and restored to their original beauty by Christmas morning! Class dismissed!”
Thus the dream ended. The president woke with a jolt, looked groggily at the ruins of Washington and remembered nothing of his dream. So the next night God repeated the dream in higher resolution. This time the president thought it was a joke, so I sent the dream a third time.
“Fine!” Chuckie groaned on the third morning. “I get it. You’re upset because no one loves you or your works. Well, I don’t care! You can flush your own toilet!”
A little bird alighted on his windowsill and chirped, “God will flush you! God will flush you!”
Chuck panicked. He called up his old contacts at the circus. Together they created the North Amerikan Naturalization Organization (NANO) and issued the following public service announcement:
Dear Amerikans,
If you’re sick of work and poverty, either revolt or get out of the United Estates of the World! If you want to start a revolution, visit your local government office and receive a free ticket to Heaven.
It was pure genius—except for one minor detail: ever since the Greatest Depression, Amerika had no public transportation, and rumors spread that the government was secretly plotting to fly everyone not to Heaven, not even to Mars, but to Mexico, Satan’s traditional playground. So, no Amerikan expressed any interest in leaving their prostrated nation, not even during the Greatest Depression.
Something had to be done to start the evacuation. NANO President Chuck Bollocks called an emergency meeting but quickly dozed off. Luckily everyone present patiently watched him until his eyes bulged and he jerked awake, shouting, “God has communicated his plan to me! We need awesome public transportation! We must build an irresistible choochoo train! A super-awesome choochoo train! A choochoo train that will make travelling so much fun-fun-fun that no one will think twice about going to Hell or New Africa!”
The ex-president’s psychologists took notes, completed charts, calculated probabilities and finally declared him mad.
Chuck was stunned: “Me, mad? I suppose you ignoramuses have never heard of New Africa, formerly known as Greenland! And I suppose my plan sounds too fun to be taken seriously. Well, why do you think governing can’t be fun? You’ll have a blast playing the supporting roles while I play the leading role of the celebrated Captain Herewego. And if you want a sense of how much fun we’re gonna have, let me inform you that our train shall be named … let me think … Big Dreamy! … Yeah, that’s pure marketing genius! The Big Dreamy will deliver all its passengers to God’s favorite vacation resort, to sexy and beautiful New Africa! Yankee Doodle Yahoo!”
Originally, Big Dreamy was a low budget, environmentally friendly affair. It was really nothing more than a herd of giant sloths, giant tigers, giant tortoises and medium-sized mammoths supposedly liberated from the abandoned Washington D.C. and Wall Street zoos. These dangerous creatures were trained to either carry or chase thousands of passengers south, towards mystical New Africa. The herbivores were trained with spears and stones, while torches were used to persuade the tigers to do reconnaissance in the four cardinal directions.
Most Amerikans were natural meat lovers and gladly joined the Big Dreamy, but a few holdouts made life interesting. Consider the amusing fiasco of Captain Herewego’s encounter with the illiterate Stoned Age patriots holed up in the sculpted heads of Mount Rushmore. The good captain and his mammoth train arrived at the north-west face of President Jefferson. At the time, Bro Zacharin was sitting on George Washington’s nose surveying the land for large, juicy animals to eat. When he saw Herewego and his supporting officers riding megafauna towards him, he holler triumphantly, “DINNER IS SERVED!”
Captain Herewego called back, “Good morning, Bro! I come to you from the other side of death! The creatures you see are not for eating. They are angelic spirits, and if you follow them, they will take you and all your friends to another world.”
“Is the hunting good there?”
“Is food all you can dream of?”
“Yup.”
“In that case, food is plentiful in the other world, provided you can catch a flying coconut. Can you?”
“No sweat! I’ll sneak up along the shore, leap into the air and wrestle them to the ground!”
The captain laughed, “Where we’re going you can catch your food just by sitting under a tree.”
Zach was stunned. “How’s that possible?”
“Well, most of our food is one-legged, so mobility is limited.”
Zach was dazed. Heaven sounded like a land of miracles. He clambered into the main cave and told his gang of Doom’s Day survivalists that a train of animals had come to lead them to the happiest hunting grounds. Every dolt believed, so seats were quickly filled and Zacharin had to wait for the next train. He was lucky it returned. You see, although Captain Herewego conducted Big Dreamy across prairies and rivers, although he reminded his passengers that their beasts of burden were the only way to reach a better world, all the beasts were secretly eaten.
Captain Herewego returned to Mount Rushmore with a cowboy hat, a bronze gun and two goats tied side-by-side. His junior and deputy cowboys were similarly dressed in the classic western attire, but they rode horses, sheep, pigs, cows, camels and lamas. When they reached Mount Olympus, Bro Zacharin scoffed at the little creatures, but when he saw how timid the creatures were he fetched his spear and called his buddies.
They came a whooping and bellowing. They would have slaughtered the entire herd if Captain Herewego had not fired his gun into the air. He couldn’t kill a sausage, but the sound was terrifying, and he bluffed well: “Bro, these creatures are not for eating. They are our ticket to Heaven if we’re nice to them. Hop on!”
“Hold on! Why haven’t we heard a word from the hundreds who left with you the first time?”
“They’re in Heaven, so they’ve lost interest in ordinary people.”
“I see. Well, how much food should I pack? I mean, how far from here is this Heaven of yours?”
“The distance depends on how important you are.”
“Damn! This is gonna be a long one. They got restaurants there? Please say they do!”
“Sure! Heaven is a restaurant!”
“Wow! But,” now Zacharin struck a melancholy tone, “you’ve kind of spoiled the ending for me.”
“Sorry.”
“And if Heaven really is a restaurant, I’ll miss the hazards of the hunt and the thrill of the kill.”
Captain Herewego sighed, “You rhyming clown! Maybe you like defending your caves from one-eyed bears, and maybe you like travelling miles for the honor of sticking your spear into fresh meat and getting a warm shower of blood! Not me! I prefer life in Hotel Heaven. There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s so easy to find food there, you have to find other ways to spend your energy.”
Zach was sold. He relayed the informational sales pitch to his buddies in the cave. They were so damn impressed they mounted the animal train and Zach accompanied them on a lovely heifer. However, after a mile or so he grew hungry and tried to eat the meaty creature with his bare teeth and hands and lost sight of the train. That poor fellow missed out on an amazing journey.
Captain Herewego’s train moved slowly through the shrub land on account of the fact that the engines and passengers were constantly dodging fences and arrows and continually grazing and feasting. Moreover, and this is important, when the herd shrank in number, Captain Herewego struck camp and let the depleted herds graze and reproduce until they grew so content they refused to continue the journey. Somehow, they didn’t care that they were living in Death Valley; they didn’t even care when they saw Captain Herewego’s silhouette riding away in a cloud of dust.
By the grace of God, whose schemes are inscrutable, Captain Herewego purchased the world’s first iron-and-wheel vehicles: many hundreds of waggons, carriages, chariots, ploughshares and wheelbarrows. Herewego, his soldiers, horses, oxen, elephants and other beasts took them for a final assault on Mount Olympus (formerly Mount Rushmore). Their approach was lightning-fast, especially over the downhill passages. Although fatal crashes plagued the journey, victory was inevitable.
Captain Herewego was dressed in a stunning beard, jacket, pants, boots, toque and riding gloves all patched together from red silk and white furs.
When Bro Zacharin saw the wheeled and wondrous caravan crossing the desert, he rejoiced in Roosevelt’s ear, “It’s Santa Claus! I hope he has cookies and milk. I’m famished!”
Captain Herewego cajoled from his waggon, “Ola, Senor Zacharin! For being a good boy, you have earned a free trip to New Africa, aka Paraiso, where magic fruitmass trees bear gifts for all, yes, in summer, spring, winter and fall. Look, I’ve smuggled a few goodies out for you! Won’t you come and try some?”
Zacharin shimmied down and eagerly sampled some of the guavas, mameys, mangosteens, rambutans, paternas, carambolas, xoconostles and other unAmerikan fruit that could easily tempt even patriots to betray and leave Amerika. Zacharin was no match for the offered feast. After gorging he crawled back into Lincoln’s gaping mouth to tell his friends the good news. An argument ensued, and suddenly Vice Doofus Broke emerged from a presidential mouth and raged at Captain Herewego, “Satan! You damn drug smuggler from Hell! Go away! I know about your New Africa! It’s full atheists, anarchists, polyamorists and potheads!”
Captain Herewego laughed, “I think you’ve just described your own Heaven, you closet hedonist!”
Doofus scratched his head confusedly, then leaned into Jefferson’s ear and shouted, “I GUESS IT AIN’T SATAN! LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE CALLED SANTA WANTS TO TAKE US TO HEAVEN!”
Well, that did it. Thousands of rugged, hungry slaves poured from Mount Olympus. Only Zach, Arrears and Olyshit remained. When asked why they were staying, they whispered, “That Santa is Satan in disguise! We pray that George Washinroom, Abe Lickum, Teddy Whosefault and Tommy Jesterson will forgive them.”
Meanwhile, Captain Herewego noticed the absence of his old friends, sadly sighed, then slowly turned his waggon around and sighed, “Adios, tonto y amigo.”
Meanwhile, Zach curled up beside the fire in his cave. In the morning, much to his surprise, he discovered a mysterious gift neatly arranged beside the smoldering fire pit. It was a page torn out of a captain’s log and tied to a branch. It was marked with thirty symbols, including a circle of gold. Santa had given him a treasure map! Zach was elated. He whooped so loud he gave the mountain headaches. His excitement (and naivety) were infectious. Olyshit and hundreds of other Ivy Leaguers joined him on a very exciting, adventure-filled journey that lead them to the fulfillment of their dreams: a rat infested, rusty old Disneyland complete with the famous Forest of the Plastic Trees of Heaven inhabited by Immortal Fairy Robots. After purchasing a truckload of opioids from Mickey Mouse, they pedaled a fleet of tricycles into the sea before they flew an armada of hot-air balloons straight over Mount Olympus.
Meanwhile, Captain Herewego and his followers plodded through Amerika’s wastelands—places where even coyotes and crows refused to live. Fortunately, the Captain possessed God’s psychic powers, so he came prepared with plows and seeds, so when they were hungry they pulled their plows back and forth across square fields, like a reader’s eyes over a pages of words arranged in endless lines, back and forth they moved, back and forth, until walking became a chore and the land was an eyesore. Then, when the soil was exposed and if they were smart, the farmers flung bags of oats, sperum, and other grains on the open ground and waited for rain to inspire their seeds to sprout. When the crop was ready, they walked back and forth across their fields collecting the crop they would turn to dust in their mills before filling their bellies and needing machines to help them resume their back and forth travels over the dust.
As you might have guessed if you have half a brain, once again Big Dreamy never reached New Africa.
The final expedition used a space-age subterranean locomotive made of GMO gingerbread and powered by a special concoction of edible petroleum, nuclear fear, and electric prayer wheels. The forward-projecting smokestack was carefully calibrated to blast rock and heavy metals music, lyrics included. While the design of the Big Dreamy 4.0 was inspired by Captain Herewego, it was engineered by the Department of Portability, which used 3D tools and printers …
The lightning-fast Big Dreamy arrived without warning at the deathly silent Mount Blackrock or Barerock (You know, the place formerly known as Mount Olympus?). Captain Herewego greeted Zacharin for the last time and for the last time offered him a chance to go to Heaven, or Paradise, whatever the Hell it’s called. Anyway, this time Zacharin got on his moral high horse and asked if the bizarre locomotive was environmentally friendly.
Captain Herewego answered, “Does my poop stink?”
Zacharin tried to remember.
“It’s a rhetorical question!” Herewego roared. “Bro, this locomotive runs on cannabis oil! It makes love to Mother Nature. Wherever we go, birds fall silent, the trees bow and the air and mountains rumble in delight.”
“That’s great news! But is it passenger friendly? I mean, does it serve snacks?”
“This train is a snack! The seats are made of licorice stuffed with marshmallows filled with tequila! The windows are made of sugar, the wheels are lollipops, the smoke billowing from the smokestack is pure cotton candy, and everyone on board is made of gingerbread, angel dust, and meat marinated in wine.”
“What about beverages? Got any of those?”
“Sure. Every few miles we stop to drain the sacred juices from the aquifer. We’ve got just enough for our generation.”
“Captain, I like the sound of your words, but somehow something doesn’t smell right.”
“What? Oh you of little faith! This train is the legendary Big Dreamy! In record time, if you don’t nibble the wheels, it will take us to a brand new planet!”
This news was met with cheers. Zach and company hopped on board and enjoyed a rip-roaring journey in a million directions. After ten years, they thought they were on the barren moon and celebrated until they grew thirsty and hungry and decided to resume their journey. Well, about a hundred years later their descendants reached a border marked by a cruel neon sign above an entry gate. It burned the following Mexican word into their sleepless eyes: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Before they could leave, a witch perched on top of the gate hurled rotten fruit at the visitors and cackled, “Bienvenido al utopia Amerikano gringos! Welcome to the land of Death, where all are fearless and free! Welcome all ye damned and doomed! Here, everyone is equally unemployed and penniless! Hahahahaha! Now, pass through the gate, but only with your own bodies. Horses, wheels, wings, sails, strollers, prosthetic devices, gods and clothes are no permitido in the land of the scorching Eye of Satan! Enjoy the sweat and love the burn! Hahahaha!”
Hearing these bewitching absurdities, most passengers tried to buy tickets back to Amerika, but Amerika no longer existed. So, they shared their thoughts, free of charge, with their good captain.
“You said we would be making a brief stop in Mexico! Let’s go!”
To save his skin, Herewego answered, “Take it easy. There’s a misunderstanding here. Maybe you think this place is Meghico, but it looks like Heaven to me.”
Zach and the mob looked unconvinced. “That? That place looks like Satan’s farm!”
“Appearances can be deceiving. To the ignorant my shit is pure gold and vaginas are the doors to Heaven,” he expounded, smiling ironically.
It worked. As their captain crossed the border, the muttonheads walked, limped and crawled after him, into the strange world of deformed squash, hallucinogenic lettuce, giant ginger roots, anthropogenic tomatoes, phallic veggies and trees so heavy with fruit they stand on crutches! In this disgusting world, everyone was reduced to being a body: a mouth and genitals, a brain and feet, and so on. And none of the prisoners had pajamas, women peed in public, children ran around like stray rabbits and monkeys, and everyone forgot God and instead worshipped a plastic puzzle, played random notes on flutes of bone and spent hours reading a drunkard’s gobbledygook.
That was Hell. But Hell was their destiny. Once they entered, they were captured by devils and carried to filthy villages and stuffed like turkeys with filthy fruit, uncooked leaves, strange roots, raw nuts and bitter herbs. Afterwards, the devils tortured them by fucking with their minds and blowing up their genitals.
My plan was finally accomplished. Thanks to Captain Herewego and the Big Dreamy staff, Amerika was clean again and the sinners were being purified. I just wish I wasn’t God and could turn my omniscient mind off, although seeing and hearing millions of evil clowns suffer can be very satisfying.
Our hero snuck away, probably looking for Hell’s exit, but instead stumbled upon his mother buried up to her neck in her garden. Flies buzzed around her painted mouth. Mice lived in her hair, her mouth spat bees and moss grew on one side of her nose. Pretending indifference, Chuck struck a lighthearted conversation.
“Hey, Mother Nature! Long time no see. Having flies for lunch?”
“Better I eat them than they eat me.”
“And they’re a better source of protein than you are.”
“Hell has been good to you, too, I see. You look decades younger than when you entered.”
“Thanks. Say, how’s Dad?”
“Who?”
“My creator.”
“Jesus, many people were involved in creating you. Damn, on the other hand, didn’t spend more than a minute raising you. He was too busy working for a circus down the street.”
“Do you think he’s still alive?”
“When you became president of the world he roared, ‘Ricky-Dicky is president! Ricky, Dickie, Ricky-Dicky-Dick!’ He died from laughing too hard.”
“Serves him right! Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you in this part of Hell?”
She guffawed. “I used to sleep with almost any man, and I gave God a fair chance, but every time I got his mast up and his sails full of wind, well, he’d start calling himself a damned hypocrite and worry that he’d have to condemn himself to Hell for not marrying me first. It was a pitiful circus of lust and guilt.”
“Hilarious.”
“It was sort of fun. Well, I suppose you’ve stopped praying to him?”
“Of course. Now I only pray for him.”
“That’s very thoughtful. You’re probably the most thoughtful person I’ve ever known. Hey, I’ve been thinking about all those world wars. You lost them intentionally, didn’t you?”
Chuck grinned.
“Good boy! I always knew I could trust you to do the right thing. Goodnight, and always know that if you love the Earth, the Earth will love you twice as much!”
She closed her eyes and moaned as if demons in the soil were tickling her thighs. Like a hideous blossom, her mouth opened one more time to speak: “Chuck, before you go, please give me a kiss like I taught you!”
“Don’t you dare! No! Not your own mother!”
After leaving his mother in her part of Hell, Chuck recognized the sound of his half-sister’s voice singing in pain. As he soon discovered, her vagina was on fire from a lifetime of sinning. Chuck foolishly took pity on her and blew and blew and blew the fire until he was blue in the face. Then he tried to snuff the flames out with his fingers, but that only increased the intensity of the flame.
The demon screamed, “Chuck, I’m burning up! I’m hot, hot, hot, hot and sizzling hot! I’m in Hell’s heat and now I’m on fire!—and it’s all your fault!”
Chuck stood uncomfortably, not knowing what to do.
“What happened to your luv?” the demon teased. “Didn’t it survive your meteoric career and your 10,000 wives? Can’t you do anything to put out my fire?”
He nearly escaped the devil’s clutches, but he was too slow. The serpent wrapped herself around him and whispered, teasingly, “Oh, Chuckie. Look at you! Being president of the world turned you into a little mouse. But don’t worry. A little genital heat will give you strength and youth.”
Her wickedness was overwhelming. Chuck’s resistance faltered. His legs weakened, buckled, and as he kneeled helplessly the whore continued, “So tell me, Chuckie, do you remember my first name?”
“Karla? Madison?”
“You mean Mad-is-daughter.”
“How about medicine?” he asked, stupidly flattering her.
“That’s cute,” she laughed. “So tell me, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I helped the Church, saved foreigners, cured the Jews, saved Africa, liberated the Arabs and, as the messiah I chased rabid dogs out of Amerika. I guess God expects too much. What about you? How did you disappoint him?”
“I think I committed just a fe-e-e-e-w too many sins,” was her shameless understatement. Then, grinning, she began listing her sins: “I pissed on God’s Constitution and I did not invest in a wedding, believe in the media or submit to doctors, public schools, middle age sexlessness, corporate servitude, and enslavement to banks and governments. I guess I was quite an economic terrorist.”
“And yet, you raised two kids?”
“Well, I had plenty of help from friends. They still live with me, but Zeus has quite a career planting bananas and Aphrodite profits from making pots of love. What about you? Why did you quit that popular reality show? What was it called … Chuck Saves the World!?” she asked, holding him tighter and stroking his grey hair.
“After I burned the script and told the director the plot was a bad joke wrapped in bullshit, I guess I just lost interest,” he lied.
“I think you deserve some kind of reward for that,” she said, squeezing his hand and pursuing an infinitely sinful idea. “Chuckie, how long has it been since you made love, real love?”
“Does making love to God count?” he asked, blushing.
“Not in my book. And all those wives, and you’re still a virgin. Chuck, let me complete you. Let’s make love!”
“Sweet sister! That’s incest!”
“Indeed!”
“But, isn’t incest a sin?”
The devil lied smiling, “A sin? No-o-o. Incest is only a sin if it isn’t preceded by consent or if it results in conception, so we have nothing to worry about. I haven’t ovulated for many years, and I think Mom taught you how to avoid conception. Do you remember?”
He couldn’t believe his ears. His conscience screamed that it was wrong to love his sister more than spiritually, actually, physically. But he was weak and the Devil was a powerful serpent wrapping itself around him. I told him to pray for help, but his wanton little serpent hardened and before he could defend himself the demon devoured his soul.
I tried not to listen as the horrible singing began!
Afterwards, I begged Chuck to follow me out of Hell, but he dumped Me like a bad disease and cruelly joked, “From now on, my name is ‘Fuck.’”
I wanted to tear off my ears, but no matter how hard I searched, I could not find them and that horrible word all its meanings refused to stop echoing in my head.