Prologue

On stage at the Grand Ole Opry, the wildly popular rock star, Kesha, sings her final song when a sense of impending doom overcomes her. She finishes the performance, the crowd applauds, and she exits the stage waving. Her extrasensory rainbow perception guides her up the backstage stairs, where she kicks open the roof’s door, adorns a white cat-eyes mask, and races to the rooftop’s edge. Tearing off her skirt and blouse reveals the glowing ancient Glyph of the Rose upon her chest, emanating rainbow hues that surround and cover her good stuff. Leaping from the roof, an immense wave of rainbow energy forms beneath and carries her across the dark southern sky. A light tunnel rips open, exposing the spacetime continuum, and Kesha Rose, the Rainbow Dynamo, hurls like a comet into the cosmic ether.

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Prologue

While interviewing the LAPD Crime Lab’s creationists, a mysterious man with a twenty-four-foot penis exited the shimmering blue orifice. Will he stop the creationists, or is he just showing off? I mean, he could have come through the orifice feet rather than penis first; you know what I mean? I suppose we’ll have to see why he’s here.

Chapter 1. The Swaffelen 

The twenty-four-foot penis hovered over the crime scene techs with the massive penis menacingly moving as the man’s deep voice boomed, “There will be no intelligent design arguments this day. Today, the fossils deliver justice to the dino deniers.” 

The creationist techs raised their crucifixes as their leader stepped forward. “There’s no such thing as Dinosaurs or fossils.” 

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Prologue

I thought Dr. Peebody crazy until I met the creationists who somehow acquired jobs requiring scientific understanding. I always assumed employers requiring scientific personnel screened out the lunatics, but I was wrong. The same person hiring the crazy, who thinks the earth is only three-thousand years old, is the same not hiring people because they're atheist, gay, old, inexperienced, too young, not the right fit, etc., which sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. What’s the real story? 

Chapter 1. The Creationists

“What the fuck is a creationist?” I asked.

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Prologue 

I always knew many kinds of bungholery existed but never imagined the sexual diversity shown me by the mysterious Dr. Peebody. 

Chapter 1. Dr. Peebody 

While driving through the light tunnel headed for Earth, I considered different names for my car. Nothing seemed good enough, causing much frustration as I shook my head and tried to refocus on what to ask Dr. Peebody when arriving at his secret lab. Carrie Fisher and Eazy-E discovered the lab’s location but couldn’t investigate because of another story requiring their attention, and the job of interviewing Dr. Peebody fell to me.  

I exited the tunnel of light and raced across the arctic sky in ghost mode. Following the GPS soon brought a fast-approaching wall of ice, and just like Scoop and Eazy described, a cave entrance appeared on the wall accessible by flying car. Threading the cavern’s opening and winding through the curving glacier, I entered an open space with a single steel garage door built into the ice. 

I parked the Camaro, turned off the ghost mode, and stepped into the frigid arctic air. Rapping loudly on the door echoed in the ice cave, and after a long pause, I rapped again, to which a muffled voice answered behind the door, “What do you want?” 

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Prologue 

Carrie Fisher and Eazy-E proved themselves journalism dynamos even though I couldn’t understand Eazy. If I could learn his language, the Final Testament might run even better.

Chapter 1. Soul Park 

“What is it, Scoop?” I looked up from my desk. 

Carrie Fisher leaned in the office door jamb. “Boss, I got a great story, but you need to go to earth.” 

“What’s the story?” 

Scoop stepped into the office and threw a piece of paper with an address on the desk. “Nicki Minaj built something she claims will end all racism on earth. It’s a secret, and I got the location, but you need to go there and investigate.” 

“Dammit, Scoop, can’t Eazy go? He has the six-four, and I’m drowning in work.” 

“Eazy and I are still working on the Dr. Peebody case. It’s all on you, boss.” Scoop laughed, racing out of the office. 

I leaned back and pulled my hair, frustrated with the hectic nature of the job, but Scoop was correct: the story needed reporting. Grabbing my keys and the address, I headed to the car and soon drove the tunnel of light to earth. On the drive, I debated names for my car, but nothing seemed to work. Scoop told me God would give me the answer and to wait for a sign; perhaps she was right. 

The exit from the light tunnel bounced the Camaro on an empty highway headed to northern California. Curiosity grew as I turned off the main road and approached a high fence with a sign: “Soul Park.” Stopping in front of the gate brought a guard from a small shack, “Can I help you?” 

I rolled down the window. “May I see the owner, Nicki Minaj? I am a reporter.” 

The guard frowned in annoyance, leaned into the shack, and used the phone. “Yeah, there’s some cracker ass reporter here to see Nicki…okay…right.” 

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Prologue 

A month passed with much effort spent learning to drive and publishing the online newspaper The Final Testament. Luckily, help came from Carrie Fisher and Eazy-E. Carrie’s diplomacy from her experience in the Imperial Senate combined with Eazy-E’s ruthless reporting to make Woodward and Bernstein look like the Marx Brothers.

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Prologue 

After the drama of freeing Heaven from the corrupt forces of the Archangels and CREEP, I looked forward to a relaxing day, but God had other plans when he placed Victor Schertzinger in life’s path, and I spent the day riding his organ of love. 

Chapter 1. Victor Schertzinger

Headed to the coffee shop early in the morning, I saw a man outside his house uncovering what appeared to be an antique, pipeless organ floating on a tiny cloud. Curious, I stopped and pointed. “What the hell is that?” 

The man replied, “Good morning, young man. Haven’t you ever seen a pipe organ? This is my most prized possession, a magic organ that plays the songs of love.” 

“It doesn’t have any pipes or speakers and floats on a cloud; is that normal?” 

The man tapped the top of the organ. “Of course. It’s a magic organ.” He stepped towards me and offered his hand. “I am Victor L. Schertzinger, music composer.” 

I shook his hand. “I’m Vicente, and I don’t really have a skill or career.” 

“That’s too bad. Having a job gives a man purpose. Don’t you get restless or bored?” 

“Well, sometimes, but I usually fill the time with masturbation, sex, or the gloryhole.” 

“Ha, ha, ha! That fills the time, but does it satisfy you and give you a sense of accomplishment?” 

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Prologue 

In a time of Heavenly crisis, when we thought God abandoned us to go on vacation, unlikely heroes rose to meet the challenge. Thuy Trang leads the members of SHIT on a holy crusade to correct the injustice imposed on Joe Rogaine. SHIT faces their greatest challenge, protecting CREEP’s victim from the serial killers. 

Chapter 1. Race to Heaven 

“Hurry! This way!” Thuy Trang ran ahead and ducked into an alley. We followed her to the alley’s end, hung a right, and stopped, finding Thuy waiting. “We can’t let them see where we are going, or they’ll kill the victim.” 

Kimbo Slice peered around the corner. “I can try to hold them off.” 

Thuy replied, “No, we have to stick together. We might need all of us to make it into the courtroom. You know the Archangels will be waiting for us.” 

Carrie Fisher tried a door, and it opened. “In here.” 

Everyone rushed inside a room on the back of a motel, and Carrie closed and locked the door. Silence fell on the room while we peeked from behind drapes as the serial killers stopped in the alley. Richard Speck ordered Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy, “Split up; they didn’t get far. The victim must live nearby.” 

Dahmer and Bundy headed into the adjacent streets as Speck checked doors on the motel, and finding our room locked he moved on. I looked around the room and whispered, “Wow. I thought this place seemed familiar. I think they film a lot of porn here.” 

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Prologue 

While protecting young women and men from CREEP, Joe Rogaine suffered unlawful imprisonment and now awaits a sentence to Murder World. Thank God Stephen had the foresight to work on technologies we could use to get help from earth; otherwise, we would have a masturbation machine had he listened to me. At any rate, we took up the cause of freeing Joe and stopping the corruption of Heaven. 

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Prologue

Stephen and I eagerly anticipated Joe Rogaine’s party, knowing many hot, cool people, devil weed, and good booze awaited. Little did we know, a new orientation to Heaven program started by Jesus would saddle us with a CREEP and devolve the party into disaster.

Chapter 1. CREEP

Stephen and I entered God’s Palace and waited near the line of people attended by Angels until an Archangel pointed a small, plump man towards us. The troll-like man giggled loudly and hobbled towards us on stumpy, fat legs. “Oooooh! Hello! I am Carlos Reginald Enrique Emilio Patterson, but my friends call me CREEP. Oooooh! I am so happy to be here. There are so many pretty girls and boys here in Heaven. What does everyone do for fun? Oooooh! Did you see the angels? They’re pretty.”

I nodded and motioned my thumb to the door. “Look, you got all of eternity to have fun. First, we need to take you to your new home and make sure you understand the rules. Do you have your orientation pamphlet?”

“Oooooh! I do have it. I read it several times while I waited because I am an extremely intelligent person. When growing up, my teachers told me, ‘CREEP, you are very smart.’ I don’t know why? They all just loved me. Oooooh!”

Stephen frowned. “Yeah, that’s great, man, but you’re cutting in on my gloryholing. Let’s move this show along because I have places to be.”

“Oooooh! I want to go to the gloryhole! That sounds like fun. When I was a young man in my twenties, I spent a lot of time at titty bars. The girls all loved me. I don’t know why? I would go to the titty bar, and the girl’s all gathered around. They would rub my buddha belly and say things like, ‘CREEP, you are wonderful!’ When I put dollars in their g-strings, I imagined their pussies tasted like candy. Oooooh! They all just laughed when I told them.”

CREEP smiled as Stephen scowled and started walking. “Let’s get you to your house, CREEP.” Stephen shifted me a glance as CREEP jabbered like a crackhead while we walked.

“Oooooh! These are nice homes. I used to have a nice home. I worked for a long time as a cable installer. I was the greatest cable installer in the world. I could walk into a thirty-story building, and in less than ten seconds, tell them exactly how many feet of cable they needed and how many outlets. All the customers just loved me. They would say things like, ‘CREEP, you do such a great job, and we love you.’ I had big-name customers like Bill Gates and Elon Musk who called me to say, ‘CREEP, I need you to run some cable TV in my Lamborghini or on my yacht.’ I would laugh, ‘I can do it, but it will cost you.’ They would say, ‘Money is of no consequence.’ So skilled at running cable, I once installed HBO in a Bentley in an hour. Everyone stared in awe and applauded. ‘CREEP, we just love you!’”

Stephen stopped walking in front of CREEP’s house and shook his head in frustration. “Dude, this is your house. Maybe you should take some time, get settled in, and call us tomorrow.”

CREEP bounced up and down on his stubby legs exclaiming, “Oooooh! No! I want to go with you guys to the gloryhole. The last fifteen years, I had erectile dysfunction and couldn’t enjoy gloryholes, but luckily, many pretty girls liked to talk to me, and when I told them about my limp penis, they would say, ‘CREEP, you’re so sweet. If your penis worked, we would be with you because we love you.’ Now that I’m healthy, I want to try the gloryhole, and maybe I will meet som-”

Stephen threw his hands in the air. “All right already! Look, man, you’re not going to be talking like that the whole time, are you?”

CREEP stared blankly. “Like what?”

 Stephen folded his arms. “CREEP, you’re in Heaven now. There is no one to impress, and no one cares how cool you are because we’re all stuck here together in eternal bliss. If you want your dick sucked, you go to the gloryhole. If you want to fuck someone, be nice and ask politely. You don’t have to be a bullshitter.”

CREEP’s smile disappeared. “You should be careful how you talk to me. I was a Tae Kwon Do master. One time, I went to a bar, and a hundred men twice my height threatened me, so I told them, ‘You do not wish to fight me. I am a Tae Kwon Do champion. I’m a tenth-degree blackbelt.’ They didn’t listen, and you know what happened?”

We stared incredulously.

“I broke arms and legs until the police came and tried to arrest me. The waitresses all loved me and told the police, ‘CREEP, didn’t start the fight, it was all of them.’ You know what?”

We stared even more incredulously.

“The police didn’t believe the girls and argued that one hundred men could not start a fight with one man and lose, but I told them I had to do what I had to do for I am a warrior. They knew the truth when I broke a table in half using only one finger, and they all cried, ‘Oooooh! CREEP, you are a warrior!’” CREEP stared defiantly. “Now, do you know why I have told you this story?”

Flailing in frustration, Stephen screamed, “Motherfucker! I was a fucking physicist and cosmologist! Of course I know why you told me the story; do you honestly believe you’re teaching me some fucking moral or conveying wisdom? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

CREEP closed his eyes, appearing deep in thought. “I have told you this story so you know who I am and why you should not disrespect me. I don’t wish to hurt you, but if I must, I will unleash the warrior spirit within me.”

Stephen’s face reddened with fury. “I just said I understood the story! Are you-”

I grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Whoa, dude! Cool down, man. Don’t let this guy get to you.” I pulled Stephen to the side. “Let’s ditch this dude at the gloryhole and go to Joe’s party. This weird fucker will be so happy getting his dick sucked he won’t notice we left.”

Stephen breathed deep and adjusted his glasses. “Yeah, that’s cool. Man, there is just something about that guy that irks the shit out me.”

Chapter 2. Let Me Pour You a Cosby

We arrived at the gloryhole, and CREEP found a spot and stood amongst the gatherers who shot him annoyed glances as he continued talking, “Oooooh! This is so wonderful. It has been many years since I partook in the gloryhole. I used to go to one and place my dick in the hole, and all the girls and boys on the other side fought over me. They all just loved me! I could hear them on the other side of the wall, ‘I want CREEP first because I love him!’ I would call through the hole, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, don’t fight; there is plenty of CREEP to go around.’ They all laughed because they loved me.”

Soon, CREEP stood alone at the gloryhole, but kept talking as Stephen tapped my shoulder and motioned his head for us to leave. We crept away quietly, and when out of earshot, Stephen said, “Dude, what the fuck? That motherfucker is the creepiest guy I ever met.”

“I know, Stephen. He makes my skin crawl. Let’s get ready for Joe’s party and try to forget about him for tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah, there’s going to be lots of cool people there. I can’t wait.”

We went to our homes and readied ourselves for the party, then met later at Joe’s front door. Laughter and music came from the house as I knocked. “This is going to be great. Hey, let’s ask Joe to do that Roseanne Barr as a Yeti impersonation.”

Stephen said, “Yeah, that shit is funny.”

Inside Joe’s house, movies stars mixed with athletes as a band played in the family room while Gilda Radner told jokes with Kimbo Slice in the kitchen. Stephen smiled. “Only in Heaven would you see a crowd like this mingling. Let’s get a drink and fuck with Einstein; some of his theories proved wrong recently, so you know he will be good to screw with.”

We made our way to the bar but stopped in horror, seeing CREEP pouring beers and making drinks. Stephen’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck? How the hell did he get in here?”

We approached the bar, and CREEP’s face widened in amusement. “Oooooh! My friends! I hoped to see you. After the gloryhole, I found myself walking around looking for something to do and returned to God’s Palace. God loves me. I talked to the Head Angel, who told me I needed a job to help adjust to Heaven. Having experience as a bartender, the catering company hired me, and here I am. Oooooh! Isn’t this great? I finally get to put my professional bartending talents to use. I bet you didn’t know it, but I am a professionally trained bartender. I attended the Bill Cosby School of Bartending, where I learned to make the world-famous Cosby. Oooooh! I can make any drink you desire…”

As CREEP blathered, a gaggle of young ladies approached the bar to order drinks, and while they debated their drink choices, CREEP shifted his smiling, round face to them. “Oooooh! You ladies must be actresses. You know I am also a talent manager. I graduated from the Harvey Weinstein School of Talent Management, and I was the top student in my class. I became the greatest talent manager on earth, and all the girls under me made it big. They all loved me. They would say, ‘CREEP, you are the greatest manager in the world, and we love you.’ You ladies need quality representation; here, take my card and come by my house tomorrow evening. You will need to audition and perform some talent exercises. Don’t worry; it won’t be that hard. Oooooh! When we're done, you will have great acting careers, and you will say, ‘CREEP, we love you.’”

The girls backed away as CREEP continued talking to other women approaching the bar, “Oooooh! Hello. You are fine young ladies. You would be great in movies. Have you thought about acting? I am a talent manager; here is my card. Come by my house on Friday evening, and I will try you out. Oooooh! Don’t worry; you will do fine. I will make you feel very comfortable. I always do. The girls I represented on Earth would always say, ‘CREEP, you make us feel comfortable, and we love you.’ I don’t know why? I just have this effect on women. When they come to my home, I treat them with nothing but respect by mixing them a Cosby to help them relax and prepare for trying different parts. If I learned one thing managing talent, young actresses need to relax to take on big new parts.

I exclaimed, “Jesus Christ! How did this guy get into Heaven? He is the creepiest bastard I’ve ever met.”

Stephen shook his head. “I don’t know, but we need to do something. Keep an eye on him, and I’ll get Joe. You know Joe, he’ll deal with that motherfucker.”

Stephen went to get Joe while I watched CREEP talk to a young man. “Oooooh! Of course, I can help you, young man. You need professional advice and training in your acting career. Not only am I a talent manager, but I also attended the Spacey School of Acting. I am well versed in the different forms of acting and what it takes to break into the industry. You should come to my house on Saturday night and let me help you with your acting. I am not saying it will be easy because you will need to act in many different scenarios. How comfortable are you with nude scenes? This is very important because someday you may be asked to do a love-making scene with a man. Don’t worry; I will help you with this challenge. When done, you will say, ‘CREEP, I love you.’”

Finally, Stephen and Joe returned.

Chapter 3. The Fall of Joe

Joe stepped in front of the bar as Stephen appeared next to me, saying confidently, “Joe will fix this like he did that Carlos dude. It’s a good thing guys like Joe are around who aren’t afraid to stand up to these motherfuckers.”

Joe stepped forward and pointed his tattooed arm at CREEP. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?”

CREEP turned his grinning pie face to Joe. “Oooooh! Hello! I am fixing fabulous drinks for all the pretty actresses and young actors. You must be Joe. You hold a wonderful party, but you seem a little stressed. Let me make you my famous drink, the Andrew Luster. It’s a tasty drink that makes you feel warm and relaxed. You won’t remember why you stressed in the first place.”

Joe screamed, “Shut the fuck up, creep! You are going down.”

In a swift motion, Joe tore off his clothes, revealing his MMA shorts, and flexed his tattooed muscles as he squared off, preparing to destroy CREEP. The crowd cheered as everyone EarthTubed the pending fight, but suddenly, men in suits stepped in between CREEP and Joe. Johnnie Cochran, Thurgood Marshall, William Howard Taft, and Robert Kardashian held their briefcases as Cochran produced legal warrants and pointed at Joe. “There will be no fighting; this is a legal matter now. You are accused of defamation of character, verbal assault, menacing, and hostile work environment. If you act in a threatening way, you got to pay!”

Four Archangels appeared, took Joe into custody, and flew away as a mortified crowd watched CREEP step from behind the bar, laughing maniacally, “Oooooh! I don’t know why Joe had to be so aggressive. Everyone loves me! But for those who don’t love me, you should know that my father, Archangel Michael, does love me. He taught me not to go anywhere without an attorney dream team. Oooooh!” CREEP walked towards the door, placing his arm around a young lady. “Now, let’s talk about your career…”

I turned to Stephen and pointed to CREEP. “What the fuck just happened?”

Stephen’s face fell in dismay. “I didn’t think it could happen in Heaven, but you just witnessed nepotism and corruption at its worst.”

“What will we do, Stephen?”

“Joe needs help. Let’s go see God.”

“Good thinking, Stephen.” I followed him out the door and down the street to God’s palace. As we approached the palace, Stephen said, “God will take care of this shit. You just wait. When God finds out what these corrupt motherfuckers are doing in Heaven, he’ll send them all to Shit World or someplace worse.”

We stopped at the palace’s front door and stared at a sign, “Due to renovations, the Lord’s Court will be closed for the next twenty years. God and Jesus will be vacationing and unavailable. Please see the Archangels for emergencies. Thank you.”

I exclaimed, “What the hell! When God takes a vacation, he does not fuck around. What are we going to do? We can’t wait twenty years for God to get back.”

The sound of someone running turned us to find Satan stopping to pant, “Hey guys, Joe is in big trouble. Committing violence and threatening people in Heaven is serious shit. He will appear before the Archangel Michael tomorrow. If found guilty, he might get sent to Murder World or someplace worse.”

I yelled, “That’s not fair! The Archangel Michael is biased. That fucking creep tried to take advantage of everyone, and Joe just tried to stop him. While Joe is locked up, CREEP is out here doing God knows what to people.”

Satan stammered, “It’s a tough case because no victims are coming forward. Everyone’s scared of Michael. Joe needs to show he defended himself or someone else to get out of this jam.”

Satan ran off as I turned to Stephen. “If nobody in Heaven will come forward, Joe is screwed because all CREEP’s victims are on Earth. What will we do, Stephen?”

Stephen began walking. “We’re going to do the only thing we can. We’re going to Earth.”

Epilogue

Will Stephen and I return to earth and find CREEP’s victims? Will we persuade them to return to Heaven to help stop CREEP and save Joe? Of course, but you’ll find out how in the next volume because I am tired of writing.

To be continued.

Read All The Epics

Prologue

Countless performers dating back to the beginning of time provide endless entertainment in Heaven. You can watch Shakespeare in the afternoon and catch Richard Pryor’s standup in the evening. Just last week, I attended a play based on an arcade game about an Italian man raped by an ape named Donkey Dong. Very weird shit. Oddly, seeing a man abused by an ape caused curiosity to explore other entertainment, which led me to meet Joe Rogaine.

Chapter 1. Joe Rogaine

While EarthTubing different shows, I came across the Joe Rogaine Experience. The review described little about the show, but curiosity motivated a call to Stephen, and he agreed to attend the show at the Cosmic Comedy Club that night.

Arriving at the club that evening, we ordered drinks, and while waiting for our order, Stephen asked, “What’s this show about?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know; the reviews were vague, with comments like, ‘It will make the hair stand up on your head,’ or ‘You’ll laugh so hard your hair will fall out.’”

Stephen smiled. “That is strange.”

The lights dimmed, and spotlights flashed whirled about the stage as a voice rumbled over speakers, “The Cosmic Comedy Club proudly presents the Joe Rogaine Experience. Welcome, Joe Rogaine!”

Wearing only mixed martial arts boxing shorts, a man ran on stage, waving to the audience. “Hey everybody, how the fuck are you?”

Everyone clapped and cheered as Joe Rogaine jumped up and down. “I am so damn excited I could explode!”

With each bounce, different colored hair grew from every inch of his body then exploded like fireworks. I pointed to the stage. “Holy shit! Are you seeing this, Stephen?”

Stephen’s face brightened in shock. “That’s fucking insane!”

Joe's hair ceased growth as he walked across the stage. “I saw Lincoln the other day. Man, that motherfucker is ugly. He was trying to pick up Betsy Ross, but she wanted nothing to do with that monster.” Joe’s hair grew into a Lincoln beard and the shape of a top hat. “Fucking look, man. You’re in Heaven, and it's 2018 on Earth. Lose the fucking antique hat and Amish beard. Get yourself a cool goatee and some shades.” The beard fell off his face disappearing on the way to the floor as the top hat blew away like dust in the wind, and immediately, a goatee and a pair of sunglasses grew in place.”

The audience roared as he walked about the stage. “Yeah, some guys can pull off the beard and goatee look, but not me. I am just glad that women don’t wear beards and mustaches. About the only hair I want to see on a woman is a big, tasty bush. That’s right; I’m a big bush guy. Whatever happened to the 1970s Playboy bush?” As he spoke, hair grew from the front of his shorts. “You know what I am talking about? Remember those big bushes women had in the seventies? They looked like a forest growing between their legs. What the fuck happened to the big bush? I liked the big bush!” Pubic hair grew ever faster, filling the stage, creeping into the audience. People reeled as the bush crept closer, and the moment hair almost touched them, it exploded into nothingness. “And with no bush, instead of fucking a chick, I feel like I am getting sucked off by Telly Savalas. Who loves ya, baby?”

Stephen and I laughed as Joe continued his monologue and hair impersonations.

Chapter 2. The Garden of Weed & Feed

After the show, we moved to the comedy club's bar, joined a crowd mingling with Joe, and Stephen said, “That was some show.”

Joe shook Stephen’s hand. “Thanks. You should come back in two weeks. I’ll have some new routines to try on the crowd.”

As I offered to shake Joe’s hand, his eyes widened, and he pointed. “Holy shit! You’re the dude who fucked the Holy Mother on EarthTube!”

I shook Joe's hand and nodded. “Yes, I am. Most people think I lied since they removed the video.”

Joe shook his head. “That’s fucked up, man. Don’t listen to those clowns. Everyone here knows it happened because we watched on the club's big screen. That shit was amazing! Who would’ve thought her crazy like that? Too bad she didn’t have a big bush, right?”

Everyone laughed, and Stephen asked, “Joe, how do you make your hair grow like that?”

“Well, truthfully, I got the ability by accident on earth when I struggled to make money as a comic. I got this idea to do drug trials, and you’re not supposed to do multiple trials, but I needed rent money, so I did like twenty of them. One morning I woke up and could grow hair on demand, so I rewrote my act with the hair, but the interactions with all the drugs killed me before I could perform.” He smiled and shrugged. “Here I am.”

I said, “That’s crazy. It’s hard to believe you struggled as a comedian; you’re so funny.”

Joe rolled his eyes laughing, “Dude, you just don’t know. Comedians don’t make shit. I struggled for years trying to break into comedy. Sadly, you can be a funny comedian and still struggle for a long time. Comedians are the whores of the entertainment world.”

I shook my head. “Wow, I had no idea. I thought comedians made a lot of money.”

Stephen asked, “How do you come up with your bits?”

Joe smiled. “I spend a lot of time in the Garden of Weed & Feed.”

Stephen and I looked at each other confused, and I asked, “What the hell is that?”

Joe laughed, “This is going to be killer. Follow me.”

Joe led us to God’s palace, explaining as we walked, “Man, you guys are in for a fucking treat! God made the garden so he would have fresh vegetables, and you know how big God is, so he made anything planted in the garden grow huge! There are strawberries the size of cars and watermelons bigger than your house.”

Stephen said, “Yeah, but how does this help you with your comedy.”

Joe turned down a street. “It’s just up ahead. So, Satan, the gardener, got this idea to plant weed in the Garden. He calls it Devil’s Weed. Imagine buds the size of beach balls.” Joe stopped in front of a wooden door on a towering wall that stretched around several blocks and turned to us with a serious look. “We're here. Look, don’t ask Satan about his missing wings: all that fallen angel crap is still kind of a sore spot.”

I asked in confusion, “So, Satan is the gardener in the Garden of Weed and Feed, and he is an angel without wings?”

Joe’s face fell as he grumbled, “Yeah, back when the universe was new, Satan decided he wanted to live on earth, and this led to him and God arguing. To make a long story short, God took away Satan’s wings for like billions of years. Please don’t say anything because that motherfucker will just ramble on and on about how it's not fair the mortals paint him as a prick in the bible with all the religious nonsense. It’s a real buzzkill.”

I said, “Jesus Christ, how the fuck did all these stories get so twisted in the bible?”

Joe laughed, “I know. What’s funny is watching all those idiots on earth talking about how the bible is true. I love seeing the look on their faces when they get here.” Joe knocked on a wooden door, making me ask, “Is it okay to go in the Garden?”

Joe knocked again. “Yeah, it’s not off-limits, but most people don’t know about it.”

The door opened, and an angel with no wings stood in the jamb. “Come on in.” We followed slow-talking Satan through the Garden. “I just planted a new batch of Purple Heaven Kush. It’s my strain. It’ll give you a mellow high with some mild hallucinations. I also have some homemade beers and chilled vodka.”

The massive hedge maze bore all varieties of fruits that hung like boulders, and entering a cornfield, tree-like stalks rose along a path stretching into a meadow of towering pot plants. In a clearing's center, a six-foot hookah sat beside a fire surrounded by lawn chairs. Satan fell into a chair. “Have a seat while I fire this thing up.” Satan grabbed a burning log while placing a hookah hose in his mouth, then lit a massive bud in the top of the hookah chamber, and everyone smoked the Devil’s Weed.

Everything slowed, and Satan's face made a light trail, turning to me as his mouth stretched words, “Duuude, III gooot theee muuunchieees. Dooo youuu?”

Stephen ran past, taking cover from Joe behind a pot plant’s trunk. “Joe, fucking cut it out! That shit is nasty!”

Joe laughed, bending over and pointing his bare ass at Stephen, who peeked and ducked from behind the plant as Joe farted hairballs, causing me to stand with inspiration. “Joe, I have a great idea. Can you make your hair grow into words and shoot them out your ass?”

Joe stood and scratched his chin. “You know, I never tried that. Let’s see if I can do it.”

Joe grunted, and the word “Shit” shot from his ass, floating a moment before fading into nothing. We laughed as Joe shot curse words then stopped. “Okay, okay, if I’m going to use this in a routine, I need something else.”

Joe took out his iPhone and played the instrumental while shooting the song’s lyrics from his ass ♬Take out the papers and the trash!♬

Stephen streamed Joe’s comedic ass hair singing on EarthTube while Satan and I rolled about laughing on the ground.

Chapter 3. The Mind of Propecia

A few days after partying in the garden, Stephen and I returned to the Cosmic Comedy Club to see another promising act called the Mind of Propecia. We arrived and took seats in the audience as the lights dimmed and the stage lit to the booming voice, “The Cosmic Comedy Club proudly presents, the Mind of Propecia. Welcome, Carlos Propecia!”

Wearing only a pair of shorts with a flap in the rear that opened to expose his ass, a guy ran on stage and bounced. “Hey everyone, how the hell are you?”

The crowd roared as Carlos screamed, “I am so damn excited I could explode!”

As Carlos jumped up and down, different colored hair grew from every inch of his body and exploded like fireworks, causing me to nudge Stephen. “What the fuck is going on?”

We watched in shock as Carlos performed his all too familiar monologue. “I saw Karl Marx the other day. Man, that motherfucker is ugly. He tried to pick up Queen Elizabeth, but she wanted nothing to do with that fucker.” While speaking, a thick beard grew. “Fucking look, man. You’re in Heaven, and it’s 2018 on Earth; lose the fucking 1800s beard. Get yourself a cool handlebar mustache.” The beard fell from his face, disappearing on the way to the floor, and a handlebar mustache grew as the unwitting crowd applauded.

Carlos walked about the stage. “Yeah, some guys can pull off the beard look, but not me. I’m just glad women don’t sport beards and mustaches because the only hair I want to see on a woman is a big bush. That’s right; I like my girls with big bushes. Whatever happed to the 1980s Penthouse bush?” Hair began growing from the front of his shorts. “You know what I am talking about. Remember those big bushes women had in the 80s? They looked like a forest growing between their legs. What the fuck happened to the big bush? I want the fucking big bush!” The bush grew larger and larger into the audience, and right when the hair neared touching the audience, it exploded into nothingness. “And with no bush, instead of woman, I feel like I am getting sucked off by Patrick Steward. Make it so, number one!”

The crowd roared as we watched in horror as Carlos bent over, unbuttoned the back of his shorts, and began belting hairy lyrics out of his ass while music blared in the club. ♬Goodness gracious; great balls of fire♬

As we left the club, I turned to Stephen. “That was so fucked up. He just stole Joe’s act.”

Stephen scowled. “I know; we have to go see Joe, now.”

Though late in the evening, we found Joe in his backyard practicing mixed martial arts and walking across the lawn, Stephen called, “Hey Joe, hate to interrupt your workout, but we need to tell you something.”

Joe stopped kicking a heavy bag hanging from a tree and walked over to us, “What’s up, guys?”

Stephen and I related Carlos Propecia’s theft of Joe’s bits, even the singing routine. Joe glared and began walking toward the club. “Let’s go.”

We followed Joe back to the club where Carlos mingled with fans as Joe entered the bar and yelled, “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, motherfucker? I heard you stole my jokes?”

Carlos laughed, “Your jokes? I think you need to check yourself, man. These are my jokes.”

Joe yelled, “Well, how do you explain the fact that my friends recorded me practicing the singing bit three nights ago?”

Carlos smiled nervously. “I wasn’t stealing nothing: a coincidence. That’s all.”

“No, asshole, it’s not!” Joe screamed, and the comics squared off, ready to fight, but the sky suddenly opened, and the voice of God boomed from on high, “You have failed, Carlos. When you asked to control hair growth, you swore you wanted to bring light to the serious problem of male pattern baldness, but instead, you used your gift to steal jokes. I condemn you to Washup World, where the only gigs you get are opening spots, corporate gatherings, and birthday parties for rich high schoolers who heckle you.” Carlos cried as he vanished, and God's voice boomed again, “Now all of you go home. I am bored sick of hearing you assholes sing.”

“Ba-dum-bump!” The sky thundered and closed.

Epilogue

God teaches the important lesson that male pattern baldness is no laughing matter.

The End

Read All The Epics

Assholes are the universal constant, and Heaven has many. Just the other day, Jerry Garcia snuck in my house and pissed in my milk jug while I stood at the gloryhole. When I arrived home and poured a glass of milk, I gagged on that fat fuck. Payback came swift and nasty when I crapped in his guitar and watched him choke, curse, and hurl the guitar as the smell struck him while playing live on his EarthTube channel. Revenge felt good until Jesus knocked on my door after Garcia ratted. If you piss in a man’s milk, you should expect him to shit in your guitar, but Jesus disagreed and forced me to get some help.

Chapter 1. Assholes Anonymous

“I think you know why I am here.” Jesus stood at the front door.

I motioned for him to enter. “Hey, that fat, fucking bastard started it!”

Jesus stepped into the living room and sat on the sofa. “It’s not just the incident with Jerry Garcia. Since you arrived in Heaven, you have shown nothing but contempt for the rules. You broke into my Holy Father’s home twice, took an unauthorized trip to another world, then you and Stephen Hawking stole and destroyed my car during another unauthorized trip to Tia Ling World. You also told incredible lies about having sex with the Holy Mother. Do you really think these are Heavenly behaviors?”

I raised my hands. “Hold on a minute. I only broke into His house once. Stephen and I were on a mission from God the second time. Look, man, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but your mom is a very dirty girl.”

Jesus smirked. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe my Holy Father sent you on a mission to destroy my car? You also can’t possibly expect me to believe the Immaculate Mother would have sex with you?”

I slumped into an easy chair. “Go ahead, believe whatever the hell you want. What do you want from me?”

“I think you need to attend a meeting for people with your condition. Lots of people come to Heaven and struggle to adjust to heavenly life. Here is a card with a meeting address and time.”

The card showed a Rainbow with the words “Over the Rainbow AA Group” printed beneath, which made me frown. “What is this place? A gay bar? Look, if you just wanted me to fuc-”

Jesus interrupted, “No. It’s a meeting place for Assholes Anonymous. I tried to be nice and not call you out, but you need to talk to someone. You’re a serious asshole, and you need some help.”

“Aw, man, what the hell? I don’t need therapy. I don’t want to go to some stupid meeting. Look, I appreciate your concern, but I am not going there.”

“I am not asking you; I am telling you to go to the meeting. Your behavior and attitude are appalling, and something needs to change. Let me give you the lay of the land. As you know, many worlds exist in the cosmos, and if you notice, there are no serial killers or mass murderers in Heaven. Although it is against God’s will to hurt or kill anyone, the Almighty sees fit to separate these individuals from us. With that said, sometimes people come to Heaven, and they don't quite fit. When this occurs, I suggest to Dad relocating these people to a world more fitting to their personalities and behavior.

“Imagine a world of assholes, where every day you must check your guitar to see if someone shit in it. Imagine a place where you are constantly cock-blocked by people who think interrupting you during sex is humorous. A place where people make loud noise every night, steal deliveries off your doorstep, cut you off in traffic, drive over your lawn, bitch about you running over their lawn, sit beside you on an empty bus, and cut in front of you in lines. Must I continue to explain what living in a world filled with assholes would be like?"

I sighed, “No, dammit, I’ll go.”

The next night I attended the Over The Rainbow meeting, arriving a little early to find people setting up chairs. Light conversation over coffee led to an introduction. “Hey, how are you doing? My name is Bob.” A burly, middle-aged man extended a hand.

I shook his hand. “Hi, I’m okay. My name is Vicente.”

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes.”

“No problem, Vicente, I chair the meeting. Let me get you some literature.” He sifted the literature on the table then handed me a book and leaflets. “This is what we call the Big Book, and it contains everything you need for recovery.”

“So, what do I do? Just read this stuff?” I thumbed the book.

Bob laughed, “Oh no, you need to attend meetings like this one. Oh damn, it’s time to start the meeting. Stick around, and we’ll talk more afterward.”

Bob stood behind the podium before the half-circle of meeting goers in chairs. “Hi, my name is Bob, and I’m an asshole.”

The group chanted, “Welcome, Bob.”

Bob led the group recital of the Serenity Prayer, and when finished, he made announcements for the many asshole activities like dances, picnics, and asshole-free parties. After the prayer and announcements, Bob said, “I would like to start tonight’s meeting by allowing new people to share their experience.”

A guy stood. “My name’s Dave, and I’m an asshole.”

The group chanted, “Welcome, Dave.”

Dave dropped his head. “Thanks. So, I was at my girlfriend’s house when my wife showed up. You know how that shit goes. All of a sudden, I was jammed up with both bitches an’ trying to explain how a man’s got urges. I said, ‘Look, we can beef about this shit all day, or we can take advantage of this opportunity for the three of us to make friends, if you get my drift.’ That’s how I ended up here today. I don’t know what to do cuz this is just how I am.”

Thoughts flashed of life before Heaven with my wife catching me at the gloryhole in the barn bringing a realization that perhaps I might be an asshole. People’s stares interrupted thought, and I stood. “My name is Vicente, and I am an asshole.”

“Welcome, Vicente.” They chanted.

“Thanks. I was told to come here because I shit in Jerry Garcia’s guitar, fucked the Virgin Mother, broke into God’s house twice, went off-world twice without authorization, and blew up Jesus’ car while trying to fuck Tia Ling and get some porn. Oh, and I killed millions of people while haunting earth because mortals couldn’t understand my request for them to perform bungholery.”

Everyone nodded. “Thanks for sharing, Vicente.”

I sat down and listened to the rest of the meeting, which felt good, like I belonged somewhere.

After the meeting, Bob approached me. “So, Vicente, how did you like your first meeting.”

I smiled. “Finally, a bunch of motherfuckers who understand and relate with me.”

Bob laughed, “You’re not alone. You see, Vicente, we understand because we all suffer the same sickness. It’s not your fault because assholism is a disease and a form of insanity. It’s a physical, mental, and spiritual illness. Right now, your disease controls your life and keeps getting you into trouble. You are powerless over assholism, but don’t worry, there is a solution.”

“What is it? I don’t want to be sick.” My eyes welled with tears.

Bob placed his hand on my shoulder. “Believe it or not, you just took the first step to recovery. Admitting your powerlessness over Assholism and your life’s unmanageability started you on the spiritual journey to recovery.”

Chapter 2. Came to Believe in Tits!

I attended meetings every day with Bob and other assholes who were very supportive, telling me things like “keep coming back,” or “let go and let god,” and “don’t give up before the miracle happens” — damn if they weren’t right. Sitting in meeting after meeting listening to assholes sharing their experiences, strengths, and hopes brought a sense of belonging and understanding. Soon I shared more about my assholism, and realization deepened to the depths of my assholery, spurring my desire to recover more, and one night, I approached Bob after a meeting. “Bob, would you be my sponsor?”

He hugged me. “I would be honored.”

From that day forward, we worked the steps of AA, and having already admitted powerlessness over assholism and my life unmanageable, we started the second step. “Do you believe in God?”

I laughed, “Of course; He lives right down the street.”

Bob laughed, “Yes, but that God hasn’t cured your Assholism. Have you ever asked why? Have you ever considered your perception of God might be wrong? Do you believe God can cure you of your disease? Do you believe there is something more powerful than you that can restore you to sanity? If your God can’t or won’t cure you, then maybe it’s time for a new God.”

I scratched my head. “Well, I believe you and AA can help me, so I believe at least two things are more powerful than me.”

Bob nodded. “Vicente, this is a good start. You see, steps two and three involve believing in a power greater than yourself and then turning your will and life over to that God of your understanding. Let me tell you about my God.

“When I came to AA, I was like you, a belligerent ass treating everyone like crap. Soon, I admitted I was an asshole, and just like you, I came to meetings, read the Big Book, and began working the steps but couldn’t believe in god. I stayed asshole free for a time, but slowly the bad thinking and behaviors started eking back into life, and soon I stood at the edge, ready to relapse into full-blown assholism. At that moment, I realized I needed a power greater than me to release me from the asshole bondage. I needed a god who made me feel safe and could be called upon to end the cravings to be an ass. Dropping to my knees, I prayed to the most pleasant thing I knew: a donkey dick. And do you know what happened?”

“No.” I stared, eyes wide with anticipation.

 “The big, floppy, peaceful donkey dick answered my prayers, instilled me with serenity, and I turned my will and my life over to the care of the god of my understanding, the Donkey Dick. From that day, ten years ago, I began recovering and remained asshole free.”

“Wow. That is amazing.” I nodded and smiled.

As though the machine of recovery and spirituality worked to make me better, that evening’s return home revealed Jerry Garcia, pissing on my lawn. About to scream, I stopped. “No, I have to resist being an asshole.” Fighting the rage that churned thoughts of placing a burning bag of shit in Garcia’s mailbox, I entered the house and collapsed to knees in the powerful asshole cravings, clasping hands together. “Help! I need a power greater than me.” Looking up the poster of Tia Ling on the wall became different, and despite having seen the poster many times, I now realized her breasts were the salvation needed. I cried, “I turn my will and life over to the care of Tia’s tits.” Peace washed over me as I prayed to those tits.

Seven months passed filled with endless AA meetings and sharing tales of our asshole days, even chairing a meeting of my own. One night Bob approached me after a meeting as I packed literature into a box. “Vicente, I think it’s time.”

I looked up. “I know. I’ve been putting off making my amends.”

“You don’t want to relapse,” Bob warned.

Steady working through the steps, I halted at the ninth step, not wanting to feel the pain of making amends to the people I harmed, but I knew I needed to apologize and fix my wrongdoings or suffer a relapse. After many discussions with Bob, I started my amends with Stephen, who I found at the gloryhole. As I waited for him to finish, he turned and looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Oh hey, man. I didn’t see you there.”

“I know; I was trying to give you some privacy.”

“Ha! Since when?” Stephen laughed.

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Stephen, I’m sorry for interrupting your gloryholing; intruding on your privacy was wrong. I am also sorry I got you in trouble with God when we took Jesus’ car to Tia World, and if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, let me know.

Stephen squinted at me. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

I enthusiastically jabbered about recovery, the assholes I met, how AA freed me of assholism, and about praying to Tia’s Tits. I explained how working the program and making amends would keep me from an asshole relapse.

Stephen shook his head in concern. “Listen up; you need to stop listening to those people before they get you in trouble. You don’t have a disease; you’re just an asshole. Calling assholism a disease is like saying you have a drinking disease. Can you imagine a disease that makes you drink? What kind of disease makes you go to the store and buy a six-pack? As stupid as that sounds, what kind of fucking disease makes you shit in Jerry Garcia’s guitar? Besides, making up higher powers or gods might not be a great idea with the real God living down the street. These freaks sound like a cult.”

I gritted my teeth. “You know, Stephen, I just wanted to make amends for my behavior. I don’t need you being all negative about my program. It’s not religious; it's spiritual. The program works because I work it. I've been asshole-free for almost seven months.”

Stephen held his hand up. “Hey, it’s cool, Vicente. You don’t need to apologize to me. Hell, it was my idea to find a way to get porn.”

I walked away, grinding with frustration. “How dare you attack AA! I owe my life to AA. If it weren’t for AA, I would probably be living on some terrible world.” I headed for the palace because I needed to make amends to God more than anyone.

Chapter 3. Forgive Me, For I Am Stupid

Open from ten to five, the palace offered advice from God, Saints, or Apostles but having never used this service, the length of the lines surprised me. Arriving an hour before closing, I was the last to see God. While waiting in line, I figured God must get sick of people asking for things all day, and I decided to just get right to the point and beg forgiveness. Perhaps he might even start liking me.

Ushered into the throne room, I stood before the Almighty who boomed, “Speak.”

I dropped to knees and cried, “Lord, I have come to make amends. I am sorry I lived a sinful life seeking sexual pleasure. I am sorry I killed all those people on earth. Please forgive me for breaking into your house. What can I do to make amends?”

God shot me a sly look. “What brought about this change of heart?”

I told God about AA and all the wise things they taught and how I learned about my spiritual, mental, and physical illness. “God, my Assholism made me a wrecking ball in people’s lives, but AA showed me how to recover by finding a higher power and turning my will and life over to the god of my understanding and i-

 “What’s this about a higher power and a god of your understanding?” God leaned forward.

Stephen’s warning flashed to mind. “Well, uh, the recovering assholes in AA teach that we need to have a higher power, and we can make that power our god. God can be anything we want, but you know I chose you, God.” I pointed to God and shook my head. “I would never choose another God.”

God stared.

I stared back. “My sponsor prays to a donkey dick.”

Suddenly, Bob and all the AA people stood in the throne room. There were a lot of them, many I didn’t know. They looked shocked as God’s voice filled the throne room, “I have a mission for all of you. I am sending you to a place called Asshole World where you will do my bidding.”

Bob and all the assholes disappeared, and God looked down at me and waved his hand, laughing, “You are forgiven.”

In my house, I stood before Tia Ling’s poster, staring directly at her tits.

Epilogue

God’s infinite wisdom teaches us if you believe yourself an asshole, then you might not want to take advice from other assholes, and if you pray to a dick long enough, you might just become one, but most importantly, if you shit in someone’s guitar, be sure Jesus won’t know.

The End

Read All The Epics

Prologue

EarthTube’s policy changes created a porn shortage because the knuckleheads at EarthTube allowed only R-rated movies. iTunes Blessed didn’t carry adult movies — fucking Steve Jobs! Soon the demand for porn grew a black-market trade with those lucky enough to have downloaded a lot of porn before EarthTube’s policy changes controlling all porn. Sadly, I was not one of these folks, but that fucking fat ass Garcia had a lot of porn and wouldn’t share with anyone. The porn shortage forced me to borrow from Stephen Hawking, but his porn was some weird stuff, and borrowing from him led me to serve as God’s whore again. 

Chapter 1. Rainbow Pimp

I entered Stephen’s basement laboratory. “Stephen! Don’t you have any better porn than what you’re lending me? I am tired of watching people have sex with your lectures playing in the background or people trying to fit telescopes in their asses. I’m looking for something normal like Tia Ling doing extreme gangbangs.”

“Shh, I’m thinking.” Stephen stood in front of a large blackboard with a cloud drawn at the top marked “Heaven.” Branching from the cloud, pipes lead to what appeared to be different planets marked “Mormon World,” “Shit World,” and “Earth.”

“What are you doing?”

He scowled in annoyance. “I am trying to figure out how Heaven connects with the planets. If you went to Shit World by going down God’s toilet, there are likely other worlds and connections to Heaven. If we can figure out where worlds connect, we might figure out how to visit them.”

I shook my head. “You don’t want to go to Shit World. No way.”

He turned to me. “Think about this for a second. If we can figure out how to travel between worlds, we can get things we want like porn.”

I jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! You are a fucking genius. If we can get new porn, then we can control the market. We can stick it to that fucker Garcia.”

We stared at the board inquisitively for several minutes before I turned to Stephen. “Come on now; this can’t be that hard for you. Weren’t you a rock star physicist? This should be easy for you.”

Stephen frowned. “Yeah, but I was wrong about everything. I didn’t think there was a God or Heaven. Now, instead of theorizing the properties of an expanding universe, I try to learn how Heaven's shit pipes connect with the cosmos. Maybe we should get Carl Sagan to help? I think he believed in God or something along those lines.”

I shook my head. “Aww, man, not Carl Sagan. That guy is such a dick. He has his head up Jesus’ ass, and you know that ass weasel will tell Jesus what we're doing. I can hear Jesus now, ‘You know I have to tell the Heavenly Father about these shenanigans.’”

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s take a break and go to the gloryhole. It’s going to take forever to figure this out.”

I grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Wait a minute. God has a Mercedes. I found his keys when he sentenced me to Earth to do his will. Damn. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Stephen nodded, smiling. “That is great news. There must be some way to get the car out of Heaven. Where is it parked?”

“I don’t know, but it has to be here somewhere. Let’s EarthTube it.”

Stephen shook his head. “That’s not going to work. You know we can’t EarthTube anything that is personal information.”

“Dammit.”

Stephen held up his hand. “Wait a minute. You can’t EarthTube personal things, but you can EarthTube roads and garage doors. Since no one up here owns a car but God, then we should be able to find his car.”

“You’re a genius, Stephen.”

Sure enough, God’s garage attached to the rear of the palace peered from the laptop screen, motivating our departure to investigate. We arrived to find a massive door towering above us, but we entered by slipping through the gap between the door and the ground. Standing by the wheel of God’s Mercedes, I said, “We’re too small to drive God’s car.”

Stephen looked around, “No sweat. We’ll take Jesus’ car.”

I frowned. “How do you know he has a car?”

Stephen tilted his head in a scowl. “Come on. You know Jesus has a car. The son of God without a car? The boss’s son always has a car.”

Stephen proved correct again, with a normal size car discovered on the other side of the Benz. We began hysterically laughing at the tricked-out, pink Jaguar XF with yellow flower spinner rims and rainbows flowing along the sides of the car to the rear, bearing the license plate “Rainbow Pimp.”

I laughed as we opened the doors, “This car is too gay to lead a Pride Parade.”

Inside, our laughter continued as Stephen held the pink fur-covered steering wheel and dash, and I swatted the yellow tassels hung from the top of the windows.

Stephen nudged me. “I bet this car has seen more cock than a twink at a highway rest stop.”

“I know! What a hypocrite. I can’t believe he lectures me about the evils of the gloryhole and how I’m a perverted sinner, all while he rolls in the Rainbow Pimp. That cock-smoker has some nerve.”

“I know. What a jerk. So, let’s figure this thing out.” Stephen began poking around the dashboard. “It looks like a regular car, but there has to be some mechanism to make it travel to Earth, or we'll just be driving around Heaven.” A few minutes of looking around the dash led to Stephen locating the GPS. “Got it.”

He began typing on the GPS’s keypad. “Okay, so you just type in where you want to go and — oh wow, look, you can enter the year also. Holy shit. You can choose different worlds. Check out where Jesus has been going.”

The screen showed “Rainbow Ass Punks World.”

I laughed, “Okay, so let’s program this thing for earth and go get some porn.”

Stephen sat behind the wheel silently brooding, and after a moment, he pointed to the GPS. “I think we’re thinking about this all wrong. We can go anywhere we want, any time we want.”

“So?” I frowned.

“So, if God is an infinite being, and he created the entire universe out of his infinite thought, a multiverse if you will, then any universe or world we desire to visit is available to us. Furthermore, since the car travels through time, we can go anywhere we want and then just come back a split second after leaving. Jesus won’t know we took the car. Theoretically, we have all the time in the universe.”

I smiled. “You are truly fucking brilliant.”

Chapter 2. Porn World

“Stephen, there must be a porn world. Someplace where porn weaves the very fabric of existence. A place where culture entrenches in the porn way of thinking. A pornatopia, if you will.”

Stephen began typing on the GPS. “Well, let’s look them up.” Stephen leaned back. “Goddamn, there are a lot of worlds. There must be millions of porn worlds in the GPS.”

“Just pick one. You can’t go wrong with porn.”

Stephen squinted at the GPS. “I don’t know; there are some scary worlds listed. I don't think we want to go to Ass Raped by What Feels Like a Bison World or Death by 1000 Blowjobs World.”

I leaned over and looked at the GPS. “Well, the last one didn’t sound too bad. So, these world’s get specific, correct?”

“Yeah, infinitely. Anything you can think of is in this GPS.”

I grinned. “Stephen, I have a plan. Let me see that.”

He handed me the GPS, I typed, then handed the device back. “There.”

Stephen looked at the screen and closed one eye. “Are you sure?”

I yelled, “Yes, I am sure. Let’s go, goddammit.”

Stephen answered reluctantly, “Okay. We’re off to Tia Ling World, Where Stephen Hawking and Vicente are Pleasured By Hundreds of Duplicate Tia Lings While Jesus and Jerry Garcia are Forced to Watch Unable to Participate or Touch Themselves.”

Stephen gripped and regripped the pink, furry wheel. “Okay, I think we’re ready. Man, it’s been a long time since I drove.”

I looked over at him. “When I was born, there wasn’t electricity. This is all you, man.”

Stephen pressed the garage door opener, lifting the giant door, and a brilliant light appeared before the car. Stephen hit the gas, launching the vehicle into a tunnel of light, which began accelerating the car into incredible speed that made us scream in terror until the car blasted from the light and bounced on a road. “We made it, Stephen!”

His silence provoked my head’s turn, and horror struck seeing him crippled in his old body. “Holy shit!” I grabbed at the wheel as the vehicle veered off the road and scraped and screeched along the guardrail until the rail's end released the car to swerve into the grass and slam a tree. Still running, the car’s engine raced uselessly under a crumpled hood.

I began unbuckling Stephen. “Jesus Christ. That was close. Don’t worry, Stephen; I’ll get you out of this jam. I know what to do. I just need to program this thing to take us to almost the same world, but one where you’re not crippled. I think your smarts are starting to rub off on me. Let me just move you into the passenger seat.”

A voice from outside the car said, “You boys need some assistance?”

Dressed like a pornographic cop with breasts bulging defiantly from a half-unbuttoned shirt, she leaned into the vehicle as I stammered, “Tia Ling me!”

Tia took off her sunglasses. “I smell gas, boys; I better get you out of the car and take care of you.”

Tia lifted her radio. “I have a sixty-nine, sixty-nine on highway sixty-nine. I’m going to need some assistance with some men.”

I helped Tia carry Stephen to the roadside as dozens of Tia cops arrived and began talking amongst themselves. Sitting on the grass with Stephen cripple-balled beside me, I marveled over the hot Asian perfection, wearing tight blue police shirts and skirts. Just when I thought nothing could make the situation better, a van arrived, and more Tias exited and began setting a ramp on the van's rear doors. Wheeling Jesus and Jerry Garcia from the van chained and bound in wheelchairs, the Tias positioned them with maximum vantage to our position on the grass. The leader Tia stood over us and placed her hands on her hips. “Looks like you boys have been bad. We caught you driving recklessly without licenses.”

“Yes, very bad!” I exclaimed.

She stepped forward and tore off her shirt, exposing perfect breasts, and the other cops did the same before removing their skirts. The leader pointed at her perfectly trimmed crotch. “If you want a get-out-of-jail-free card, you need to understand this pussy will not eat itself.”

A thunderous explosion turned us toward Jesus’s car that released a fireball into the sky, igniting the tree. Before I could say anything, time froze, the sky sheared, revealing Heaven, and God’s voice boomed from on high, “Your task is complete.”

Stephen and I floated upwards as I yelled, “What the fuck. We didn’t know we were on a mission. God, what mission?”

God laughed, “I hated that car. It was an eyesore. I don’t care if Jesus wants to go out and play ladyboy on the weekends, but it’s an atrocity to treat a Jag that way. You rainbow pimp a minivan or a smart car but never a Jag.”

God thundered with laughter, Stephen drooled on himself, and I wept, watching Tia Ling World disappear as we ascended to Heaven.

Epilogue

God’s great wisdom teaches that even if your father is okay with your flavor of bungholery, you still might not want to hold a parade in his garage, but more importantly, if you plan to steal a car, be sure you know how to drive and never depend on someone crippled.

The End.

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Prologue

Heaven has the best of everything, including entertainment. We have EarthTube, which likens to cable television on steroids, and not long ago, made watching anything possible such as movies, tv shows, and even the happenings of people in Heaven and on earth. Say you wanted to watch your widow bang the pool boy; you just typed her name into EarthTube. You could watch anyone, anywhere, at any time, and this provided an endless supply of entertainment, but even if you can't find something on EarthTube, you could use iTunes Blessed. iTunes Blessed offers more professional videos and music which looks better on a retinal screen: a nice feature since only Macs and Apple devices exist in Heaven. Gamers get shafted, but that’s what happened when that asshole Steve Jobs arrived and turned the joint into a genius bar at the Mac store. Don’t get me wrong. Macs have good graphics, easy to use, but no fucking gaming. That's alright because Bill Gates will be here soon, and you know that motherfucker is bringing an Xbox.

At any rate, entertainment was great until some unexpected problems arose from the seemingly benign EarthTube. Who would have imagined a day of EarthTube voyeurism could cause so much trouble?

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Chapter 1. Immaculate Whore

Sitting at home EarthTubing my favorite porn star Tia Ling going about her life at home might seem creepy to those living on earth, but in Heaven, watching anyone, at any time, and anywhere was normal. More than normal, EarthTube’s unrestricted access provided many cool features like deciding whether a player went out of bounds during a big play, learning how many times Monica blew the president in the oval office, or answering whether Jennifer and Brad started screwing again. Despite these benefits, EarthTube had some drawbacks, like empowering nosy freaks like Jerry Garcia to record me masturbating while I used EarthTube to watch the Holy Mother dress. He posted a video of my voyeurism, which made life feel like waiting for my turn before the firing squad, especially since God hates me.

An unspoken rule prohibited dating, much less sex with the Holy Mother. Although single, her relationship with God made the situation awkward, like desiring to tap your best friend’s ex-girlfriend. Fear of the Almighty left Mary a virgin, which I thought a load of crap since he never even banged her except one time when he knocked her up ‘from on high’ (however that works) and never went back for more.

The miracle of Jesus resulted from that relation — miracle my ass! What a douche! Never have I seen such a holier than thou, self-righteous prick.

“You know I’m the son of God, right?”

“Do you really think that is God’s Will for you to be doing that?”

“Is that really a Heavenly behavior?”

“Maybe you should ask yourself, ‘Would I do that?’” Pointing at himself.

Fuck him. Jesus hanging around likens to working with the boss’s kid. You can’t fire him, you need to watch everything you say, and he doesn’t do shit. The worst part is you can’t bang his mom because you just know he’s going to say something awkward afterward, “I hope you plan on treating my mom nice.” What do you say to the guy after playing cornhole with his mom?

This holy family nonsense, in my opinion, caused the problem that forever changed EarthTube, starting with Mary’s knock at my door, to which I answered in surprise, “Oh, hi. Can I help you?”

She adjusted her veil. “I was hoping to have a conversation with you.”

Frustration rode my nerves with the assumption she likely wanted to discuss the masturbating and something to do with her feelings, causing a reluctant response, “Come on in.”

Mary entered, and I motioned to the sofa, where she sat. “I want to talk to you about the incident on EarthTube.”

I sat across from her in the easy chair and sighed, “Okay.”

She placed her hands in her lap. “I was rather shocked to see you masturbating to me. It took me by surprise because no one ever does that with me. I did some EarthTubing of my own and saw you at the gloryhole. You spend an enormous amount of time there. Curiosity got the best of me, and I watched you last night pleasuring yourself to Tia Ling taking a shower. At first, I was a bit shocked by what I saw, but curiosity grew and feelings not felt in a very long time surfaced. As you know, I’ve never been with a man. So, I thought maybe you might teach me if you are willing.”

Wisdom flashed: if I ended the situation now, everyone could watch EarthTube and see she came on to me, and I did the right thing. So, I stood, dropped my pants, and pointed. “The first thing you need to learn is this dick will not suck itself.”

Chapter 2. Saint Vicente

If Mary is a virgin, then R. Kelly is a priest. Never had I known such sex or the things her mouth uttered, “I have never had a man pee on me. Do you think that’s something you might be interested in doing?”

“My bum is virgin also; maybe you should take care of that as well.”

“Tell me about rimming…let’s see what that is like.”

“Do you have any friends who might want to come over and help teach me?”

After she left, I laid on my couch in exhaustion with my manhood worn like an old shoe. “That was awesome bungholery.” I shook my head and stood, thinking about when and where we might meet again. I flipped on EarthTube and shuddered at the sight of Garcia playing guitar and singing with a clip of Mary and me playing in the background.

^♬Saint Vicente with a ho; in and out of her hole he goes^♬
♬Virgin Mother getting totally whored!^♬
♬Vicente sure is in trouble with the Lord^♬

“Goddammit, Garcia! You bastard!” I raced to the bedroom and dressed, thinking I needed to lay low, maybe get out of town for a while. For sure, I needed to go someplace without EarthTube access, but where?

Leaving the house began a short walk to the smartest guy I knew, Stephen Hawking, who would for sure have the answer. Finding him at his usual spot at the gloryhole, I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey man, I need your help.”

Stephen looked over his shoulder and laughed, “Dude, you are screwed! I saw you on Garcia’s channel. Hey, was she any good?”

“Dammit, Stephen! I need help. Is there someplace I can go where EarthTube can’t see me? I need to let things cool down.”

Stephen’s eyes rolled in his head as his glasses fogged up, grunting, “Goddam, that feels good! After being in that chair for so long with nothing to do but physics, this is Heaven.”

“Stephen, help me.”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I’m done; let’s walk.”

We left the gloryhole and walked towards his home as he explained, “I thought about this considerably. I don’t know if you noticed or not, but there are no Mormons here, and we can only see the Mormons on earth via EarthTube.”

He looked at me as if this meant something, and I replied, “What are you saying?”

“Think about it; if the dead Mormons are not here, and we can’t see them, then they must be someplace where there’s no EarthTube. I figured this out when I tried to EarthTube God taking a crap and couldn’t see him in the bathroom. EarthTube doesn't reach certain places, such as God’s bathroom, the throne room, and behind the gloryhole.”

I bounced up and down. “Oh, that makes sense. So how does this help me?”

Stephen moved his hands excitedly. “Well, lucky for you, I figured it out. The Mormons believe there are other worlds, and I think when they die, they go to one of these worlds. Now, when I tried to peep God taking a crap, it occurred to me the shit must go somewhere. When I tried to EarthTube where the shit from Heaven dumps, I couldn’t find it.

I nodded. “Oh, I get it, so the shit from Heaven must get dumped on a different world. Just like the Mormons when they die.”

“That is right, so all you have to do is go down God’s toilet, and you will dump out on another world with no EarthTube.”

“Thanks, man.” I started walking towards God’s palace but stopped and looked back. “You really tried to watch God take a shit?”

Stephen shrugged. “What? You’re not just a little curious? You know it has to be phenomenal.”

I nodded, walking away, and soon arrived at the palace, where I slipped past God sitting in the throne room talking to people. Finding his bathroom, I climbed the massive toilet and dove from the rim into the cool water. Thankfully God didn’t leave a floater, allowing easy swimming to the bottom and past the trap. Sliding down the pipe increased in speed until blasting out an opening which landed me on a steaming crap pile the size of a mountain. I checked my phone and found no service. “Excellent. No service. No EarthTube.”

Chapter 3. Shit World

Having left Heaven reverted me to human form, and sickness struck as the smell overwhelmed from the defecation, urine puddles, semi-digested food, and tampons stretching across the entire planet. Walking through the piles revealed nothing but more piles with no means to return to Heaven.

Days passed in growing hunger, thirst, and longing for cellular service or even Garcia to find me with EarthTube. Soon the thirst and hunger took me to my knees as thoughts of eating a turd and drinking the brown water forced my cry, “Help me, Lord, please. Don’t make me drink the brown water and eat turds. I beg forgiveness. I am sorry, God.”

The clouds parted, and God’s voice bellowed from the Heavens, “Your lesson is complete.”

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you.”

After returning to Heaven, EarthTube removed the video of Mary and me, and censorship sucked because people didn’t believe me when I told them about the Holy Mother. Heaven’s new arrivals assumed Mary immaculate and virgin, which was complete bullshit, but an upside existed with the new policies that barred watching people in homes and most buildings. Garcia no longer harassed me because posting personal information violated EarthTube’s terms of use, bringing much relief since nothing felt worse than trillions of people witnessing you hold your penis or someone else’s. EarthTube became less entertaining for sure but increased hope that Gates would arrive soon with an Xbox.

Epilogue

God teaches the great lesson to not shit where you eat, but if you do, make sure you do it where no one can see and post on EarthTube.

The End

Read All The Epics

⚡⚡⚡Warning! Triggering for your pleasure! ⚡⚡⚡

Prologue

In Heaven, no crimes occur because no unfulfilled need demands stealing. Much time passes in endless gloryhole pleasure, and if gloryholes are not to your liking, hooking up with angels provides a good alternative. I enjoy fornicating with angels because they flap their wings and sing while I pound them in the dirt hole, and that excites me. At any rate, in exchange for eternal bliss, God picks someone, from time to time to do his bidding, often me, because He does not like me. Sure, he lets me stay in Heaven and provides for me, but this does not mean he cares, and our relationship forms that of the hot trophy wife’s stepchild you dislike but came with the marriage. In my case, there’s no trophy wife, so really, I’m the stepchild leftover when the trophy wife divorces you, who sort of hangs in limbo because divorcing a kid is crass, even if you don’t like him. For these reasons, God finds no issue interrupting my gloryholing and celestial fornication to perform chores.

Chapter 1. Back to the Future

I screamed from behind the archangel bent over a bench, “Flap ‘em, buddy!” In the next instance, I stood in God’s throne room with him frowning downward. “I am sending you back to the earth to carry out my will, Vince.”

“It’s Vicente, and what do-”

In an eye's blink, the streets of New York materialized around me, which brought much joy for knowing New York possessed world-famous bungholery. Extremely attractive passersby captured my attention, with muscle-bound, movie-star-looking men showing huge, coiled penises pressing outward the fabric of their pants. They talked on smartphones with long tongues shooting in and out of their mouths, appearing designed for oral pleasing.

Awe did not end with the men as women possessed massive breasts that stretched the limits of blouses with curvaceous buttocks, ready to burst through pants and skirts, invited bungholery. Their long tongues also flapped in the air while talking on cell phones, making my mouth water.

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“Thank you, God!” I reached for my manhood to pleasure myself.

Strangers stopped and stared, bringing awareness of inhabiting my physical body rather than my ghostly form. “Dammit, God.”

A crowd amassed, aiming smartphones to take pictures and record video while yelling, “Pervert! Freak! Dirty old man!”

Men fell to the ground crying like babies as women live-streamed, “He looked at my breasts and ass! He touched himself right in front of me!”

The police arrived, and the growing mob shifted attention to them. “Oppressors! Police brutality!” As the crowd chanted, I slowly backed away, but the cops circled. “Sir, lay down on the ground.”

Lowering to knees, I felt electricity’s jolt from the cop’s stun guns, causing me to flop about the ground. Consciousness faded as the hysterical crowd photographed my incoherent mumbling, “Here we go again.”

Opening eyes revealed my nude body strapped to a metal table as a doctor and nurse stared curiously. The doctor’s perfectly chiseled features, muscular body, and penis bulging the front of his pants formed manhood's perfection. The voluptuous nurse also looked molded for sexuality, possessing a doll-like face and perfect breasts beckoning to be touched. “It’s gross, doctor! What’s wrong with him? He's getting another erection.”

The doctor pointed to my uncontrolled hardness. “Nurse, it’s not his fault. This man has obviously been through some form of trauma or neglect. Look, he never had any physical improvements or augmentations, and his testicles are severely underdeveloped. Can you hear me, sir? Can you tell me what happened?”

Trying to comprehend the situation made lying seem wise. “Woe is me! An evil man locked me in a basement my whole life, fed me gruel, and forced me to be his sex slave. Forced to blow him endlessly and many other forms of bungholery, I never saw a woman until today. Woe is me.”

The doctor shook his head, visibly disturbed by the story, while the nurse took selfies with me in the background, texting, “Basement Boy won’t stop staring at my ass! #pervertID”

The doctor’s face formed in lines of empathy, “Don’t worry, sir, we are going to take care of you.”

Chapter 2. FAG

The nurse unstrapped me from the table, allowing me to stand naked before them. “Wow!” said the doctor. “I’ve seen this in books but never imagined seeing an adult human in raw form. Look, nurse, he has no muscle tone or movie star-like features.”

“I know.” The nurse shook her head in disgust. “His penis is so tiny, and where are his tattoos?”

Confused, I wondered if God sent me to some alternate universe. “What year is it?”

The nurse looked up from her phone. “It’s 2048. You were living in a basement.” She turned and took selfies with me in the background, posting, “Basement Boy just found out what year it is; maybe he should learn it’s time to stop staring at my tits. #littlepenisbigeyes”

The doctor wrote notes on a computer pad. “I am sorry for your suffering. Let’s get started with the FAG so we can make corrections to your body.”

“What?” I exclaimed in confusion.

The doctor set the pad on the table. “We are going to use the Function Alternating Genotron, or FAG, to help you.”

The nurse wheeled the FAG into the room, which looked like an animatronic head on an adjustable pole with one blue light and one red light where the eyes should be. An opening with a conical, leathery, spotted tongue hung from what resembled a mouth. The doctor said, “Please turn around so we can insert the FAG.”

“You betcha!” I said excitedly, throwing my body over the table as the doctor adjusted the FAG’s height and began anal insertion. The conical, leathery, spotted tongue moved inwards, exploring my ass as the lights blinked on-off until both lights sustained a constant glow after the FAG filled the rectum. The doctor said, “Perfect. Now we’re ready.”

Uncontrollably, I jerked off, which made the nurse scream and take pictures as she frantically ran to the room’s corner and stood behind ropes under a sign that read, “Safe Zone.”

I yelled, “Get back over here, girl! You don’t want to miss this!”

The doctor whipped his head to me. “Quiet, sir! She is in the safe zone.”

“What?” I stopped masturbating, having lost the moment.

The doctor pointed to the corner. “I’m sorry. I forget you lived in a basement your whole life. The safe zone is a space protected by law where no one can engage anyone with emotionally disturbing thoughts or any form of critical thinking. All public buildings must have safe zones installed in them to provide a quiet, nurturing space where people can cry, play with toys, eat cookies, and drink lemonade.”

The Nurse stood in the Safe Zone, taking pictures of her ass and posting them online as I shook my head and pointed my thumb over my shoulder to the FAG. “So, what does this thing do?”

The doctor launched into a long, complicated explanation to which I answered, “Are you telling me that this thing can make my dick bigger and my tongue longer?”

The doctor smiled in agreement. “Not only that, but you can be more muscular, change your eye color, or become a different race. The FAG can make you anything you want to be. It can even change your sexuality preference quotient.”

“What the hell is that?”

The doctor pointed to the FAG. “The sexuality preference quotient is the measure of your sexual preference. Thanks to the FAG we have discovered there is no such thing as sexual diversity. There are just varying levels of sexual desire. So, imagine on a scale of zero to one hundred, a one is an uptight heterosexual male uncomfortable seeing a man’s penis in the locker room, and a fifty is a flaming ass punk used by ten men in a nightclub bathroom.

“What’s a hundred?” My eyes widened.

The doctor laughed, “That number is for the brave! Imagine a sexual appetite of endless hunger. At one hundred, sex with a donkey while eating out your best friend’s gay sister while a bear and twink pound your ass like an oil drill — would seem like a walk in the park.

“I’ll be damned.”

“So, what would you like to be?” asked the doctor.

I said excitedly, “I want to be a half-black, half-Chinese transsexual, with bodacious tits and an ass that can accommodate ten men. Oh, and a dick as long as my forearm and as thick as a beer can.”

“Wow, that’s very specific. Luckily, we have STUPID, and we can see what’s available,” returned the doctor.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked in confusion.

“Sorry, STUPID is the Sexual Template Universal Persona Indexing Database. In STUPID, we have thousands of genetic templates stored, so each time a person wants to change, we don’t have to start from scratch. It’s kind of like a sexual package deal. Think of a meal deal, but instead of fries and a burger, you get a movie star ass combined with a porn star mouth.”

The doctor stood behind the FAG and typed on the keypad on the rear of the FAG. “Ah, they do have it. What you want is a West Hollywood Kardashian Ten.”

“Fucking amazing!”

The doctor smiled and typed. “Okay, so that’s one West Hollywood Kardashian Ten, and of course, you’re going to want the maximum penis length — who wouldn’t? Oh, definitely want to max your tongue size." He looked up and shook his head." You don’t want to miss out on that experience, and let’s combine this template with the Brad Pitt Fight Club on Roids template. Now we’re talking! So, all that’s left is your sexual preference quotient; what number would you like?”

I looked over my shoulder. “Doc, dial that shit up. All the way.”

“No problem. Just sign the Dolezal Disclaimer, and we will turn on the FAG and get you ready to reenter the world.” The doctor handed me a sheet of paper and a pen.

“What’s the Dolezal Disclaimer?” I stared at the paper.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting. Legally, whenever someone changes race to African American or any skin tone that could cause the assumption of being partially African American, they must sign the Dolezal Disclaimer. By signing, you agree not to impersonate or claim you are a genuine African American since you have not endured hundreds of years of racism. If asked to disclose your race, you must refer to yourself as quasi-black, so there is no confusion.”

I shrugged. “Okay, that seems simple enough.” I signed the paper.

“Ready?” The doctor smiled.

“Fire it up, doc.”

The FAG thumped and blinked, exciting breast and ass growth as my manhood swelled and extended. Skin tone and features changed, making me smile. “This is a dream come true!”

Chapter 3. No Anchovies, Dammit!

Once transformed, the doctor released me with an aftercare plan to obtain tattoos covered by the government's SHIT program, Supplemental Health Insurance Tattoo, which paid for underprivileged people’s tattoos. SHIT allowed everyone to feel special and positive about themselves because, without a tattoo, you could never be unique or entertaining.

Leaving the hospital, I contemplated places in New York to test my new body with bungholery. Hunger overcame me while walking the streets as the smell of pizza wafted through the air. I entered a small pizzeria and ordered a large pizza with everything but anchovies, then waited for the order while imagining hot sex with strangers in bathrooms. Gratitude filled me for God gifting me a new body as the cashier called my order number, causing my enthusiastic grab of the pizza and exit from the store. My happiness turned to dismay when I opened the box to discover the pie covered with anchovies. “Dammit!” I grunted and turned to open the door, but time froze around me, turning everyone to statues as the clouds parted in the thunder of God’s voice, “Your task is complete.”

Kicking wildly, rising into Heaven, I lost the pizza that floated away to God eagerly smiling. “Just the way I like it, with anchovies.”

I pleaded, “Dammit, God! Please send me back! I beg of thee!” My body rapidly transformed into my former self while rising into the clouds. “Please, Lord, it’s such a great time in history. People can be anything they want, do anything they want, and partake in any form of bungholery they desire. Please, don’t take me away!”

God took a bite of pizza. “You don’t want to go back there. In a few years, an international reality TV series causes a large-scale selfie accident that destroys them. During filming, a lapse of political correctness offends everyone causing global suicide. Bunch of idiots, but they did make one hell of a pizza.”

And so I was, God’s whore, again.

Epilogue

Standing at the golden gloryhole pleasured by Angels, I contemplate my journey and realize — being yourself really isn’t all that great.

The End.

God bless you for reading! My name is Vicente, and I am the author of the Epic Short Stories, not to be confused with that other guy . That guy thinks it’s “gauche” to remind you to subscribe, but you know what I think?

I think it’s gauche to read free articles other people worked hard to write.

Do you realize the amount of research required to write these stories? The time required watching porn, reading comic books, and exploring the web?

Clearly, you do not! 

(Of course, if you are paying, you are not gauche but a discerning reader of refined humor and exquisite taste.) But for everyone else, it’s time to support the quality literature you enjoy. For less than .14 cents a day, you support this entire publication: books, articles, artwork, and all that free content you just love. Now don’t be gauche!

Pay Up!

Read Volume 3

The Epic Short Stories

⚡⚡⚡Warning: Triggering, graphically violent, sexually explicit, emotionally disturbing, & other things that make words worth reading. ⚡⚡⚡

Prologue

The year 2018 ended my sentence in a non-corporeal form, having served God’s purpose. While happy my time as a ghost ended, I ruminate the hundreds of years prior to my Heavenly ascension. The struggle in the ghostly purgatory compels me to share the tale before entering eternal bliss. Heed my warning!

Chapter 1. Ye Old Bungholery!

Twas 1435 when death stole me during my fat wife’s screeching, “Geet yer cock out of the gloryhole!” In my head’s turn to her pointing and screaming, sudden pain struck my lower back as the frightened donkey behind me kicked. Bucking and smashing me against the wall, still penetrated by my manhood, the donkey crumpled me to the barn’s dirt floor. Writhing in pain ended with a final crushing hoof to the skull that stole the world in blackness, leaving only the wife’s voice fading, “You geet what you deserved, you bastard!”

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Dead. For a time. Then darkness. Then a distant glow. Suddenly, I raced through a dimensionless tunnel toward the light and soon emerged like a shit bucket dumped from a window. Unscathed from the brutal death, I stood, and before me, giant feet rested under legs that stretched upward, forming a massive, white-bearded man sitting upon an enormous throne of gold. God!

Unsure what to do, having never believed in God, I stared aimlessly about the room's marble floors and white walls, empty except for the throne and God. I expected more furniture in Heaven but did not get the opportunity to voice this opinion, for God leaned forward and bellowed, “Vince.”

“Vicente,” I corrected.

“Whatever. Having lived a lecherous, corrupt life boozing and for just not liking you, I condemn you to walk the earth as a ghost until you serve my will. Upon completing your task, you may enter my kingdom.”

“Okay, Lord, but what do you want me to do?”

“Silence, fool. Return to the Earth and serve my will.” God waved a hand, and I stood on my little farm in England. Scratching my head, not understanding the purpose of this earthly sentence, I shrugged and returned to the gloryhole’s pleasuring. Entering the barn and placing my manhood into the wall’s hole behind the donkey stall, I waited, but nothing happened. I knocked on the barn wall but cursed, seeing my hand pass through the wood. “Damn thee, Lord.” I was a ghost, just as he said a minute prior.

Slowly sticking my head through the wall and looking down revealed the farm lass and the field hand romping like stray dogs. The tastiness of the scene did not escape notice and began much stroking and leering. Invisibility's benefits now formed endless possibilities made even better by lack of hunger or need to sleep.

“Who is the fairest maiden of them all?” I questioned, hoisting my trousers while leaving the barn. Nodding and smiling to thoughts of the tavern owner’s daughter, who all the townsmen thought a delicious fantasy began a walk to town. Arriving and watching the young maiden serve drinks as her ripe, inviting bosom challenged her dress for freedom and affirmed their opinion. Hours of pleasure passed until the tavern closed, and though not thirsty, the mugs of ale lining the bar tempted but disappointed my immaterial tongue that tasted no drink.

Touching, poking, and many other forms of bungholery also met with failure as my phantom manhood found no joy except rubbing myself while she slept or walked about her upstairs bedroom naked, but noncorporeal self-pleasuring attempts ultimately held no satisfaction. The hope of touching the maiden ended after weeks of futile attempts, bringing occasional contemplations of God’s mission, which frustrated much since he could have just told me his will. Unable to divine His will or partake of the maiden’s bungholery motivated leaving. Exiting the tavern one afternoon, I stopped to say goodbye to the fair tavern girl, whispering in her ear, “You’re a dirty bitch. Fare-thee-well.”

Suddenly, the maiden tilted her head inquisitively. “Warty witch cast thee spell?”

Patrons of the tavern stared at the lass.

“You heard me!” I exclaimed.

“Burn thee?” she questioned, looking about the room.

Panic befell the town folk who dragged her into the street and delivered her to the local magistrate, who, hearing the townsmen’s testimony, ordered her death. Despite the sadness of the maiden's burning, I reveled in the newly discovered ability to communicate. As the girl screamed from the fiery stake, I walked away feeling confident that people would hear me again, and many possibilities of bungholery awaited.

Chapter 2. Shalom, Pardner!

Conversation attempts continued causing women to burn at the stake, and this frustration soon spurred relocation to France. Revered for their sluttery, the French brought a new promise of bungholery, despite horrible body odor. “If you want good wine and whoring, go to France! Just hold your nose.” So, the adage and my migration went.

At a harbor, a French boat waited to cross the English Channel, and entering the ship unnoticed in a ghostly state, I stowed away with some whores below deck and began pleasuring myself. Only underway a few hours, a commotion from the upper decks ceased self-pleasuring and brought me topside to witness a pirate ship nearing. Cannons erupted. Strikes rocked the boat, shearing the planks of the deck, and soon the craft sank, leaving me helpless to float or swim. Sunlight dimmed while falling to the seafloor in the murky water filled with bodies and wreckage. “Dammit!”

The directionless walk through the sea’s pitch on the channel's floor lasted a long, unknown time, stopping only to stroke my manhood and ventilate hostility in the darkness. “Damn thee, Lord, for trapping me betwixt the arse of the North Sea and the pisser of the Atlantic!”

Lost for many years, I walked and pleasured myself until a light glowed in the distance one day. Holstering my manhood to trudge faster, the water above receded until the brightness revealed a rocky beach. I stepped on the shore, assuming arrival in France, but the journey ended much further. Discovering Germany frustrated but elated knowing the legends of village-feeding, prodigiously breasted women, and men with tongues expert in bungholery. Yes, a wondrous culture, those Germans.

I arrived during the Golden Age of the Jew, called the Weimar Republic, and in those days, Jews roamed Europe’s plains in abundance. A playfully obstinate people skilled in many trades, great Jewish pioneers advanced the fields of jewelry making, banking, personal injury law, and chiropractic medicine. Fist-banging, jovial dinner table stories spoke of renowned Jewish explorers, warriors, and the great Jewish accountants who traveled to the East bearing the knowledge of tax shelters. There were tales of the Hasidic cowboy wrangling livestock, stopping only to tip his shtreimel and give you a hardy, “Shalom, pardner.” Sadly, this great age and history would come to a terrible end.

While lurking around a Jewish farm, trying to decipher two Jewish girls speaking Hebrew in the hopes of convincing them to strip naked, a commotion from the barn captured my attention. Leaving the girls to hang wash, I entered the nearby barn and found a strange, small, toothbrush-mustached man wrestling a donkey. The weird little man cursed and struggled to position the donkey, then dropped trousers and sweated while pounding the beast. “Scheiße! Scheiße! Scheiße!”

I fell to the earth laughing as the Jewish girls entered the barn to investigate and fell into hysterics. The weird little man reddened with embarrassment but caught in the moment’s pleasure, he could not break free of the donkey, causing me to yell, “Keep doin’ her!”

The odd little man cocked an ear. “Juden?”

Realizing I gained his attention, I shook my head. “No, keep doin’ her, stupid!”

“Töte Juden!” He whipped his head about, searching aimlessly.

Realizing he couldn’t understand, I walked off laughing when he finished his bungholery and pulled up his lederhosen. The giggling girls raced past me, leaving the barn as the funny little man chased them, screaming, “Töte Juden!”

“What a strange little man.” I shook my head and began seeking new entertainment.

Chapter 3. All Whores Go to Heaven

Years of pleasuring myself to hot German women morphed into the mass destruction of Europe, motivating a hasty exit from Germany. Escape provided no relief from the violence as I traveled to Japan, where a fierce masturbation session with the emperor’s concubines caused the utterance of something the emperor misinterpreted, and bombs soon rained on Pearl Harbor. While stroking manhood in Korea, I somehow started a war, and similarly in Vietnam, making imperative the need to find English-speaking people, but this too proved a mistake.

Moaning while touching myself at the People’s Temple in LA made Jim Jones believe he was Jesus. In New York, while pleasuring myself with the chili cheese at a convenience store, the Islamic owners interpreted my grunting as “Jihad,” and somehow, this caused a bunch of morons to crash planes into buildings. Decades of death, despair, and futile masturbation spurred the decision to live in the desert, hoping the quiet desolation would allow pleasuring without misinterpretation.

While wandering the desert, I came upon a wide-open space of white sand where something shiny jutted from the dust. Kicking the sand away unearthed a massive set of solid gold keys gleaming the Mercedes symbol from the key ring. Working the giant keys free caused the sky to part above me, revealing Heaven, thundering God's voice, “Your task is complete.”

“What? What fucking task?”

“You have returned my car keys.”

Throwing hands to the air, I shook my head. “What the hell, God? Why didn’t you just tell me where you thought you lost them and send me to look for them? I’ve been wandering around for hundreds of years, not knowing what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”

God’s voice bellowed, “Long ago, in the time of Moses, I dropped my car keys in the desert. While this seems like a simple thing, simple things to humans are complex events for your God. You don’t understand the time’s complexity, how all the universe is a fabric of me, and how many routine actions often carry cosmic consequences. Once while eating tacos, I farted a black hole that swallowed a galaxy. Another time, I sneezed and wiped out a solar system. Then there was the time I had an angel in the back of the Benz, and getting a hummer caused an ice age.

Every action carries massive consequences, and that’s why I need you to carry out my will, but your stupidity causes many problems when I try to explain. Before you, I sent Moses to find my keys in the desert. He and his people wandered around for forty years because somehow, saying, “I chose you to find my keys,” translated into them being the chosen people. Whenever I tell people to do my bidding, they always take it the wrong way, like the time I told that idiot Marx to be less stingy, and he thought the world needed Communism. If I said, "find my keys in the desert," you surely would have taken that to mean something like the “keys to salvation” or “keys to my holy wisdom.”

“But God, all those people died,” I cried.

Laughter boomed from the sky, “They only died here; they're all in Heaven. I can’t very well kill any of you since I am the supreme, ultimate, and universal righteousness. Maybe those people died so that other people could live, or maybe, they died so the Eagles could win the Super Bowl. Time and reality's complexity is beyond your comprehension. All you need to understand is everyone is someone’s whore, and all of you happen to be mine. What does it all matter since all you whores go to Heaven anyway?”

“God?”

“Yes.”

“Are there gloryholes in Heaven?”

“They’re made of gold with Angels playing harps and singing to your pleasuring.”

“You are truly great, my Lord.”

Epilogue

Today, I rise into Heaven, having learned the great lesson: do not judge God’s will. Just be happy to be his eternal whore.

The End.

Read Volume 2

The Epic Short Stories