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“I’m not dumb enough to arrest you; the paperwork is a goddamned nightmare.
The Xarcrax book Amy was holding belched out another full human skin, like a snake from a can of prank peanuts. The children in the crowd shrieked in terror.
Coiffure’s posture was that of a man who knew the situation was insanity and was so pissed off by it that he was determined to find the cause and shoot it until the world returned to normal, even if it meant taking a break halfway through to go buy more bullets.
“I hope you like your ribs BARBECUED, bitch!” is what I’d think to say later but didn’t at the time.
“David, what do you think we’ve been talking about all this time?”
I reached for the first thing my hands could find: The door of the black cabinet next to the refrigerator. The one with the DO NOT OPEN sticker on it. I braced myself, then I yanked it open just as I heard Joy say, “No!” For a tense, silent moment, nothing happened. And then, the avalanche came.
I’d have said we were completely at a loss, but we did have one lead: a giant, now-readable (if very wet) book that was a wealth of information about the cult’s belief system.
Joy said, “See, this is why I like watching you guys work. It’s like you’re simultaneously very good and very bad at this. It makes me feel like I could do it.”
God, I hate time travel shit.”
I said, “I swear to God, science has not yet invented the kind of ass-beating these nerds deserve.”
“That is not my name nor my job title,” said the Time Captain.
So you’re saying we do the work, and the universe swoops in later and takes credit? You know what, that does sound like an employer.”
I’m pretty sure it was, “Knife to meet you!”
“The same as how a turd will wind up in this facility no matter what toilet it gets dropped into.
John said, “It’s just like my dream. The ritual is to summon all the darkness into one place so that it can fuck a hole in the space-time continuum.”
We should find the guy who designed it and tell him he did a good job.”
“Of course. I just wanted to, uh, make sure.”
Joy said, “In other words, we’re all going to get ice cream cones, which is exactly what I suggested one minute ago. I think I should be in charge.”
I said, “We’re not getting ice cream. We’re staking out Chilly Whip for a wizard ambush.” “Oh, I’m getting a waffle cone one way or another. I don’t care what you guys do.”
We sat in the van across the street from the orange Chilly Whip building, all of us...
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Bas was pulling into the Coral Rock motel, which was approximately thirty feet from my own apartment. I assume Bas didn’t know that and only picked it because it was one of the joints in town that didn’t ask questions. We noted the room he entered, then we just parked the van at my place.
John reached out, put a hand on Bas’s shoulder, and, in a tender voice, whispered, “I have weed.”
Thanks, wall guy.
I said, “Weed. And other things. Got to build soft layers between yourself and reality or else the sharp edges will just shred you.”
“My dad is an asshole.”
Bas thought about it. He had a look like he’d been presented a sandwich so big and complicated that he wasn’t sure where the first bite should come from.
Bas said, “These are the best cookies I’ve ever had.”
Amy said, “I don’t know if anybody is born a monster, but some people are born with a potential monster inside them. It’s not fair, nothing is fair, but you play the cards you’re dealt. I have chronic back pain; you have the soul of a tyrant.”
“Again, leave that to us,” said John, who once got a casserole recipe so wrong that his kitchen exploded.
They were grotesque and ridiculous, and she loved them so, so much. They were all doing their best, and their best was just an appalling disaster.
and at least a dozen copies of John’s self-published book of erotic poetry, Welcome to the Hog Storm).
What she saw in his eyes was starvation. Outside of doctor visits, horseplay, and attacks from bullies, he’d not physically touched another human in seven years. He lay in bed at night and fantasized, not about sex but cuddling. He was terrified of actual sexual contact with a woman—afraid of embarrassing himself, disgusted by his own body. As a result, all his masturbation scenarios were unfulfillable fantasies, perfect girls who were enslaved or brainwashed, if not literal cartoons. He was a ball of unfulfilled desire that had congealed into a black sludge of bitter narcissism and petty
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And then the guitar took on a different tone, became closer, realer. Into view stepped a man playing a guitar that was covered in thick black fur, wearing a mask of chiseled black stone, a vest of human foreskins, a winged speedo like the one Sting wore in Dune, thigh-high leather boots, and nothing else. He played out the guitar and vocalizations from “Purple Rain” for several minutes after the song ended, fading it out as he slowly backed away from the camp, the music easing gently into the distance like a mother’s hands withdrawn from an infant that has finally surrendered to sleep.
Gracie barely raised both fists and, in a deadpan tone, said, “Woohoo.”
“Of course,” said Bas softly, watching the horror he’d helped birth into our universe. “We summoned the most terrifying creature of all: man.” Several cops groaned in disappointment. Lemmy said, “Oh, come on! That is bullshit!” Joy yelled, “Boooo! Booooooooooo!!!”
“He’s gone. He traveled back in time; it’s a whole thing. Don’t ask me to explain anything time travel–related; I’ll just get mad.”
“Hey. Sebastian the Crab. Get up.”
“No,” said Lemmy. “That can’t be it. That sucked! We didn’t even get to do anything!”
Dave responded by running back toward the bird. “Hey!” he shouted to the space where he assumed the creature was. “It’s us! It’s John and Dave! We’re the face versions of collectors’ items! Forget those people, take us! But not Amy—we fired her! She sucks!”
John could read the boy’s expression, his realization that he was too late. His change of heart, his attempt to redeem himself from the dark side—it wasn’t going to matter. The horror he’d set into motion was too far gone. Now Gracie was going to pay for it and, after her, the whole world. Bas presumably had not known prior to today that a single human being could fuck up this hard, but John could have told him, if he’d asked.
They didn’t need to be asked twice. Not eager to get snatched up by the monster’s talons again, Gracie sprinted toward the side door of the van. Amy headed for the passenger seat. John headed for the driver’s door, only to be shoved aside at the last moment by Joy.
And with that, the prophet of Xarcrax vanished. There was no sound, no howl of rage, no fade or dissolve from reality. He just wasn’t there, because he had never been. Of course he hadn’t. How would he? It was ridiculous to even suggest it.
“The mouse, was that Silva? So did Xarcrax’s prophet’s dead sister kill the Time Captain? Did she do it on purpose?”
“First of all, I want you to think about how your life has gotten to a place where you can say that string of words out loud and have all of it make sense to you. But the answer is yes.”
Every moronic decision you make wipes out a universe of better possibilities.”
wanted to meet us at what is now the best coffee place in town: McDonald’s.
Amy said, “You want us to take this work seriously? This is America. There’s only one reliable way to make sure we do that.” “In that case,” said Marconi, “I suppose we need to discuss salary.” “Send us an offer at your earliest convenience,” said Amy. “I’m sure you’ll be fair.” “You do know that this means there will be expectations, in terms of the quantity and quality of work,” replied Marconi. “You would earn your pay.
And I assume you can all pass a standard employment background check?” In near-perfect unison, John and I said, “Oh, fuck no.”
At some point, however, I’d apparently dozed off. I was awoken by the man knocking on the glass next to me. “Hey! Get the fuck out of my car!”
It seems fitting to me that those should be Dalton Galvatron’s last words.
