I feel somehow unscrupulous. I feel, in fact, nosey. Nosie?
Molech Rises:
Molech soon tired of the sea. He put the fish on his head and his mother on his foot and he swam across thirty oceans to the first land. When he came to the land he said, “This does not please me,” and so he ate the land.
He went to new land. In this land there were people. He went to the people, and stood before their town. The priest came before Molech.
“Oh great new god,” he said, “please have mercy on us for…”
And Molech ate the priest. He turned to the townspeople and he said, “Grovel before me, for then I shall not kill you. And when you die, if you have groveled before me long, I will assure that you will not return. If you do not grovel, I will kill you ten thousand times, each time more slowly and with instruments more blunt than the last. You are doomed to decay and death already. Only I am infinite. Do not force me to punish you. Grovel now.”
“But,” said the townspeople, “we work hard and do not have time to grovel. Our oilprices are high and our only bookstore is Barnes and Noble.”
Molech then roared a terrible roar. He grabbed the first townsperson he saw, ripped off his toe and blew through the hole in his foot, shooting the townsperson’s insides out through his eyes. Molech stretched the empty skin until it was an enormous bag, and then he jumped high into the air, hanging the bag in the sky where it blotted out the sun.
Molech flew back to the townspeople and said. “And now you will grovel before me, for truly I am the only being powerful enough to hate you sufficiently. No other being can hate you enough. My hatred is divine and perfect; in these ways it is like music or rain. But it cannot be stopped or reasoned with; also is it like a mudslide or terrible war. Grovel before me now before I am compelled to express you to how putrid you seem to me, how hopeless is your resistance to my demands, and how quickly I can destroy you. Already I have stolen your sun,” He pointed to the villager’s skin which hung cold and empty in the sky, the sun pressing a dim glow through the hide. “Pray that I do not do you as I have done him.”
“But, ” said the villagers, ” we were all watching American Idol. We don’t use the sun anyway. What good is it? We have evolved beyond the sun. We have science now. We could cover you with so many graphs you wouldn’t know what to do.”
Molech choked with rage. He grabbed a family of villagers: two parents, two children, and a baby. “Hello,” said Molech to the family. He smashed the parents into each other and rolled them in his palms until they were only a bloody ball of meat. He shoved the heads of the two children into the ball and then pulled hard at their feet, stripping off their bodies and leaving only two spines drooping sadly from the sides of the ball. He tore out the baby’s legs and arms and shoved them into the ball, pairing them together sideways like two mouths. He tore off the baby’s head and placed it on the top of the ball, and he shoved the remainder of the baby deep into the center. He put the bodies of the two children at the bottom of the ball so that it stood on four legs.
“Life!” Screamed Molech, and the terrible creature began to wiggle and shake. “Life!” Screamed Molech once again, and dark green and purple skin began to engulf the creature, covering the children’s spines to make tentacles, streaming across the baby’s arms and legs to form lips and teeth, and covering the baby’s head on top. “Life!” Screamed Molech finally, and the creature’s eyes came open and it roared with its three mouths, made from the baby’s mouth, arms, legs.
“Creature! You shall be called Moshquadnar! You will show these people how they must grovel before me! Go forth and do my WILL!”
To be continued…
On the seventh day of the waning moon, a small goat shivered and died. On the eighth day of the waning moon a flock of birds flew to the north-east through a sharp wind and ended up somewhere outside of Cleveland, which was at that time referred to as “over there”. On the ninth day of the waning moon, everyone cooked disappointing meals, which were generally over-salted. These are the commonly referred to signs of Molech’s imminent birth.
The birth of Molech:
On the tenth day of the waning moon, a young woman fell into the sea. It is said that she, thrashing about, saw a vision of a large fish, what we would refer to in modern times as a very large fish. She called out to it, “Please demonic creature, save me from my peril!” The fish swam near and asked her several questions. The questions themselves are not known. There are presently two sects who believe that have found the true version of one of the questions. Both sects agree upon a myth that the complete text of the conversation will be found on the eye of the unnamed wanderer named either Jack or Jeffrey (though one of the sects is presently split on whether his name might also be spelled Geoffrey). Two possible translations of the question:
“When walking on an incline, do you lean into it?”
“Is it possible to jump over a tree?”
In any case, the woman answered the fish’s questions as best she could for she was very nearly dead. The fish, having taken the answers from her, spit into her mouth and in her last breath she gasped and heaved out a small clump of leaves and sticks. The great fish placed the newborn clump on a rock and the great fish brought to the clump all refuse that he found. This clump became what Molech is today, fed on the waste of the sea.
Molech Identified:
Molech is 5 feet tall when he intends to sprint; otherwise, he is about as tall as you or I. His knees bend backwards. He has 2 hairs on his left palm and 3 hairs in a constellation below his left big toe. He is often seen wearing an overcoat made of llama and tweed (which may also be a type of llama).
TO BE CONTINUED…
So. The people who lived across the street from me, the MONROES, had dogs. They were not popular dogs. Next door to these people lived my friend BOB. Bob and his family also had dogs. There were a number of confrontations between ye olde Monroe dog and ye olde Bob dog.
Sadly, one day one of the Monroe’s dogs died. They were, understandably, upset. Less understandably, they also decided that their dog had been POISONED. They decided that Bob had poisoned their dog. There could be only one thing to do. They waited until Bob and his family went out one afternoon, sent their eldest son over the fence that bordered the two properties, and then sent a bottle of antifreeze over with him. He went to their patio, lay some hot dogs on the cement, and then covered the hot dogs with antifreeze. Then he opened Bob’s back door and let out their dogs. Dogs love antifreeze. And boy, antifreeze sure does love to kill dogs.
While the Monroes enacted their brilliant scheme, they apparently decided to send their youngest daughter, Kendra, far, far away – to our house. Hurray!
Well, Bob’s family came home, found their two dogs dead on the floor covered in their own hot-dog-and-antifreeze vomit, and then got a bit curious. They walked into their backyard, noticed a large green stain on their porch and then, completing the tete-a-tete of master detective vs master criminal, they saw a bottle of antifreeze on the Monroe’s porch. How strange, they thought, and called the police.
The Monroes could not understand how their deed was uncovered. It had been the perfect crime – except! – they had sent their daughter to the very hearth of the enemy. She must have told my family, and then we, surely we, must have told Bob’s family! Of course!
The next morning my sisters went out into the back yard to swing, but came back in crying. What?! Why would they be crying?! What strange thing could possibly be in our back yard that would cause small children to cry?! Why, torn rabbits, of course! That’s right! The Monroes came into our backyard, took our sweet little bunnies out of their cage, and then ripped them into peices. Everywhere you looked there was little baby bunny skull, or back leg, or bit of ear. If you looked hard you could see where momma bunny’s womb had been rubbed all over the tree – as if they were trying to clean it. Later we found a little note that said ‘Mind your own Business’.
Yay!
Before the gore and insanity, I would like to make note of something as fundumental as it is simple. That is, rabbits are very cute.
Forgive me for that.
Next, I want to discuss the town in which I grew up. It is a wonderful place, complete with many amenities that make it just like a real town. For instance, we had a McDonalds, enough Blockbuster Videos to ensure the future of humanity, and several gorgeous Dollar Generals and classy pawn shops. Ah, home sweet Watauga (pronounced what – aw – gah). When I was about 12 we even got a magical water tower which, after it was installed, magically caused the water to have deer feces in it. I’ll bet you don’t know what it’s like to shower in water that’s unsafe to drink due to too much deer feces! If you do, awesome! We should compare brain parasites sometime!
In short, Watauga is probably the best place on earth. One of the interesting things about Watauga is how everyone there is completely (ok, no so completely) fucking nuts. This is a hard statement to justify, but you’re going to have to take my word for it. Almost everyone you meet in Watauga, regardless of age, gender, yearly income, or family heritage, has something wrong with them. I don’t mean they’re missing eyes or legs, wheelchair bound, or stricken with cancer. I mean they can’t read. I mean the guy who lived next door to me all throughout my childhood would go outside in the middle of the night and howl like a wolf. I’m talkin’ fundamentalist-Christian-L Ron Hubbard-have-sex-with-your -sister-so-your-mom-has-something-to-watch-because-the-damn-tv-broke crazy.
So. When I was a kid my family had rabbits. We had two rabbits: Bob (the boy) and Ed (a girl). Some time in the spring Bob and Ed started to get a little skittish and, one day, they went missing from their hutch. Well, we said, I guess that’s the end of rabbits. A few days later we heard a funny noise in the far corner of the backyard, and what should we find but immeasurable cuteness: Bob and Ed had copulated and produced a single perfect offspring. We called her Baby. Baby is probably the single cutest thing I have ever encountered.
Baby became very popular. My two sisters, at the time probably four and nine years old, would sit in circles with their friends and pass her around. Bob and Ed watched in dismay. One of their friends was named Kendra – a sweet little thing who hailed from across the street. She would march over daily, clad like the great depression, and try to set our house on fire, douse my youngest sister with gasoline, play ‘lynch the barbie’, or otherwise do what little girls do.
I recall being for some reason less than fond of Kendra, but my mother was inclined to tolerance. “Her family is screwed up,” she would say. Kendra lived with her mother, her father, and her brother (who was within a week of my age), and about 10 dogs. Due to noise complaints, the family was required to bring the dogs inside at night. My sisters weren’t allowed to go over to her house after they mentioned that there was dog poop everywhere on the inside. Well, what’cha gonna do?
Kendra’s mother worked as a bagger for the grocery store down the street, and her father, ever since a motorcycle accident in the ’80s that left him with a colostomy bag, did nothing. No one ever saw him.
To be continued… (this is gettin’ a bit long…)
Please, people. Do what the metaphor says. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. People are hanging in the balance – literally except for the balance part, which is too abstract to be strictly identified as ‘true’. If I said people were hanging over some gorge waiting to die, being circled by vultures, eyed by lions, etc: that could be true. But I have no evidence to support it.
Probably it is true anyway.
But you can be sure that somewhere, somehow, people are hanging.
This is the story I like to tell when people bring up two topics: deep-fryers and/or dead animals they once knew.
Growing up, my best friend was the only girl amongst 4 boys. They were Catholic. They never owned cats or dogs, but they did have a pet raccoon for awhile. Now for the sad part: One day her mom was cooking something in the deep-fryer and the raccoon must have thought it smelled delicious because he began tugging at the electrical cord. The deep fryer and all its hotness fell on the raccoon and burned the poor thing severely and he died. The end.
I also like to follow that story up with this one: I once knew a girl whose father had a pet squirrel he kept in a very small cage. The squirrel wasn’t very interesting and frankly it was depressing how the father would whisper secrets to his pet and feed it sunflower seeds one by one. I assume the squirrel is dead by now.
Warren G. Harding was right when he said, “Gosh, someone won’t know who I am someday.” Yes. That person is me. I have absolutely no idea who Warren G. Harding is. I do know someone named Warren, though. My recollection of him is as a smallish boy with glasses and bad skin. He stole my Nintendo games, but then made the mistake of inviting me over to play them. His dog, named Satan, bit me. I even remember his family’s encouragement, “Oh, no, don’t mind Satan. His bark is worse than his bite.” Right. My dad then demanded Satan be decapitated to assure he was not rabid along with being poorly named. Of course, I wasn’t told anything about this. And so I always wondered why I got strange looks from Warren and his family, and why I always received the crackers with hairs in it and the cups with roach poop meandering along the lid like affluent beachgoers. Where were their tarpaulins and giant umbrellas? In my mouth, of course!
The last time I saw Warren, his skin was worse than ever. Because he was addicted to meth. He now has five children, all of whome are half-siblings, and at 23 looks about 45 years old. I hope you’ve learned your lesson from Warren. I know Warren G. Harding did! That’s why everyone knows who he is.
“God, my wife is leaving me, I keep getting terrible customer service, and I have these really long hairs on my nipples. What do I do?” said Michael.
“It’s true, God. Plus he has this weird mole on his inner thigh. Is that cancer?” said Sandee.
“Yes, it probably is.” God said.
The three stood there, each trying not to think about the growing malignancy on Michael’s inner thigh.
“And as for the nipple hair, that’s a sign of wisdom but I think I can help you with what you seek. You know, Moses also had troubles.”said God. God shuffled across the room and moved behind a modern-retro 1920s partition.
“Are those Docksides? I’ve been thinking of getting a pair myself.” said Michael.
“Yes, not only are they classic, but the craftmanship of the lacing system create an optimum fit and the non-slip traction means that I can run across any surface.” said God, “Ok! Here it is!”
God returned with a leopard craddled in his arms. “This is a leopard. You should wear it on your back. Here, try it on.”
The leopard stretched out its paws and cooed in God’s arms.
“Are you sure it’s safe for him to wear a leopard on his back? His doctor says he has sciatica.” said Sandee.
“Yes, its also good for lower back problems and gout. Here, take it.”
Michael put the leopard on his back and did several squats and lunges about the room.
“Say, that feels pretty nice. Really gives me some zing, don’t you think?”
“Looks great and he matches well with your khakis.” said Sandee. Watching Michael do lunges with a leopard clinging to his back, she was struck by how young and happy he looked. Maybe they should try couples counseling, she thought. ”Do you have something that I could try on?”
“Well, I don’t recommend leopards for women…How do you feel about vultures? He is pretty light and you wouldn’t have to feed him much.” said God.
Sandee tried on her vulture and also began doing squats and lunges around the room. The couple were practically gleeful at their new accessories and promptly signed leases with God with the option to purchase. They also purchased a peasant mixing bowl made in Portugal.
After a mid-aisle tussle, the Tohts calmed, combed smooth their rumpled pants, and (making sure no one saw) whisked the broken pots beneath the shelves.
“I think someone without a degree can clean this up, ” said Michael.
“They probably don’t have a word for ‘broken’ in their language,” said Sandee.
They stood for a moment in contemplation of each other.
“I’m sorry,” said Sandee, “but it really is over.”
“Alright. We came here to see God anyway. Surely He can make right of all this,” said Michael.
They strode past the carpets, the Peruvian furniture, the Indonesian handcraft wheat-spun globes, the Chinese medicine balls, the bronzed replicas of original Transformer action figures, the clearly-imported but incongruous reed sculptures of dogs sitting up, birds on realistically rendered branches, and recently-weeping children being comforted by clowns with tiny red balloons; through all of it they did not waiver. As they approached, their wallets bulged. Their credit cards sliced through their pockets and purses, coming to rest on the imported Tibetan Yoga mats. Their cash swam out and spun around them, the bills hiding them from surrouding patrons, and the swirling dimes and quarters guiding them as they walked toward a bright light at the rear of the store.
They approached God. The cash fell away, leaving them naked before their lord.
“God?” they said, in unison. A voice eminated from the brightness.
“At the rate of 5 dollars a minute plus a one-time fee of two-hundred dollars (which I have already appropriated) … I am the Lord Your God.” said God.
