the horror. the horror.

And so it begins! I'm at the Korea University Magic Station PC-bahng, where the computers and operating systems are all more modern, and forward-facing USB ports are in abundance. As a result I am-- yes-- now able to use my lovely USB flash card without having to go through install procedures. Bliss.

I'm digging up some stuff from my Mac's old files, and I thought I'd start off by giving you, Dear Reader, a slice from Scary Spasms in Hairy Chasms, the evil to which I gave foul, bloody birth in 2001. It's one of my favorite stories, and a picture of the cheerful main character can be found on this, a CafePress mug.

Enjoy the story. And if it moves you to buy something (hint hint), I'll gently lick the spaces between your toes.

LITTLE BILLY IN HELL

Little Billy woke to find himself in a cave. He lifted his head off the rough stone floor and looked around, forcing his eyes to focus on his surroundings.

The cave was small, even from Billy’s four-year-old point of view. The cave’s mouth was a tall, barred ellipse that led to a corridor. Billy couldn’t see beyond the corridor’s first twist, but its rocky walls glowed and flickered as if illuminated by flames.

A stabbing pain seared through Billy’s skull, and he suddenly remembered where he’d been five minutes ago: staring up through rows of corn, watching a combine close in on him as he lay on his back, frozen in horror.

Transfixed by this memory, Billy failed to notice when the bars at the cave’s mouth slammed open. A cheerful voice boomed, “Welcome to hell, Billy!”

The child spun— and gaped.

Before him stood a ponderous, hirsute, naked man of such immense and twisted proportions that Billy felt simultaneously queasy and hysterical. The man was hugely fat; his enormous body was covered in scarlet skin that dripped with sweat, and two very large cattle horns sprouted from either side of his head. His legs terminated in cloven hooves. He looked a lot like a perverse, sumo version of Darth Maul. The visitor’s eyes glowed red, and evil mixed with good cheer radiated from him in a searing aura. Billy clapped his hands over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming.

But he screamed anyway: Billy’s buttock cheeks parted and let loose a piercing, girlish outcry that sounded exactly like his own voice.

“Lesson Number One, Billy! You can’t hide your thoughts from Me!” With that, the elephantine figure burst into a thunderous chuckle, infernally avuncular. Fat rippled seismically. Flames of delight burst from his nipples and singed his chest hair, then guttered out.

Without missing a beat, the horned man said, “By the way, I am Satan— your new lord and master. But you, Billy, may call Me—” he squeezed out an obscenely long, trilling, blatting fart. “Only My best friends call Me by that name!” The Devil leaned close, forcing his sulfurous miasma into Billy’s unwilling nostrils. “You are My friend, aren’t you, Billy?”

Billy’s hands were still clamped over his mouth. “No! I hate you! Go away!” his buttocks shouted defiantly.

The Lord of Dung grinned a sly grin, his lips peeling back to reveal a jumble of sharp, uneven fangs. “Billy,” he said indulgently, “if you want to talk out of your ass for all eternity, by all means keep your mouth covered or closed.”

Billy said nothing, but his hands finally fell to his sides. He eyed the Devil with a mixture of curiosity and terror. “So, I’m in hell?” he finally managed. “What did I do to get here? Only bad people go to hell!”

Satan shook his head in mock sadness. “Unfortunately, Billy, hell is also a repository for evolutionary dead ends. Inbred white folks are major fodder here. Taking a nap in front of a combine is a huge biological no-no, a sure sign of congenital stupidity. So now you’re here. Like it or not. Forever.” Even when he spoke in a normal voice, the Devil’s words slammed into Billy like the bass resonance of a thousand Bose subwoofers.

“Thing is,” Satan continued, “I suspect your parents will be joining you shortly. In accordance with their own genetic deficiencies, they are planning their deaths out of remorse for having lost you. They purpose to kill themselves by stripping naked, filling a bathtub with water, getting in the tub, and then dropping a toaster in the water.” Billy’s eyes widened in horror.

“Alas,” the Devil rasped out a mucus-filled sigh, “the toaster will not be plugged. Your already-naked parents will make several more suicide attempts, dragging in an interesting variety of unplugged household appliances. The concept of an extension cord will not blossom in your father’s dim consciousness for at least thirty minutes. In the end, however, both of your parents will be killed, not by electrocution, but by the sheer weight of the family refrigerator, which will topple onto them en chemin to the bathroom.”

Satan rolled his red eyes. “Billy, in a sense, you should be glad I’m holding you in isolation from such bestial puerility. Think: if you were planning to electrocute yourself by sitting in a tub of water, would you need to strip naked?” The Evil One underscored this point with a wet belch. He scratched his exposed crotch, holding up rolls of fat with one hand while the other granted him relief from hell-lice. Then he sniffed his fingers and blew on them, scattering pubic dandruff in a fine cloud.

“But now, the time has come to mete out your eternal punishment, My boy. Only you may determine the manner of your suffering.”

Billy shrank back, pressing himself against one of the cave’s jagged walls. His eyes darted wildly about, seeking an escape, but no egress presented itself.

Satan rumbled, “It’s easy, wormling. What are your favorite foods?”

In spite of himself, Billy felt hungry. Without thinking, he said, “I like pizza! And... and chocolate ice cream! And hamburgers! And hot dogs! And cherry pie! And dill pickles! And bleu cheese dressing! And tapioca pudding! And burritos! And popsicles!” Each item appeared on the cave floor as it was named. Greedily, Billy named twenty other foods before he finally came to an ecstatic stop.

“Excellent, Billy!” Satan beamed. “And now... the punishment! You are hereby doomed to eat these foods... forever!” The Devil raised his beefy arms, and flames shot in coruscating patterns from his armpits, garishly punctuating his infernal pronouncement.

Billy wasn’t impressed. “But I like these foods,” he said.

“Bring me the CUISINART!” Satan yelled over his shoulder. His shout echoed down the corridor. A moment later, three minor demons scurried in, dragging with them a food processor the size of an iron cauldron. The demons removed the device’s top and messily chucked all of Billy’s food into it as the boy watched in abject dismay. One demon’s finger hovered over the Cuisinart’s “start” button, but Satan held up his hand.

“Hold! The mixing cannot begin until I’ve added a little spice!” He turned himself around and settled his humongous ass on top of the processing unit’s transparent container as if it were a huge toilet. His buttocks wiggled with impatience, ready to discharge their foul cargo. He turned to face the wide-eyed boy, a terrible grin exposing his jagged fangs. “Watch well, Billy! I love you thiiiiiiiiiiis MUCH!”

With that, the Prince of Darkness gave a mighty grunt and blasted a torrent of diabolical feces into the mass of Billy’s favorite foods. Billy stared as the container began to fill with something that looked like a fetid admixture of guacamole, lightning, and Hershey’s chocolate syrup.

“Oh, Billy—” Satan cried in mock distress, “I should warn you— I ate a HUGE dinner, and I don’t know... if... I... can... STOP!” He threw back his head and cackled. The cauldron continued to fill at an alarming rate. The thunderous noise of evacuation was deafening.

“Nooooooooooooo!” Billy finally managed to scream.

It ended as quickly as it began. Satan hopped nimbly off the Cuisinart, timing his leap perfectly with the filling of the container. “Done!” he cried, throwing his meaty hands in the air and miming a gymnast’s spike. His face glowed with self-satisfaction. He hopped about in an agitated way, shadow boxing and making “oof! oof!” noises as he punched at an invisible Ali or Tyson.

The demons slammed the lid onto the container and hit the processor’s “start” button. Billy’s food melded with Satan’s crap in a final and irrevocable way.

When it was done, Satan presented Billy with a silver bowl. “Drink up!” he boomed. “You got all your favorite foods in there, just like you wanted! I’ll come back in a few thousand years to see how you’re doing, Billy-Boy! Meantime, I have to round up your pulped parents. Oh, yes— the Cuisinart was set for ‘eternal flow,’ so you’ll NEVER run out of the sludge! Knock ’em back and enjoy, little man! Haw haaaw HAAAAAWWWW!” With that, Satan and his demons left the cave. The bars slammed shut, leaving Billy with his meal.

Sobbing, yet feeling irrationally hungry, Billy struggled with the Cuisinart’s lid, finally prying it back open. The revolting odor of Satan’s stew blasted into Billy’s face and mind with hurricane force. Grimacing, he scooped a measure of poop goop into his bowl and began his forever feast.

_