Born Hard Again: Book Three of the Future Remembered Chronicles (10 page)

Feeling more confident than ever, I lifted one of my feet and let my phallic toes find their way into the many lubricated holes that covered the animal's body.  After repeating this task on the right side, I began to climb steadily up between the frigid slugs.  My toes made disgusting squelching and schlocking sounds as they slid and popped in and out, powering my ascension. 

"P!" I heard Koochy come over the external loud speakers as I emerged near the top of the monsters.  "P, what tha fuck you doin'?!"

I waved back at him to signal I did not need saving.

Once atop the creatures, a single thought crossed my mind and I gave it volume.

"Go!" I commanded, pointing the direction we had been going.  I hoped this was the direction we should continue going.

My latest disciples complied and we began sluicing forward with surprising speed.  I dug my dick-toes in tight and had no trouble standing on top of the enormous critters that pulled Putin's badly battered sled across the frozen lake Erie, ever closer to Old Cleveland.  The sun was finally breaking through the fog and clouds of early morning, and a blazing ray of its holy light pierced the sky like God's wang.  It found me like a spotlight, and for a moment that seemed to last for minutes, I was framed in brilliant orange sunlight.  Truly, a god among men, and a sight to behold.

"Onward!  Onward, my frosty brutes!" I howled into the empty early morning.  So cold was the wind that it sliced at my face like a long ribbony razor as we tore across the great ice sheet of Erie.  Stoic, I did not so much as blink at the stinging of the prolonged polar gusts.

"P, we killin' it, son!" Koochy's voice, amplified by the external loudspeakers on the chariot, was barely audible over the roar of the wind and the swoosh of my giant mounts on the ice.  "How tha hell you doin' dat, mane?  You like some kinda ice slug whisperer, some shit?!"

I laughed from a place of absolute confidence.

"I... am... CLEVELAND JESUS!" I announced loudly with a smile on my face.

The slug monsters were moving much faster at my urging than they had been when we were taunting them with flaming can-can tasks.  I estimated we were speeding along at around forty miles per hour.

Now that the sun had fully risen, the last of the morning fog and the heavy, low hanging clouds were dispelled.  The skyline of a decaying twenty first century old-world city loomed before us.

"Koochy!"  I called back over my shoulder.  "I can see Old Cleveland!  We're almost there!"

"Yeah, son!"  he responded via the loud-speakers.  "I can see dat shit too!"

A new dawn was upon us.  I felt invigorated with optimism, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

"So why are we going to Old Cleveland again?" Alphonso complained over the open mic.  "Cleveland sucks!"

I could imagine Alphonso back there peering morosely over the ruined can-can board, looking for some priority memo detailing why Old Cleveland was our destination.  He was not a true believer yet, even though he had been blessed by the touch of my godly dickfeet.  Soon this would change, though... 
all would bow before me!
  We were going to get Marcus fixed up, maybe even find his glasses, get TK, and then beat the Good Man!

I sensed a Zen-like feeling of being, tossing my head back in unbridled enjoyment of this blissful state.  My dick-toes were squelching in and out of the various orifices they rested in as we bobbed along, and the feeling gave me contentment and a sense of belonging.

We were nearing the suburbs.  I coaxed my slug-drawn carriage closer to the shore to look at the approaching signs of civilization.

"Ay!  We best goan get some powah!" Koochy reminded me.  "Looky dere, those rich fucks gots deyselves some shit!"

I looked at the lakefront properties ahead of us and saw that the widespread ruin of downtown Old Cleveland had not extended to the McMansions that had enveloped the outer boroughs.  A few of the larger homes had iced-over docks and frozen swimming pools, but were still brightly lit and had arrays of satellite dishes on their roofs.

I willed my trusty beasts onwards to the shore.  A door opened on a nearby mansion and a resident came out, waving at us.  I waved back.  The locals were friendly!  Might it be that not everything was terrible?

He waved more and more frantically, then ran inside the house and returned with a large tube that he rested on his shoulder as he dropped to one knee on his lawn.

"Drop to your knees, I am come!" I announced ahead of my chariot's wave of slimy emissions.  It looked like I was going to have another disciple soon; Old Cleveland was going to be a great place.

"Preston, I think we should slow down a little bit," Alphonso chimed in.  "These slug things are bigger than freight trains and we're on ice you know," he blathered.

"Forward!" I declared triumphantly.  We raced ahead to my follower's abode.

I looked and saw the local resident still kneeling reverently towards me.  A flash of light was followed by a streak of smoke erupting from the snow-covered yet still perfectly manicured lawn.  An explosion ripped into the side of my starboard-side ice beast.  White goo showered me, sending me stumbling back.

"Nooooo!" I screamed.  How could my newest devout disciple have forsaken me?

I struggled to keep myself upright as the mounts bucked and tore at our makeshift reins.  The two behemoths crashed ashore, sweeping aside a moored pleasure yacht in their trek towards the lakefront mansion, as if they were two fat white girls and the yacht was between them and the fridge.

"Aww snap!" Koochy hollered, seeing the ice slug roll over the Old Cleveland citizen.  "Dats whatchu get!"  The local homeowner was mushed into pieces and our trail of goop and crystalline structures changed from white to a ruddy pink, right before the two beasts crashed into the residence itself.  Finally our sled came to a grinding halt.

"We have arrived," I said to no one.  I climbed down from my large friends and patted them fondly, especially the one who'd borne the brunt of the missile impact.  To a hulking beast of that size, the missile must have felt only like Alphonso's scraped knee.

Koochy and Alphonso dismounted from the chariot and walked over to what remained of the estate.  Some small fires were visible inside the ruins.  It looked like the ice slugs had destroyed the garage and guest houses, but the main structure was still standing.  The entrance was surprisingly untouched, albeit surrounded by gaping holes in the walls.

Alphonso went to the front door and knocked on it.

"Anyone home?" he shouted.  Alphonso rang the doorbell a few times and stood there patiently for a while before turning to us.  "Guys, maybe we should go down the street instead?"

I stared at him for a moment.

"Eat a dicktoe!" Koochy jeered, pushing Alphonso aside with a straight-arm to the face and entering a large hole in the foyer.  "Yo' dumb ass can goan walk do'-to-do' like some fuckin' vacuum cleana' salesfuck, bein' all like 'I'm Alphonso, I suck dick like dese here vacuums, lemme show you', you sorry ass sucka ass..." Koochy trailed off talking to himself as he went deeper into the building.

I followed him inside.  "Hey Marcus, this house is pretty nice!" I said, marveling at the luxurious decorations and tasteful design touches.  "I bet it's worth a lot to the owner, even in Old Cleveland!  Well, before we trashed it.  And killed the owner."

"Fuck yeah, P.  Dis shit is bomb dot com," Koochy noted.  "Speakin' o' dat, I best get up on the wi-fi!  I don't gots my hackmasta skills down-loaded on the down-low yet, they still be up in da clud, but even bein' dead like dis I can still hack dat sucka ass wi-fi admin password, unnngh!"

I let Marcus do his thing, watching him poke at his attached compute-pad and fiddle with wires.  Then he walked to the kitchen and unplugged a toaster.

"Dis righ'chere be dat internet o' thangs!  Muthafuckas never be firewallin' them appliances, son!"  He stuck two fingers deep into the toaster and lights flickered back and forth.  "Damn right!"

I'd been out of the loop for so long that I had no idea what was going on in the outside world.  Was the Good Man still enforcing the compulsory buy rate?  What had happened to the millions of people we'd left stranded in New New York?  What were the trending hashtags on the blews?

"Marcus, are you connected yet?  I really need to catch up!" I yelled, louder than I wanted to.  At that moment TK could wait a little longer, I just needed to see if my selfies had gotten any more likes.

"Sheeit, kid, sit yo' ass down.  I gots ta be all up on it first, yahurr?  Hashtag big Kooch, back in effect, like whaa?"  Koochy swiveled his attached compute-pad so its decrepit 4k camera was focused on his decaying face.  "Unnngh!" he said, throwing gang signs up.

"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt," Alphonso said.  I was surprised he'd made it inside.  Maybe he'd picked the lock on the front door or something, or more likely it was just unlocked.  "But Koochy, don't you think you should stay off the blogosphere for a while?  Remember what happened last time?"

"Damn, son," Koochy sneered.  "Cain't nobody live without dat social media.  Ain't a life worth livin' no hows."  His dead eyes looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then came to a decision.  "Hashtag Felix ain't shit!  Uploaded, muffuckaaa!"

I was stunned at Marcus' boldness.  "You can't eat your compute-pad this time!  You're like a digital personal assistant still, you're not in an analog body!  What if Felix comes to get you?"

"Den let him come!  I ain't 'fraid o' no sucka ass hackmasta who cain't even fight me hisself."

Alphonso wailed and stared up at the ceiling, as if another giant mech or some fiery doom was going to come crashing down from orbit.  Seconds ticked by and nothing had happened yet.

"Lookie hurr, I got some likes arrready!  Damn ho, you fine," Koochy muttered, poking at his compute-pad.

"I guess...  I guess we're okay then?" I asked rhetorically.

The doorbell rang.

"I got it!" announced Alphonso cheerily.  He ran to the door.

"No, wait!" I shouted, running after him.  Alphonso opened the door and I saw an incredible sight.

On our doorstep was an oversized, heavy-duty mobility scooter.  It was festooned with gaudy, tasteless decorations and had eight off-road wheels, four of which were flat.  To its front, back, left and right were cargo attachments, each holding multiple ten-liter bottles of soda.  The reinforced seat was stained with innumerable unidentifiable splotches.

I was flabbergasted.  The seat was at least six feet wide and looked like it could support several tons.  But instead of a human riding the scootypuff, there was a compute-pad mounted on the seat, apparently showing a live video feed of something.  I couldn't immediately identify what I was looking at, but when I saw what it was, I recoiled in horror!

The compute-pad was showing a human face, engorged in fat and idly chewing on something.  Its eyes were almost hidden by drooping folds of swollen tissue coming down from its forehead.  I couldn't see a discernable neck, it was just like the flesh started at its ears and sloped downwards until it was cut off by the edges of the screen.  Actually I couldn't even see its ears.  Makeup was caked on, like a clown trying to look sexy.  Wispy green hair was pasted on its forehead with greasy sweat.

"Holy fuck!" exclaimed Alphonso, leaping back.  He regained his composure.  "Where were my manners?  Hello, how can we help you?"

The face stared at us dully.  Its eyes were like the sad eyes of a cow, except hidden by more fat and showing far less intelligence.  It looked off-screen and made a motion that set its neck-area jiggling.  Some purple skin sores showed in the neck folds and I shuddered.

"Hello fellow Old Cleveland resident," the compute-pad said.  It looked like whatever was operating the scooter wasn't even talking; it was playing a recording of itself talking.  How fucking lazy was this thing?

"Would you …" the recording took a break to wheeze several times.  "Would you like to donate to the Cleveland Jesus disciples organization?"  The recording coughed up some phlegm.  The mound of flesh stared at me soullessly through the screen, chewing.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed.  On the one hand, it was great that my disciples had started a grass-roots movement.  On the other hand, I'd never heard of this organization and this wasn't a great introduction. 

The lard monster on the other side of the connection turned to press another button, launching the next part of the spiel.

"For a small monthly payment," it gasped, "you can crowdfund me and I'll buy a book of coupons."  It laboriously continued, "Then I'll use the coupons for food and send some food to the children of Old Cleveland.  Then they'll sell the food to the homeless and use the profits for Cleveland Jesus."

"How does that make any sense?" I asked.  "Why wouldn't I just spend the money myself?"

The face on the other side stared blankly.  I guess it didn't have a prepared response for this.

"Yo, P, check out dis ho on CumTube.com yo," Koochy said, walking up behind me before glimpsing what was on our doorstep.  "Oh shit, what the FUCK is that?!  Damn, homie we need some guns wit' da quickness!"

The face on the other side saw Koochy and lit up, as best as a face like that could light up.  The eyes opened wider by another millimeter, sending jiggles around the rest of its moon face.  Its maw stopped munching and instead vocalized some live sounds rather than using the recording.