Read Collected Kill: Volume 1 Online
Authors: Patrick Kill
Collected Kill: Volume 1 (5 page)
It was my mission to teach them.
In a restroom at a fast food restaurant, a fat man came out of a stall. Mustard and ketchup stains lined his collar. I thrust my belly to his and whispered, “I’m here to save you.”
He shoved me away. “What are you some kind of queer or something?”
I smiled, then clamped my hands around his buttocks and pulled close to him. I could feel my insides call to him. They began to bubble and he quit fighting me and let it happen.
My skin parted and a tiny white piece of lard formed, dangling like a phallus until it erected to touch his skin. He peered down in awe as it worked its way into one of his pores and disappeared.
After that, he slowly backed away. Tears formed in his eyes and he said, “Thank you.”
For months I continued to spread the Lard across the land. The United States was such a susceptible country to the Lard. So many people practiced the Lard’s ways, but didn’t even know it. I showed many by transferring the Lard within me, to share it with them.
But I grew more and more weak as days went by. My weight had dropped and I feared I would surely perish.
My father’s prophecy claimed there would be a Second Coming of the Lard. And as I prepared more and more of the chosen ones by showing them their faith, I knew the time was nearing.
And suddenly the Lard spoke to me almost ten months from the day it had perished.
It has begun, my child,
It told me.
Go and meet the rest. The time is here where the chosen ones will rise!
I traveled a great distance, until I found myself back in Jerusalaham. The Lard led me to the hospital, guiding me to the second floor where I met the members of my father’s congregation. Besides that group, others flocked in, even some I remembered encountering in bathroom stalls and parties. Each had grown since I last saw them; their bulk was wild and free as I had dwindled, feeling as a disgrace to the Lard.
But then I felt saved. I had sacrificed myself for a higher purpose. I knew this while looking through the glass to the maternity ward and seeing Monica being wheeled into a room.
She had gained a considerable amount of weight and her stomach was round like a melon.
Doctors and nurses rushed into her room as my people crowded around the door.
Peering in, I saw the head coming out. It was long and pale, threading its way out of her vaginal canal.
I rejoiced, knowing that it was only a matter of time until the world knew the real truth.
It was finally our time to rise.
SHADY ACRES CHURCH OF GOD
Some people call it a cult. I call it faith and fun.
There are about 500 of us spread across the field in Shady Acres, ready for mass to begin. It is another glorious Sunday and Reverend Lou begins talking about disco and its modern ties with the Bible. The stripper-nuns are swinging around on poles to each side of the good Reverend with their black and white g-strings and their crosses wedged between their golden breasts.
Sunday mass is a daylong event. I think of it more like a carnival or what the original Woodstock would have been like. Man I love the atmosphere and scenery here. There are children gathered in Sunday school groups, playing throughout the field. One group is swinging at the Jesus piñata with sticks. One boy’s shot to the crotch opens the piñata as loaves of bread spill across the ground. Children pile atop one another for the first treat of the day.
Another group of children is playing “Pin the nail on Jesus.” And what a sight that is. A teacher spins a small girl around and she heads blindly for the cross. She hesitates momentarily and stabs the nail into the photo of Christ’s crucifixion on a poster board. Ouch! Christ would’ve been glad he didn’t get nailed
there!
As Reverend Lou continues in the blue mist of strobe lights and smoke, I watch the new recruits gather near the hot tubs, ready for their baptisms.
Besides the fun, there is also serious faith going on. The Church has set forth SOS Plans (Salvation Option Savings Plans) for people to save towards getting into heaven. There’s also SPP Plans (Sinner Periodical Payoff Plans) where members of the congregation can pay off their sins weekly and be cleared in the eyes of the Lord. Lucky for me they accept VISA and MasterCard after the hooker I picked up last weekend. I’m planning ahead for next month’s orgy with some teenagers I know by investing some cash in the Church’s SLC Plan (Sinner’s Layaway Contribution Plan). The little sins like greed and lust are reasonably priced, but the big ones like murder cost a lot, so I decided to keep my sinning to a minimum.
Today’s Bible history class is this afternoon and we have a big exam over errors in the Bible. I learned a lot considering that I once thought that God had instructed Noah to include all those animals on the ship. It turns out that the arc was really just a Loveboat out for a joyride and Noah needed a little variety. Lucky for him he picked the right weekend to sail since the world flooded over. The exam also covers popular misconceptions such as that Jesus Christ is always pictured as a white male with a beard when really he’s an African American and homosexual too. And that he was the first of God’s bastard children to come.
And God has many of them—more and more everyday. And I wouldn’t call it Immaculate Conception. Just a few months back, I returned to my tent to find my girlfriend, Daisy, pinned in mid-air at the top of the tent, spread eagle. She was grunting and panting and moaning, her vagina magically opening and closing like a fish mouth. Since then her belly has risen, and she has this strange craving for shellfish! Not to mention her sex drive is suddenly in overdrive. Praise the Lord!
Pam, the girl in the next tent, is God’s whore. I found this out after noticing she has a birthmark that actually spells the words “God’s Whore” across her stomach. Man, God must be protective when it comes to women (just marking His territory, I guess). Pam lives by herself and, late each night, I have to go over and unlock her handcuffs and undo the shackles that bind both feet behind her neck.
God must be a kinky motherfucker! Because one day, I went over too early and was suddenly lifted in mid-air. My face was suddenly shoved into Pam’s small, pointy breasts, and I felt my pants rip off and a hot surge penetrate my rectum. As Pam dropped, taking my cock in her mouth, God pounded me from behind.
Yes, we are definitely His chosen people. Hallelujah!
As this week’s ceremony starts to break up, the people in the Accelerated Salvation Seminary (ASS) have gathered in a large pit and Kool-Aide is now being served.
Reverend Lou ends his sermon in Jive and the stripper nuns slowly dress as the crowd returns to their tents across the hillside.
Faith flows through my blood and I hate to see this day end. But there is always Wednesday night mass where each of us is blessed by the holy water that flows through Reverend Lou’s bladder. And I can’t forget the weeping statue of Jesus—with his big black Afro and his pink silk robe, we’ll kiss his fuzzy sandals and pray that He will always look upon us anew and cherish us as His one and only children.
Amen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Patrick Kill is the split literary personality of Delirium Books editor-in-chief Shane Ryan Staley. You can visit the Reverend’s humble congregation at: www.patrickkill.com.
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