Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

“Some for my friends, too?”
When Jesus received his change, he noticed that George Washington’s
eyes were X’ed out with a thin black marker. Curiously, he turned it over
and saw that 139(13) was written under the Illuminatus triangle. Before
he could continue his investigation of this rather bizarre artifact, his
attention was grabbed by a girl wearing tight-fitting velvet that left all of
her long legs in plain view. Glistening lips, subtle swan-like curve as the
neck turns into the back. She walked by, eyeing him with a sultry, bored
look. It was a look of total indifference, of trained apathy. He could
picture her standing in front of a mirror for days—weeks—practicing
that look. It was still impossible for him to deny the familiar sting he felt
in his chest; at first, an irrational and almost overpowering hunger,
followed by a torrent of guilt and self-loathing. I don’t deserve that. I
don’t want that. I can’t have that. She’s worthless. I’m worthless. Fuck
me you whore. In a flash, he was sucked into a rapid-fire succession of
sexual, even misogynistic, day dreams. They were too fast for daydreams,
really. More like a series of motion slides. At first, he was fucking
her from behind, pulling her long sweaty hair with one hand and
using the other to keep his balance, screaming “fat bitch!” and then, a
moment later, he was the one on the bottom, and she was the one taunting
him, her voice shrill and hoarse. A moment later, though, he was
masturbating fiercely while driving and eating a cheese stromboli…and
realized that his genitals had been replaced with his mother’s face, slick
with pizza grease. Horrified, he came, yelping like a puppy that had just
been kicked. Thrilling guilt continued to mount as the visions intensified.
Growing brighter and more intense now, they involved various religious
figures. It was only when a most auspicious Buddha and lust-crazed
Virgin Mary were gang-banging Lao Tzu, (Mary was using a strap-on
that looked disturbingly like a cross, inset with LVX at the base and
NOX at the tip), that Jesus was finally able to get control of himself and
clear his mind of such thoughts. The comforting form of his lipstick,
deep at the bottom of his pocket, re-assured him.
Through columns of smoke two simian looking men usher into the
adjacent room. Everything is developing a phosphorescent sheen.
People’s voices and bodies are coalescing into a single mass, an enor-
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