What happens when a fictional cleric dies stupidly and meets his fictional deity in this fictional tale that doesn’t resemble any reality we know of.. *tic* *tic*
Meet the Great Kahoolie
Just so as to not utterly confuse folks, in this the Universe of Bullshit, the Great Kahoolie is the chief deity worshipped in the west, or not so much, by the different sects, large and small, of the Crowd, aka the Crowd of Kahoolie, CoK for short. In this alternate reality, the Jesus guy actually ended up going to the planet he was meant to, and they got Kahoolie. From Ireland instead of Isreal, not so much for miracles, and he stayed dead. But these days he has a well-appointed throne room up in Bullshit Central, having been a way Decent Human Being and imminently recruitable. Besides he wasn’t given a choice.
The cosmos looked at him and pointed down there and said “see all that Kahoolie bullshit banging around down there? That’s yours. Deal with it.”
Meet Pastor Dave
Spin down the pipe of time 2000 years and enter Pastor Dave. Pastor Dave, a baker by vocation and the Loudest Voice of the True Crowd In Kahoolie’s Grace of Stinking Creek, Tennessee.
Dawn Tuesday finds Dave baking away in the shop, which has gained new business from the various faithful ever since he went on the news going on about refusing to bake a cake for those people over there.
Dave is baking away and cuts his arm slightly on a sharp-edged corner. Just a scratch. Then it got red and started to hurt. Then there were red streaks up and down his arm. Followed by his arm looking a lot like a really big purple and blue cucumber hanging off his shoulder.
Then his spark flew skyward, to the Halls of Kahoolie. It being considered an evil most dire to see a physician about such things as cucumber-ish arms. True Kahoolians are to have faith in those matters.
Thus Dave departs, leaving Mary Beth and the eight, oh wait, nine, forgot the one in the oven. Nine little Daves and Mary Beths behind.
Pastor Dave in the Halls of Kahoolie
Dave awakens in the Grand Hall. Soaring golden walls with glorious purple hangings and there, seated on a golden throne was the Kahoolie himself. He’s flanked by two Agents of Kahoolie. Easily recognizable by their black suits with white shirts, black ties and dark glasses.
Spark/Dave is filled with wonder. Behind The Big K is a faintly glowing door that surely leads to… Spark/Dave is simply overcome with joy when Kahoolie speaks.
“Well, boyo, yer here about 45 years early. Totally fucked that one up ya did.”
Dave swallows, or would have if he had a throat, it still not registering that God just said “fuck.” In a tremulous voice Dave asks. “I thought you had a plan for me.”
The Kahoolie shakes his head solemnly. “I did Dave. But it was sort of a one size fits all kinda plan.”
The Big K leans forward and winks conspiratorially and says in a low voice. “It was called: Don’t be an asshole. And take a good whack at being a Decent Human Being.”
The Kahoolie makes his case
He sits up straight “So Boyo. Let’s have a look ’round in your old Bullshit Bag, shall we?”
Dave starts to protest but is stopped with a stern. “You talked on my behalf for years boyo. It’s my turn now.”
“Let’s start with your untimely demise.”
The Kahoolie stops to decant some amber liquid into a glass. Dave is aghast as he realizes that it is the demon whiskey.
“Pay attention boyo. Going to paint you a little picture. Just a month ago when the caddy was acting up. Did you put it in the garage and pray for me to fix it? No, you took it down to a guy who knew how, who fixed at and screwed you out of $500 bucks.”
“Can you see the parallel Dave.” The Kahoolie explains patiently, “It was a meatbot. a magnificently sophisticated machine. When the machine starts to break, you take it to the person whose job it is to fix the machine. So here we all are. 45 years early over something that could have been fixed with alcohol and a band-aid. Stupid shite.”
The Big K takes a pull of Jameson’s before continuing.
“Now, let’s talk about the odiousness arising from that priceless piece of assholery.”
“Mary Beth, is now alone. You don’t actually think your little cluck of the crowd is going to carry her and the wee ‘uns for more than three months, despite all that shit I said about widows and orphans now do ya?”
“And since you and your cluck isn’t real keen on equipping the womenfolk with skillsets beyond serving up double-sized portions of deep-fried death with a side of mashed and gravy, and popping out little meatbots at unfucking-believable rates, prospects are looking dire. Nine, Dave? Nine? Infant mortality is a thing of the past. And you aren’t a farmer in an agrarian society needing a ready labor pool. So in what world of rational thought and behavior does bringing nine more little consumers into a world near done consumed make any sense at all?”
Dave started to protest. “You said to populate the earth.”
“Actually I didn’t, Dave, but that was the point, yes. Populate the earth, and when you’ve done that. Stop populating yeah?”
“So Dave. For leaving a family behind destitute, and doing your part to overpopulate the planet, and other acts of gross religious assholery besides, I award you the order of Asshole, First Class. And really Dave, would it have hurt to bake a fucking cake for those two guys?”
Agent of Kahoolie #1 gets the Big Ks attention by pointing at his watch.
The end of the matter
The Kahoolie turns back to Dave and said. “We could go on, but I think we are done here. Best luck on the next go ’round boyo. If it makes you feel better the last guy was one of those who dance about with poisonous snakes.”
Dave screams as a huge iron door appears on one wall and grinds opens to reveal a flaming inferno, screams rising from the smoking abyss of the pit in mad cacophony.
Dave wails in horror as he is swept through the yawning portal, to land in a quivering, gibbering puddle (literally) on the beige carpeted floor of the waiting room in Spark Reprocessing. Where a gruff woman tells him to take a number and a seat, it might be awhile. After gathering himself he looks at his number: 42.
The spark sitting next to him holds up his number: 11. Dave asks. “So is it a long wait?”
The spark responds. “I bought it at Antietam. Figure it out”.
Dave screams and returns to something of a puddle state.
Meanwhile, back in the Halls…
Back in the hall of Kahoolie. Agent #1. “I never get tired of that. That “Dante’s Inferno” hologram was the best thing you ever got on eBay, boss.”
Agent #2: “Yeah I love it when you get a bunch of ’em at once. Remember the bus trip that went off a cliff a few years back? What a hoot.”
The Big K leans back and sips his Jameson’s, while looking at his doodad. “When they made that one up I couldn’t resist. Hey, Odin’s getting up a card game, you interested? Better stop at the ATM boyos, Hekate’s coming.”
Agent #2 scowled. “That witch never loses a hand.” Agent #1 slaps him on the back, laughing. “But she tells the funniest stories.” And she is pretty easy to look at, Agent #1 thought, but didn’t add.