Manger Massacre

Too late for Christmas comes this atrocious, abominable tale that shouldn’t be read by anyone with a heart condition, dyspepsia, dropsy, dysplasia of the skull, male pregnancy, headupyourassitis, toffee beak, or anyone who’s had a humorectomy.

This is foul, nasty, uncalled for, blasphemous, and anachronistic. So, hope you enjoy.

Foul language and violence, as always.

If you haven’t turned back by now, it’s too late.


Manger Massacre

By Andrea “You’re Just Asking For Trouble” Speed, with Some Dialogue Bits and Other Neat Stuff by Brandon “Yes, She’s Asking For Trouble” Schatz


What has God wrought?” Joseph asked, kicking the head of Melchior closer to its former body. Heads weren’t perfectly round, so it didn’t roll very well; it just sort of tumbled over the blood soaked sand, resting in the divots made by desperately clawing fingers before their owners met an unholy demise.

“Hey, this ain’t my fault,” God said, pulling the rest of Gaspar’s body out of the dead donkey’s butt. Jesus had decided to be cute and build his own Nativity display, only the Three Wise Men were offering their heads as gifts, and everything had been painted with their blood. The crib was full of bloody testicles that looked like they had been torn off by hand. Balthazar’s headless corpse had been put under a dead camel in a way that suggested he was being sodomized by it.

Jesus Christ – he was one sick customer. “Yeah, it is your fucking fault,” Joseph snapped, wondering whose kidney he was currently looking at. Or was that a spleen? He needed some kind of organ reference chart. What the fuck did he know about body parts? He was a carpenter, goddamn it. “If you didn’t pork my wife, this shit wouldn’t be happening.”

“Oh, do I smell jealously? I guess Mary hasn’t let you into the candy store, huh? Well, it’s not her fault. Once you have the best, it’s hard to have the rest.” God said, flaring his tentacles in a manner that was both preening and obscene. Although he seemed to walk on two legs (hovering an inch or so off the ground at all times), his upper body and head were more suggestive of that sea creature known as the octopus. His head was large and round, his skin a mottled brown like discolored leather and glistening faintly, as if anointed with dew, and he had two eyes like gelatinous dark plums over a mouth that disappeared beneath thin, almost whisker like tentacles that frilled when he talked and echoed the movements of his lower limbs. Where his shoulders began, his body was swamped by grey-brown tentacles as thick and long as horse’s legs, eight in a line that seemed to move and sway of their own accord, covered by grasping little suckers that seemed to obscenely resemble part of a woman’s private anatomy. But if you dared to even think a disparaging remark about him, he’d rip your head off so fast you could see your own headless body before you died. That was the only reason Joseph hadn’t killed the ugly fucker yet.

“You know I hate your fucking guts,” Joseph snarled, kicking at the corpse of a gutted sheep. As he did, a small organ rolled out … no. Not an organ. A bloody head of an infant, Human, that must have been shoved inside the sheep. “Jesus Christ.”

“Son of a bitch,” God confirmed, almost cheerfully.

Joseph glared at him. “That’s my wife you’re talking about, fucker.”

“It was awesome. You should try it sometime.”

It took him a moment to figure out what he meant; it all fell into place as soon as he realized God thought he said “fuck her” instead of “fucker”. “You motherfucking -”

His insult was cut off by a loud explosion, a bright fireball that lit up the surrounding hillside like it was noon instead of a cloudless moonlit sky. As the shock of the light faded, Joseph could dimly hear the screams over the hard crackle of flames.

God looked towards the hill, lower tentacles frilling slightly in the breeze as he sighed wearily. “I’m too old for this shit.” But he then started trudging up the hillside, his brightly colored dashiki rippling like a psychedelic blur behind him. Joseph followed, because he didn’t know what else to do, but he took out his axe and held on to it tightly, the wood in his grip just making him feel better.

He didn’t know the name of this village, but he supposed it didn’t matter, as all that would be left of it was a char mark. The smell of roasting flesh – both Human and animal – was nauseatingly good, making Joseph realize he hadn’t ate for some time, not since all this shit started. Why had God chosen him as a partner? Was it to rub in what he’d done to his wife, how he’d fucked over his entire life? He’d embraced atheism, told him to his face he didn’t believe in him in hopes of making him disappear, but he was still here. Damn it. Maybe he should worship Baal next. Could Baal kick God’s ass? He’d love to find out.

God strode over corpses burning like logs, the flames not even touching his silken garments, and Joseph stopped as he realized the center of the village had been set up as a staging area. Spears bigger than men had been arranged in a large semi-circle, around a wooden statue perhaps fifty cubits in height. It was a statue of a young, lean man with flowing shoulder length hair and a long beard down to the base of his throat, his eyes cast up as if appealing to the sky. In one hand he held a sword, and in the other, he held a severed head by its hair. Who was that? Was that Jesus? No, it couldn’t be. This was an adult. He was just forty eight hours old!

But he wasn’t a mere Human – no mere Human could have cut such a swath of devastation and destruction in such a short period of time.

“Well, look who’s here,” a strangely high pitched voice said. “The fucknuts brigade.”

Joseph saw the swirl of God’s tentacles, and followed his gaze to one of the rough straw roofed huts that was still inexplicably standing. There in the doorway was a lean, long haired man wearing a snowy white toga and a fuzzy sash made of rodent pelts. He had the eyes of a mad horse, too big and showing too much white, while his face was too long and too pale, like a squashed powdered doughnut. No one should be as white as he was unless they had no blood left in them at all. And while his hair appeared stringy and brown, sometimes the wind ruffled it and it looked like tentacles. It was switching back and forth. How fucked up was that?

“Jesus, it’s over,” God said, sounding very weary. “You were a mistake. You get as old and bored as me, you fuck up sometimes. No big deal. So come on, let’s blow this pop stand.”

“Fuck you, has been! This is my world now. Get lost!”

God chuckled. “Don’t sass me, boy. You started off as a crotch stain, and you can go back to one.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m, like, so scared. Go to bed old man.” His eyes then flared, seemed to glow like embers in a dying fire, and his hair was back to tentacles growing straight out of his ass white scalp as he raised his hands up to the sky and shouted, “Arise, my followers! Rise!”

Joseph looked around as he heard strange noises – rustling of cloth, wet noises that sounded like water plopping to the ground, someone tearing meat apart with their hands – and saw that the mostly intact bodies were standing up. Even the one that was on fire. That one was going to be trouble, assuming they didn’t completely burn up before they could get into action. It turned out there were two or three of them.

The earth around them started to explode in small muddy clots, and skeletal hands started reaching out, pawing the earth as the dead bodies started crawling out. It looked like the population of a couple of villages were getting up from their eternal rest to kick their ass. Some of the people who could have been dead but possibly not, were holding weapons of all kinds: scimitars, machetes, axes, hatchets, spears, pitchforks, scythes, even a shovel or two. Jesus was laughing maniacally, like the village idiot after inhaling mucilage.

“Any last thoughts?” Joseph asked God.

God shrugged. “I created this earth in six days. I made snakes, gerbils, llamas, geoducks, echidnas, howler monkeys, and Humans. Then I flooded the shit out of it, and fucked your wife. I’d say I’ve lived a pretty full life.”

“God, damn it!”

“Cute. But I already did, pretty much.” God’s tentacles parted to show a vivid black and pink mouth that was more like an open wound than anything else. “Didn’t you know? All your kind are fucked. This whole experiment wouldn’t have been entertaining if you weren’t.” He sighed, his tentacles belling out like a woman’s skirt. “Let’s fuck shit up.”

“It’s about time.” Joseph charged the closest zombie to him, swinging his axe so quickly it made a whistling noise as it sliced the air. It didn’t last long, as it landed with a meaty thunk in the head of the zombie. He’d cleaved his skull in half like a melon, and he went down like a stalk of wheat. Was that a mixed metaphor? Joseph wondered, but realized now was not the time for thinking about such things.

God grabbed about six with his tentacles at once, wrapping the appendages around their throats, and tightening until their heads popped off like blood bloated ticks. “Thou art pissing me off!” God roared, tossing the bodies aside like so much garbage. He began cutting through the group like he was parting the Red Sea, leaving Joseph only to deal with the stragglers, which suited him fine. He was able to steal a scythe from a zombie whose arm he had hacked off, and he was able to chop them down easier, in greater quantities.

“Have you learned nothing?” God grumbled, tossing people – living and dead alike – like they were in his way. “It’s better to give than to receive,” he said, before making a man’s genitals explode, blood splattering his friends and turning his dirty white robe splotchy red. He ripped the limbs off a couple of zombies, and started juggling them with two of his back tentacles while clubbing others with his front tentacles. “Do unto others, but don’t you dare do unto me,” he said, before tearing someone in half.

“You sure like fucking around, don’t you?” Joseph snapped, cleaving a zombie in half down the middle with the scythe.

“It’s a hoot,” God replied. “Mine eyes have seen the gory,” he said, and a man’s eyeballs exploded, leaving two smoking, bloody craters in his face.

Jesus was now standing on the base of the statue depicting him, and shouted, “Let there be light!” It looked like the sky split, a gash appearing in the sky, and high intensity white light started shining down directly on God. Joseph could feel the startling heat even though he was nowhere near the narrow shaft of light, and the bodies around God burst into flames, burning away to a pile of ash in almost no time. God looked to be kneeling, starting to wilt under the hellish heat.

Jesus was still laughing. “Whose your Messiah now?!”

The ground was starting to blacken, and Joseph could smell something not unlike burned swine. Damn, he was hungry.

A zombie grabbed his right arm, and when he turned to strike it, another grabbed his left arm. Son of a bitch. They held him steady, but did nothing … yet. But they would. Jesus was saving him for something. It wouldn’t be good.

God disappeared in a puff of smoke, and Jesus cheered. “Woohoo! Happy birthday to me!” The slit in the sky sealed up, and Jesus looked over at him with his dead, glassy eyes, a deranged grin plastered on his face. “So, step-dad, why’d you team up with the big squid? Hasn’t he emasculated you enough?”

The key to living for a few spare seconds was to keep him talking. “Why did you do that to the Three Wise Men? What did they ever do to you?”

Jesus waved his hand dismissively. “They pissed me off, acting all “holier-than-thou”. Why the fuck are they so “wise” anyways? They seemed like a bunch of dumbasses to me. There’s a low threshold for wise these days, isn’t there?”

There was a huge BOOM, like the world was splitting in half, the sound making the air itself tremble. Jesus looked up and Joseph followed his gaze, to see a hole forming in the sky. It was a perfect oval of blue light, and a wavering image of God formed, like a mirage in the desert. God impaled Jesus with a glowing eyed stare. “You came into this world to spread peace … but you’ve tortured, you’ve maimed, and you fucked me over. And now you’re gonna learn … when you fuck with God, God fucks you back!”

The heads of all of Jesus’s followers, zombie and alive alike, exploded in sequence, one after another, a bloody fireworks display that spread blood and brain matter all over the burned ground. Joseph felt some splash on his face, warm and sticky, and made a noise of disgust as he jerked his arms away from the falling corpses.

Jesus screamed with rage, lifting the statue of himself and lobbing it at God, but by the time it reached him God had already disappeared. He started looking around, screaming, “Coward! Come out and face me!”

Joseph was totally ignored, which was fine with him. He started searching for his scythe, which got buried in all the gore and headless bodies, but wasn’t sure where it was. He really didn’t want to have to feel blindly among the guts.

Kicking among the sloshing guts, he eventually hit wood, and figured it was the scythe handle. But picking it up, he saw it was a bloody cross, possibly used to mark the gravesite of one of the dead who rose up to try and kill them. The base had been filed to a point, probably so it would stick in the ground.

Jesus had his back turned to him, as he was looking at the remaining huts bursting into flame, and he saw God hovering just outside of Jesus’s peripheral vision. He looked at him and nodded, so Joseph got a good grip on the bloody piece of wood, ran forward several squelching steps, and tossed the crucifix like a spear. Midair, it turned into silver, the wood solidifying into gleaming metal, the point becoming longer and sharper.

Jesus turned around in time for the crucifix to punch through his sternum and the tip to explode out his back in a misty spray of blood. He stood staring wide eyed at him, as God said, “You go boom now.” The cross exploded, vaporizing Jesus in a blood red cloud of blood and bone shards.

“Jesus motherfucking wept,” Joseph spat, wiping blood off his face.

“Well, that could have went better,” God said, walking on air towards him.

Joseph glared at him before gesturing at the dismembered bodies and two inch pond of blood he was standing in. “He’s slaughtered entire villages. You think?”

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” he replied haughtily. He then whistled sharply, and out of nowhere, two camels appeared. “Come on, let’s ride.”

Joseph continued to glare at him, even as he grabbed the camel’s saddle and hauled himself up. “I loathe you.”

“You love me and you know it,” God grinned unsettlingly with his open wound of a mouth. He pretended to mount the second camel, but seemed to still be hovering, sitting on a cushion of air.

As the camels started out across the ground, towards less bloody earth, God started to make this weird noise. “Wee-oo, wee-oo -”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making a siren noise. Believe me, in two thousand years, it’ll make sense,” he said cryptically, and started doing it again. “Wee-oo, wee-ooo …”

Joseph wondered if Siva was taking applications for followers.


The End

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