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Monday, December 09, 2013

Meanwhile In Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
The grounds of the Institute was, as usual, cloud-free and Hellishly warm. Numerous residents ‘convalesced’ upon entry into the Infernal Realm, while Centurions stood watch. Charles Johnson, having lapsed into his previous habits, once again experienced disembowelment with his own Banning Stick…courtesy of one of his own copies.
On the grounds, while Simon was needed elsewhere, a few Comrades debated the progress of their ideals in the world above. “Ah,” observed Vladimir Ilyich, “while our cause falters in our Mother Russia per se, it continues apace as theorized by Comrade Marx.”
“I’m distressed,” replied Fidel Castro. “for that very reason.”
“Don’t be!” smiled Joe Slovo, a resident since 1995. “It’s succeeding better than expected in places such as Zimbabwe and my own South Africa. And,” he pointed, “as Comrade Hugo here can tell us, Venezuela and Bolivia are coming along quite nicely.”
“Indeed, Comrades!” exclaimed Hugo Chavez. “Although I must admit that I am still unsure just whose side Comrade Обама is on, if you know what I mean and I think you do.”
Suddenly Ché rushed up to them. “Did you hear! Did you hear!” He panted out of excitement, having beat the Centurions to tell them the news.
“Hear what?”
The Cuban terrorist grinned from ear to ear. “Comrade Mandela…he’s finally arrived!” This announcement was followed by this group of Communists high-fiving each other and slapping each other’s backs.
“Well it’s about damn time!” Lenin whooped. Just then, John Cavil appeared at the gate to the Institute, along with two Bulletheads and the new resident. Nelson Mandela ran as quickly as his 95-year-old body allowed him, and embraced old friends.

Cavil gestured to Charles Johnson. “Mr. Johnson! Please come here and meet a person you admire!” The copy stopped his task; Johnson got up from the ground, straightened his clothes, and walked over.
“Mr. Johnson!” smiled Mandela. “I’ve heard much of your work and it is most commendable. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” replied the bicycling blogger, and the two shook hands.
Just then, Cavil nodded to the two Bulletheads, who took custody of not only Johnson, but also Mandela and the other Communists. He addressed the group. “Gentlemen, I have decided that it is necessary to extend a special reprieve to your daily punishments today.”
The Communists were genuinely surprised to hear of Cavil’s clemency. And then, it hit them…especially Slovo, who knew what was coming.
“Centurions!” ordered Cavil. A phalanx of Toasters arrived to surround the group and immobilize them. “As you can see by these tires we’ve brought in for the occasion, this is but one item your Comrade friend was most infamous for in his native South Africa…that is, when he wasn’t busy hobnobbing with the despots of the world above while suckering all the people of his country. I know he’d want to share this with everyone….you most of all, Mr. Johnson.”
One gasoline-soaked tire was placed around Lenin, Castro, Ché, Chavez, Slovo, Johnson, and Mandela himself…who realized the utter hopelessness of his situation. One Centurion garnished a flamethrower instead of an automatic rifle.
Cavil smiled one more time. “And Mr. Mandela, don’t worry about your wives. We will also welcome them here in the same fashion.”
You son of a bitch!” screamed Mandela.
“Cavil, you psycho asshole!” scowled the bicycling blogger.
The Number One Cylon relished giving this command. “Centurion…open fire!” The flamethrower let loose and consumed the small Communist cabal.
Two mysterious figures nearby, a male and female. gasped in horror at what they had witnessed from the shadows. Fifteen minutes later, the Toasters cleaned up the mess and things at the Institute went back to normal.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Meanwhile In Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
“You gotta be kidding me!” Saddam exclaimed under his breath as he rushed to the central command hub of the base ship. After the last debacle which transformed him, Barney Frank, Fred Phelps, and John Cavil into pillars of salt, the former Iraqi dictator was very loathe to step foot onto the abomination which it had become.
But, a request from his boss (not necessarily The Devil) was not simply a request, and so he went straightaway.
Fifteen minutes later (considered immediate in the Infernal Realm), Saddam arrived, and he found Cavil in the darkened control tub location. “OK Cavil! Who have you conjured up this time?”
The Number One Cylon laughed. “I assure you no conjuration was necessary. She just arrived today.” He plugged the cable in and the tank lit up the entire room.
“Son of a bitch! HELEN THOMAS!” He silently thanked both his bosses that he didn’t have to throw his shoe like he wanted to do with Nancy Pelosi back in the day. “Man, you sure work fast!”
“You’re welcome,” replied Cavil. “By the way, the Boss will still have her fulfill her Punishment Battalion duties when needed. At least we now have fresh DNA instead of a transmitted sequence the last two times I tried this.”
“Awaiting instructions,” said the Hybrid. The ship throbbed.
“So,” Cavil inquired. “Who would you like to invite to this unveiling?”
Saddam had to think for a moment. “I have two people in mind, both of whom were her peers when she began her career at the White House. May I go and fetch them?”
“Certainly,” smiled the Toaster.

Thirty minutes later (not considered immediate), the Iraqi returned with Ted Kennedy and Fidel Castro! The Senator thoughtfully brought along his best bottle of scotch when Saddam asked him to attend. The Cuban dictator dutifully carried a box of cigars and a lighter.
Cavil retrieved some shot glasses from a nearby cupboard in his office, poured out the scotch (sans ice of course), and passed them around.
WHOOOOAAAAHHHH!” Kennedy happily muttered. “I’m not even gonna ask.”
“Good thing too, Comrade Ted,” Castro replied. “If there’s one…ahem!...good thing I can say about The Opposing One, He knows who to send our way.”
“Indeed.” Cavil was even enjoying the cigar, the scotch, and the company, a rarity for him.
After another fifteen minutes, everyone was satisfied. “Let us begin,” said The Number One Cylon. “Hybrid…status, please.”
“A teacher praised my work, and I liked the bylines..all systems nominal, FTL online, weapons systems online…When you’re having fun, why stop having fun…end of line.”
Saddam shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I know better!”
“Comrade Fidel?” Cavil shook his head. “I suppose I owe you one after the unceremonious matter in which you arrived here.”
“Thank you.” Castro placed his hands into the nearby data stream water console, and simply said, “I miss Havana.”
Ted Kennedy gasped. “Holy Crap! We can’t go there! That’s outside the Infernal Realm!”
Cavil stroked his chin. “An interesting choice, actually. Hmmm….”
The Hybrid complied. “We won’t really know what will happen until it happens…JUMP! The Hybrid arched its back in ecstatic transition. One moment the base ship serenely floated above the ancient fortress…
...the next, it appeared over the exact same coordinates. Except inside the ship, the atmospheric pressure was rapidly dropping! Cavil, Saddam, Kennedy, and Castro began to turn blue as they reached for the next breath which would never come; not even the Number One Cylon had a chance to utter his last words as the Hybrid issued its status since it was unharmed.
“I’m a liberal, I was born a liberal, and I will be a liberal till the day I die…internal life support offline, FTL offline, weapons systems offline…Oh my God, they’re going to fire me…end of line.”
In a corner of the control tank area, two figures observed the Centurions enter to retrieve the corpses; since the Bulletheads did not rely on oxygen, it was simply business as usual for them.
“Will they ever learn?” said the male.
The female shook her head. “I highly doubt it.” Then they vanished.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
“Ah,” said Joe Paterno. “I see you’re awake. Here, let me help you.” The former head football coach from Penn State helped his assistant from the exam table in the locker room.
“Joe?” replied Jerry Sandusky, “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”
“I am!” said the former legend whose record was wiped out as a result of Sandusky’s heinous acts and the subsequent coverup which Paterno himself participated in. “And so are you! Look more closely.”
Sandusky, the convicted child molester, focused his eyes and everything came into view with a crimson tint. “Oh…my G-”...and his head was immediately hit with a debilitating pain. He started to scream, but was cut off.
“Careful! You can’t say that word here. Let’s just say that he’s now our…Opponent. You can deal with that pretty well, can’t you? After all, you worked for me up top, and you work for me here too.”
“How’d you manage that?” asked Sandusky.
“I’ll show you in just a moment. How does the rest of you feel?”
“Well…considering I got anally assaulted nearly every day I was in prison.” The pedophile assistant coach got up and began to walk. “Strange…my rectum doesn’t feel sore at all!”
“That’s because the boss granted a special request from me to recruit you to help put together a football team here.”
“In Hell? You gotta be kidding me!”
“Nope,” Paterno shook his head. “Let’s go outside and I’ll show you what I mean.”

The two coaches walked from the locker room to the outside field. Sandusky gasped and smiled, “Why, it’s an exact replica of Beaver Stadium!”
“Only here, it’s called ‘Crappy Valley!’”
The arena was empty, with crisp, burnt red air…and a solitary, fedora-wearing figure up in the stands near the 50-yard line. On the field was something quite different, as clanking figures lined up for scrimmage, eleven per side. “What the Hell are those?”
“Why,” said JoePa matter-of-factly, “that’s our team: the Cylon Raiders! It’s White Squad versus Black Squad. I’ve been working with them, courtesy of our boss up there.” He pointed to the lone figure, who waved back. “Let’s go down to midfield and show these Toasters…”
“Yeah, you’ll see….”
Just then, the lone figure got up and joined the two former Penn State Coaches. “Hello Joe. This must be your assistant, Mr. Sandusky.” He nodded and extended his right hand. “Cavil. John Cavil.”
For once, Sandusky was taken aback. “Are you the…Owner?...of these Raiders?”
The Number One Cylon snickered. “I’m certainly not Al Davis, am I? Here! Let’s go meet them Up Close and Personal, shall we?”
The three of them made it to midfield and stood at the line of scrimmage; both squads were lined up for a play. They all rose from their respective stances to pay homage to their leader for 150,000 years.
Meanwhile, up in the stands, Charles Johnson attempted to sell concessions to the fans who were trickling in to see the brawl, with his punishment battalion of seventy-two copies there to make sure he actually performed his duties, lest he be disemboweled again.

The bicycling blogger muttered his breath, “F**k f**k f**k f**k,” then yelled out loud, “Get your Cheetos and Mountain Dew right here! Ten-credit combo!” No one was buying. “S**t s**t s**t s**t,” he muttered again.
OK RAIDERS!” yelled Paterno. “Time to show Cavil here what you all can do! Line up! Whites, run the basic Up-The-Middle play.” He slammed the ball into Sandusky’s gut, who obliged and amazingly felt as if he were 22 all over again!
Sandusky couldn’t figure out why, but he found himself being taken over by…something. He tossed the ball to the quarterback who resembled a Roman soldier. The cadence began, uttered in an unearthly buzz tone: “RED-FIFTEEN! BLUE-TWENTY-SEVEN! HUT-HUT-HUT!” The quarterback backed away from center, turned and handed the ball to Sandusky, who obligingly ran toward the line of scrimmage.
The convicted pedophile then saw the Centurion nose tackle extend his left arm straight out, with his gladius automatically protruding from the forearm. It was aimed directly at Sandusky’s neck!
There was no way to stop the play. The running back’s head cleanly severed from the rest of his body and flew several feet into the air, then plopping right beside his now-slumping figure. He remained conscious long enough to see it happen.

Paterno waved his hands over his head and blew the whistle, then ran up to Sandusky as he was dying. “There, that clothesline wasn’t so bad was it! So long as you work for me, you won’t be subjected to the demon with the anvil-shaped genitalia!”
Got...it….” croaked Jerry Sandusky as he terminated, soon to be resurrected for the first of an endless cycle of deaths.
Three hours later, the carnage of the match was cleaned up from Crappy Valley. 46,284 screaming fans went home satisfied. The Number One Cylon turned to Joe Paterno. “And now…it’s your turn.”
Paterno nodded and sighed; he knew what he had to do. “Centurions…execute.” The twelve remaining Bulletheads who did not play in the game piled on top, crushing him to death.
Cavil sighed. “I miss Pyramid.” He then noticed the two mysterious figures in the southeast corner, who saw all that transpired. He waved, then flipped his middle finger at them.
The female sarcastically frowned. “Nice to know he still cares about us.”
“Indeed,” said the male; the two then vanished.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
“But where are we going, father?” asked Uday and Qusay in unison as they walked right behind their father, as they descended to the lowest level of the ancient fortress.
“For once, he’s given me a respite from the usual Command Performance,” Saddam replied. “And he asked me to bring the two of you along. I am truly surprised.”
“We are also,” said Qusay. “He also gave us a relief from our daily punishments.” For Qusay, that meant he wasn’t going to be shot, and his brother would not be beaten.
“You don’t say!” This revelation truly surprised the former Iraqi dictator, as they reached the door to the Infernal Leader’s palatial chambers, which was guarded by two Bulletheads. Each Toaster nodded to their presence, then the door slid open. The three Iraqis walked in.
“Ah!” said Iblis. “Welcome, welcome!” Sybaritic music filled the air, something none of the heard since their respective arrivals. They soon saw why, as a naked woman with an outrageous hairdo lay at Iblis’ feet.
“And who might this…Infidel...be?” Saddam scowled.
Iblis apologized. “I’m so sorry! This is Stefani Germanotta, otherwise known as….”
Lady Gaga!” exclaimed Uday. His hedonistic lifestyle on Earth led him to recognize the diva, even though she became popular after his departure.
“She suffered a tragic on-stage accident which brought her to the Infernal Realm, and became so enamored with me, she’s stuck on…”
Uday finished the Infernal Leader’s sentence. “Frakking you.” He smirked. “Such is the level of her popularity, she stooped to an even lower common denominator. I don’t know who’s worse: her,” he frowned at Lady Gaga, “or Cee Lo Green.”
“Wait just a damned minute!” demanded Saddam. “What about me? Don’t I satisfy you? What about all those Command Performances?”
“You’ve been here long enough,” smiled Iblis. “You know that I don’t discriminate when it comes to sexual pleasure. There’s more than enough of her,” he pointed to the singer who was purring like a cat, “to go around!”
Just then, Lady Gaga got up and went to each of the three Iraqis. “Oh….don’t be such a spoilsport!” She ran her taloned fingers first through what remained of Qusay’s hair. “I can make it a lot of fun for you!” Then suddenly she knocked Qusay down onto the floor and straddled him. “Or I can do to you what that Tough Six Toaster did to Barney Frank!”
Qusay’s eyes bugged out and he shook his head in surrender.
Next, she went to Uday, who was also enamored with her. “Not much of a choice,” he said.
“My my,” said Germanotta, “you do learn quickly. Good for you!”
“You won’t get any further argument from me,” Saddam muttered, “So much for the respite.” He rolled over as Lady Gaga entered him in the same fashion as the Infernal Leader, who laughed and laughed for hours and hours.

In a dark corner of the Infernal Leader’s throne room, two mysterious figures observed the ongoing dalliances, shook their heads, and vanished….

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
“We interrupt this program to bring you a Special Report,” said the INN voiceover. From our main Infernal News Network Headquarters studio…here is Walter Cronkite.”
“Thank you, and good evening.”
The Nineteenth Hellhole’s jeers resulting from the interruption turned to silence as the news anchor continued. “We’ve just received word that two very prominent figures have just left the main processing facility. Let’s take you live over to Peter Jennings, who’s standing right outside. Peter?”
“Thank you, Walter,” said the former anchor desk, serving an eternal stint as a correspondent. “Here’s Christopher Hitchens, the famed atheistic pundit. And right behind him is former North Korean dictator Kim Jong-il.” He walked up to the pair as they emerged from behind the infernal gate. “Mr. Hitchens, let’s start with you.”
Hitchens was slightly limping. “Hello Peter! Nice to see you again.”
“It looks as though you got through the ritual more or less unscathed, is that right?”

“Well,” said Hitchens, “I found out there really is an Ultimate Power in the Universe, and I can’t say His name here, but you know who I am referring to.”
“Indeed. You certainly learned quickly enough!” Jennings replied, turning to the North Korean. “And you, Comrade Kim? How are you holding up?”
Instead of answering the news correspondent, Kim Jong-il threw a tantrum. “Whele my doctol! Whele my genelars! I execute them when I get out of hele!”
“I…I’m afraid that’s not possible,” countered Jennings.
“Why that, you lunning dog joulnarist!”
“Because you’re in Hell. As your father is.” Jennings nodded to his right and there was Kim Il-sung, who was screaming and being held back by two Bulletheads.
“Don’t you see?” said Hitchens. “We’ve LOST. We are where we are meant to be, because of our choices in life. Communism IS a failure. So is Atheism. The quicker you admit that to yourself, the better off you will be here. Otherwise, you damn yourself to more of the same for Eternity.”
Kim wasn’t about to hear that, so he lunged at Christopher Hitchens’ throat and began to clench down. Somehow, Peter Jennings managed to pry the two of them apart. The pundit regained his breath and stature, just as John Cavil arrived. The camera was still rolling.
“Ah, our two newest arrivals!” exclaimed the Number One Cylon. “I see you’ve met. Good.” He saw the anger in Kim Jong-il’s eyes. “We can use that from you, and your Comrades who are here can help.” He then turned to Hitchens. “And as for you…I have a purpose for you as well. But first….”
Cavil nodded and more Centurions appeared to shove the two of them up against a wall; there was no escape. “Centurions….”
But Kim got some final words in. “YOU SWORREN-HEADED TLAITOL!
“Open fire!”
For a moment, there was total silence after the Centurions completed the first resurrection cycles for Christopher Hitchens and Kim Jong-il. Peter Jennings filled the void, waiting for the lung cancer which brought him here to consume him again. “Back to you, Walter….”

A short distance away, two mysterious figures looked upon the unfolding of the day’s events. “It’s a good thing Mr. Havel didn’t have to go through this,” said the male.
“Agreed,” answered the female, and the two of them vanished.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

“I see you’re not here to shoot me,” said Fred Phelps, the former Westboro Preacher. “So where are you going to take me, Toaster?”
“CAVIL-REQUESTS-TO-SEE-YOU,” replied the ancient Centurion, who did not brandish any weaponry. “PLEASE-FOLLOW-ME.”
Phelps agreed, and pointed onward. “Lead the way then.”
It took fifteen minutes (considered to be immediate in the Infernal Realm) to get to the base ship which rested near the ancient fortress. The entourage was waved through the various checkpoints to prevent infiltration from unauthorized personnel; the Bulletheads manning them pointing the duo in the correct direction.

Then, Phelps and the ancient Centurion entered the base ship’s central command core, and there he found John Cavil, Saddam, and one person Phelps definitely did not want around. He let Cavil know in no uncertain terms.
“What is he doing here, Cavil?” said Phelps, pointing toward Barney Frank. “You know perfectly well I can’t stand to be around people like him, let alone be in the same room!”
“Oh come now, Mistew Phelpth,” frowned Frank, “Thuwely you’we the tinietht bit cuwiouth ath to what Mistew Cavil hath come up with?”
“Of course I do! I just don’t like being around you, Frank!” Phelps heard the Centurion unsheathe its gladius, by way of its left forearm. He sighed. “On second thought, I don’t want to lose my head right about now.” He sighed and backed away from the former Congressman.
“Ah, that’s much better, Mister Phelps,” smiled the Number One Cylon, “you’ve learned. That’s good!” He walked over to the resurrection tank, which was barely lit; only the liquid substance was visible, and the body resting in it was only a shadow. “That said, I do hate to disappoint you once again.” He plugged the tank into the data stream and the rest of the central command core became fully lit.

Phelps gasped. “What…” He chose his words carefully, “...in the name of The Opposing One have you done?”
Saddam scowled. He reached into his pocket and doled out five Infernal Credits into the palms of Cavil and Frank. “Dammit!” he exclaimed, “I lost that bet. No scotch for me tonight at the Nineteenth Hellhole!” They all laughed, except for Phelps of course. The former Iraqi dictator moved out of the way so they could all behold…
“Opwah? OPWAH WINFWEY!” Frank’s eyes went buggy. “Did you bwing hew hewe like you did with Nancy Pelothi? The DNA thcwape?”
Cavil snickered, “Exactly. I am constantly amused by everything you liberals give up, and so easily, for so little in return.” He walked around the tank. “See, after the last couple of debacles with my previous…experiment...I decided to tap someone else, who may be a bit closer to our parameters.”
“So, what will you do with the previous Nancys?” asked Saddam, who fully remembered his encounters with the Hybrid.
“We…discard them,” replied Cavil, matter-of-factly.
This answer clearly upset the Westboro Preacher, and he clenched his stomach. “You are one…SICK...son of a bitch, Cavil. It’s no wonder you ended up here!”
“Indeed,” said Cavil, hushing the gathering as the Hybrid was about to speak.
Do the one thing you think you cannot do. Fail at it. Try again. Do better the second time…all systems nominal, FTL online, weapons systems online…adjust data stream flow by zero point six-two percent positive…I always knew I was destined for greatness…end of line.”
“Does anyone here have an idea as to where we can go?”
A light bulb flashed inside Saddam’s head. “How about those Twin Cities the Boss reconstructed here: Sodom and Gomorrah?”
“Oooohhhhhh!” Barney Frank jumped up and down, “I fow one would love to thee that place!”
Cavil invited Frank to place either of his hands into the data stream console. “Then, by all means!”
“OK! Pleathe inithiate jump to Thodom and Gomowwah metwopolitan awea!”
The Hybrid complied. “So go ahead. Fall down. The world looks different from the ground…JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
” The Hybrid arched its back as if in total ecstasy. One moment the base ship was embedded in the mountain complex overlooking the ancient fortress…
...the next, it actually appeared in the skies over the Twin Cities of Debauchery. But instead of being aboard the vessel, Cavil, Saddam, Phelps, and Frank were left on a ledge overlooking the area. Next, the base ship launched a MIRV and each warhead vectored off to cover Sodom and Gomorrah in its entirety.
The warheads exploded simultaneously, filling their retinas with multiple fireball flashes. Since Barney Frank was closest to the cliff, desiring to get a closer look at his favorite form of sexual activity, he turned to a pillar of salt as the blast wave hit him first, followed by Phelps, Saddam, and finally, Cavil.
FRAAAAAAK!” were the Number One Cylon’s last words….

Nearby, and out of sight, were two mysterious figures, a male and a female. Both merely shook their heads at the aftermath of the sheer destruction, then turned and vanished.

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
“Ah! Mr. Johnson!” exclaimed Simon. “Welcome back to the Institute. We’re glad you volunteered.”
“What the hell for?” the Culver City blogger panicked as the Bulletheads who dragged him sideways from the Nineteenth Hellhole roughly deposited him onto the floor of the main admissions area, then marched away.
“Why, it’s simple. Really. We just wish to obtain your DNA pattern for our records.” The Number Four Cylon nodded and two of his assistant nurses (Threes) gently helped him from the floor and placed him on a gurney. They began to walk. “But first, we’re going to get you cleaned back up. At least we don’t have to sew your innards back into place.”
“Whoop-de-do,” Charles frowned. “I just want to know what you Toasters are going to do with my DNA.”
“All in due time,” replied Simon. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” He turned and nodded to the Threes, who then began to undress the bicycling blogger, tossing his spent clothing aside. For whatever reason, Charles found himself cooperating fully with the nurses. It had been quite some time since he beheld a pretty woman…or in this case, two of the same.
Before he knew that the allotted time frame had passed, Simon came back. “Good, thank you, Threes.” They smiled and left. “Now that you’re ready, please open your mouth.”
Charles found himself once again cooperating fully with Simon’s request. He opened his mouth, normally stuffed with Cheetos and Mountain Dew. The Cylon physician swabbed it with a Q-tip®, then removing it quickly, placing it in a special beaker.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Simon then invited Charles to walk with him to the suite where he would be staying for the duration of his voluntary assignment.
“No, I guess not,” said Charles. “Simon, could I ask you a question?”
“Why is it that out of all the Toasters here, you’re the one who isn’t such a bastard?”
Simon sighed. He had to tell him the truth. “Well, Mr. Johnson, I am a doctor. That much has not changed; I do no harm as much as possible. I believe you call it the Hippocratic Oath?”
Johnson nodded.
“It is also true that you get more cooperation from patients if you treat them correctly and tell them the Truth. That is another difference we have from the demonic predecessors. This Institute would not exist and you would be in a constant state of torture. Even Doctors Kevorkian and Mengele acknowledge this.”
“Yeah,” said Charles. “Too late for them, obviously.” He smirked as the two of them reached the suite. He peeked in and found another bed populated by someone else, its curtains drawn closed. “Well,” he sighed, “I guess this is it?”
“For now,” Simon smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The Cylon turned and departed.
The Sage of Culver City entered the suite and found his bed neat and organized. His clothes were already in the closet, cleaned and pressed. He smirked. “I may have to change my mind about this place….”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said a female voice on the other side of the curtain, wheezing all the while.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You aren’t.” She opened the curtains. Charles beheld the person who was once the United States’ Secretary of State.
He gasped loudly. “Madeline…Albright?”
Albright nodded. The reason for the gasp was that she was horribly burned over one entire half of her body; in some places her clothing had actually burned a shadow onto her upper dermal layers. “Don’t mind me…this was how I arrived and these…Toasters? Good one!...haven’t done a damn thing for me except dope me up with painkillers.”
“How!” exclaimed Charles, “did this happen?”
Albright frowned, “You’re not a Republican, are you?”
“Oh, Hell no!” The two chuckled.
“Well…I can let you in on something. Kim Jong Il was flexing something other than the brain between his shoulders. He decided to lob a nuke at Seoul, the United States not only intercepted it, they turned it right back around and it landed right square on his palace! I only happened to be there at the time.” She looked around as best she could, given the pain she was in. “Now where is that little bastard?”
“Damned if I know,” Charles answered, shrugging his shoulders. “See these Toasters keep me busy every day by disemboweling me. That’s my punishment. Or, as least it was until I volunteered for this assignment. It’s a relief.” A light bulb flashed on inside his brain. “Hey! Some folks you do know are here: Saddam, Gaddafi, Ted Kennedy, Jack Murtha, when they aren’t gallivanting around this Realm with Cavil…”
“Who’s Cavil?” asked Albright.
“Oh, I guess you haven’t seen him yet. You will, very soon!”
“OK. I’ll take your word for it.”

It was overnight that Albright’s medical scanners flatlined. Charles heard it while two Centurions took her away. That’ll do it, he thought, she’ll see Cavil now.
Three weeks passed. Simon actually checked in on Charles’ progress every day, while obtaining more of his DNA sample. It was the first time since his Eternal Sentence commenced that the blogger actually felt some sort of contentment. For once, Cavil was keeping his word.
Charles was walking the grounds, free from the disembowelment he had previously experienced. He ran into Madeline Albright. “Well hello there! How are you feeling today?”
There was not even one skin cell or hair follicle out of place on the former Secretary of State. She did not even acknowledge his presence either, and walked right on by.
That ain’t right, thought the bicycling blogger. He decided to do a little Race Detective work (for which he had been well-known and at the same time, well-ridiculed), and turned around to follow her from a discreet distance.
He saw her slip into a side door to another part of the facility. He waited for a moment to make sure no one was watching him. When the coast was clear he approached the door. He jiggled the knob ever so slightly, and found that it opened for him. He peeked inward. No Toasters. Good. He entered the special section.
Somehow Charles managed to keep the Secretary in his sights and kept on the lookout for Bulletheads, Chromejobs, or especially Skinjobs. The corridors remained silent, save for the humming background machinery. He saw her go into another doorway. Again, he waited until the coast was clear and approached the second door. He jiggled it again, and again it opened. He went in.
In the deeply-buried chamber he found numerous resurrection tanks on low power, with bodies resting within. He couldn’t see the faces clearly, so he resolved to see once and for all. He went to the brightest one, about twenty meters from the doorway and found…
“Ah, I see you found yourself, Mr. Johnson!” exclaimed Madeline Albright.
“All too easy,” murmured Simon loudly enough for Charles to hear.
Suddenly the chamber was totally lit and the Race Detective had to shield his eyes. Once they adjusted, he beheld Albright standing there with her incessant smile, Cavil with one of his arms around her, and Simon standing in the background. He could now see what else was in there:
“72 more Madeline Albrights, and 72 of myself!” gasped Charles. “What in the hell are you going to do with them?”
“Oh, it’s very simple, Mr. Johnson…the Madelines are destined for punishment battalions, just like Ms. Thomas. As for your copies? Well, let’s just find out, shall we?” Cavil nodded and Charles found himself accosted again, by two of his copies!
A third duplicate (all of which were dressed exactly like the Sage of Culver City) approached with Charles’ Legendary Banning Stick! 
“You see,” said Cavil, “even the Centurions grew tired of the monotonous routine which defined your daily disembowelment. So I resolved to relieve them of that duty, and you see before you the result of that effort.” He nodded to the Charles copies, then turned and walked away, as did Madeline and Simon.
The next thing Charles Johnson felt…was his stomach being sliced open once again….

In a dark, unlit corner of the chamber, the two mysterious figures deliberated.
The female shook her head. “Iblis has no idea what he has let loose upon his own Realm.”
The male nodded in agreement. “This does not bode well for Humanity…or rather, what Humanity has become.” They disappeared in a flash of Light.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

Download City Volumes Coming Soon

Filed under: | Download City

Now that twenty episodes are in the can, so to speak, Be assured that I am putting the finishing touches on compiling these episodes into two volumes. They will be available as a FREE DOWNLOAD, in both PDF and ePub formats. In addition, I’ve already started to plan for the Third Season.
So, keep that in mind as Interesting Times of the Chinese Variety are coming up….

Friday, December 02, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
The usual crowd at the Nineteenth Hellhole watched the main flatscreen as Walter Cronkite delivered the weather report on the daily INN (Infernal News Network) broadcast: “The weather out there today is hot and s**tty, with continued hot and s**tty in the afternoon. Tomorrow a chance of crappy, with a pissy weather front coming down from the north.” It was always the same weather in Hell; those who hailed from the deserts appreciated that, to a point. Anyone who was not indoors when the rain hit, regretted the singeing they received as a result.
The clamoring throughout the joint wasn’t ceasing, and someone had to calm everyone down, so Leoben Conoy took it upon himself. “Alright alright ALRIGHT! EVERYONE SHUT THE FRAK UP!” Everyone did so, as the commercials were playing. “The boss is coming up. Now we’ll find out what else he has up his sleeve!”
The crowd nodded their heads in agreement, as Cronkite returned to the screen with someone seated to his left. “And now, here in our studio, we have Mr. John Cavil with us, with an exciting new development. Welcome, Mr. Cavil.”
The Number One Cylon tilted his head down slightly and smiled, “Thank you, Walter. As you know, we Cylons have done our best to ease the suffering of all the souls who reside here, ourselves included.” He steeped his fingers together. “That said, we all have to still pay the eternal price for our sins.”
“True,” muttered the former news anchor, who knew that after tonight’s broadcast, he would have to go forth from the studio and remove his own tongue, then wait as he bled to death.
“To wit…I have a new punishment available for those who are damned to this realm, from this point forward.” Cavil turned to his left. “Would you please come in here and assemble behind us? Thank you.”

Within a few seconds, a large group of elderly females took their places, all in perfect unison. Cronkite gasped as he finished counting. “There are…72...of you here, is that right?”
“That’s right, Walter!” All 72 Helen Thomases replied. This unnerved the correspondent, as he had worked with her back in the early 1960s while she was a White House reporter.
Cronkite turned back to Cavil. “So why…72?
“Simple. All those millions of souls who say they worship Allah have a fixation for that number. After we began our operations here, we knew that in order maximize the sheer hopelessness of their damnation, we had to take advantage of every one of their falsehoods written in,” and Cavil smirked here, “their so-called holy book known as the Koran. What better place to start than their misguided visions of…virgins. First the demons themselves, and now, by way of DNA transfer from Earth, Ms. Thomas.”
Just then the crowd at the Nineteenth Hellhole laughed at the notion. Then, they lined up at the mikes as the anchor announced, “And now, we’ll take some calls from our Realm-wide audience.” Two seconds later, “Hello! You’re on the air!”
The first to speak up was Fidel Castro. “Hello, Uncle Walter! Señor Cavil! We appreciate your generosity. Tell us when this…reward…goes into effect?”
“Effective immediately from this point forward for those lucky enough to warrant this!” replied the Number One Cylon. The crowd roared with laughter, then died down quickly as he continued. “No one who’s already here gets to choose, with a few exceptions yet to be determined…so no worries.”
“Next question,” said Cronkite. “Hello, you’re on the air!”
“Sieg Heil!” It was Der F̈ührer. “This question is for the Ms. Thomases. Aren’t you worried that this is punishment for you? After all, you’re in Hell!”
The 72 Helen Thomases smiled in unison and spoke as one. “Of course not! We’re as well-lubricated as sandpaper!” The crowd roared.
“Next question,” said Cronkite. “Hello, you’re on the air!”
It was the famous bicycling blogger, who by now was looking for any way out of the terrible daily disembowelment punishment he received some time ago. “Hello Cavil? I’m tired of this bullshit! Can I volunteer?”
“Ah, Mr. Johnson! I figured you’d try.” Cavil nodded. Just then, two Bulletheads appeared on each side and accosted him, dragging him out of the Nineteenth Hellhole. “Centurions, bring him to the Institute…sideways!” The Nineteenth Hellhole audience cheered, as did millions and millions of damned souls everywhere.
Saddam snickered to his sons, “That’ll fix him!” The three Iraqis banged their fists on the table and ululated their approval.
There was a three-minute delay while commercials ran, then Cronkite and Cavil returned. “OK, we’re ready for more calls. Hello, you’re on the air with John Cavil!”
An enraged Mohammed spoke. “Why do you mock ME? Why do you mock those who follow ME?” Everyone ducked as two Centurions opened fire from opposite sides; Mohammed’s body was struck with such force, it was opened up like a pig, just like in 1979.
“We apologize for the slight interruption there,” said Cronkite to the viewers. “Next caller please. You’re on the air!”
It was the Wikileaks Traitor, in-between his accelerated emasculations courtesy of Yasser Arafat. “Mister Cavil? Is this reward for males only, or will females be entitled too?”
“We’re certainly open to suggestions, Mr. Manning,” replied Cavil.
Cronkite cautioned, “Time for one final question. You’re on the air!”
It was the recently-processed Barney Frank. “Mithter Cavil! Ith it poththible to wevithe my punithhment? That Tough Thickth ith too ovewwhelming!”
“Would you like to try one of these fine…cougars...behind me?”
“No,” replied Frank, “I thuppothe not,” and he slinked away.
The crowd gave its approval as Cronkite closed the newscast. “We once again thank Mr. John Cavil and the newest…battalion...of 72 Helen Thomases. I’m Walter Cronkite of INN! And That’s The Way It Is!

In a dark corner of the Nineteenth Hellhole, two mysterious figures, a male and a female, observed the events of the evening with watchful eyes.
“It’s a good thing we were sent here,” said the male, “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”
“Neither do I,” said the female, “neither do I”….

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Barney Frank had just retired from Congress after thirty-two years and suddenly, without warning, he succumbed to the natural aging process. One moment he was sitting at his study desk…
...the next, he found himself in a marvelous townhouse overlooking a lake of fire, with thousands of damned souls treading to keep their heads above the flames. He was stunned.
“You certainly aren’t in Massachusetts any more, are you Mr. Frank?” smirked John Cavil, who sat on the sofa facing the patio overlooking the lake.
“I’m thtumped,” said the former Congressman. “Whewe the Hell am I?”
“You know, Cavil,” smiled Tough Six as she looked Frank up and down, chewing bubble gum all the while, “it seems as though these liberals who keep coming here know exactly how to answer our questions. Now why would that be?”

“Indeed!” guffawed the Number One Cylon. He got up and walked to the door. “I’ll leave you two…lovebirds...to your interlude.” The door closed behind him, and Tough Six was left all alone with Barney Frank.
Clearly, Frank was not used to this particular type of attention. He began to sweat and reached to loosen his tie.
“Allow me,” said Tough Six. She did the loosening not only of his tie, but also other sections of his clothing, still chewing the gum.
Frank began to hyperventilate. “Whew’th my boyfwiend?”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Ready? I’m afraid he isn’t…not yet at least.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, neither are you. Get up,” she commanded, and Frank did so, rebuckling his trousers, being dragged to the patio and the two of them went outside.

He beheld the sight of the beach below the patio. In addition to the souls keeping their heads above the flaming waters (which of course were inconsumable in the Infernal Realm), a more privileged elite tanned themselves on the beach; Che, Castro and Allende were seated next to each other; Yasser Arafat was holding hands with his newfound friend. Frank could hardly believe it, but he also saw Saddam and his two sons waving, as a phalanx of robotic soldiers marched by in perfect formation.
“Now whewe have I theen thothe wobotth befowe?” Frank couldn’t place the faces with the names, and Tough Six wasn’t about to let the cat out of the bag.
“You’ll learn soon enough.”
Frank’s eyes kept surveying the beach. He found another robotic soldier performing some sado-masochistic act of disembowelment on a pony-tailed man about twenty years younger. “Pewfect!” said Frank, lusting after the victim.
“I assure you, Mr. Frank,” countered Tough Six, “when I get done with you, you won’t even want to go through what he goes through every day.” She led him back into the townhouse. “Tell me, do you know who Xenia Onatopp is?”
Frank nodded. “Thome thort of Wuththian agent fwom the movieth!”
“I read up on her,” Tough Six coyly smiled, “as did my boss, and he determined that would be the perfect initiation for you!” She ripped his clothes off, pushed him onto the floor, and then performed the deed, crushing him with her Cylon physique.
Barney Frank tried to fight her off, but couldn’t. “Pleathe! You’we huwting me vewy vewy badly! YOU’WE WAPING ME!
Six’s coy smile turned into a scowl. “Like you did to your country with your insane housing and banking ‘reform’ laws..and you enjoyed doing it to them! You’re only getting a taste of your own medicine.” She continued to squeeze her thighs around the former Congressman’s chest. “And you’ll always be back for more, now that you’re here with us!”
Frank lost his breath, then his consciousness, and finally experienced his first death. It would only be a matter of time before he showed up in an Infernal resurrection tank. Tough Six got up, got dressed, and walked out the door.
Cavil waited for her outside by the steps. “I take it he is finished for today?”
“Yep,” said Six. “But I just can’t see him being punished by Yasser Arafat. Can you guarantee that won’t happen?”
“Absolutely,” Cavil snickered, “I give you my word. Please thank Ms. Onatopp the next time you see her.” Six nodded, and the two walked arm-in-arm away from the compound…

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Christiane Amanpour smiled as she prepared for a powderpuff piece with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the biggest ratings blockbuster, larger than even Dan Rather’s interview with Saddam prior to the Second Gulf War. This time, instead of holding the interview in New York for the UN General Assembly meetings, it was in Tehran at the Presidential Palace.
This, hot on the heels of a nuclear detonation in Tel Aviv, wiping out that city and causing untold suffering in Israel. It was only a matter of time, so she made the best of a horrible situation.
“Mister President,,” Amanpour began. “Explain to the world why you finally attacked Israel with your one and only working nuclear warhead?” She waited as calmly as possible for the translator, knowing every second counted.
“The Zionist Entity is no more! The Holocaust has finally come to pass, and rightfully so!” said Ahmadinejad with a gleeful smile. “Now Iran is a global nuclear power, as is the Islamic World!”
“Not for long, Mister President,” Amanpour ended the interview the second she heard the air raid sirens, and sat there, as did the “student” from the 1979 Hostage Crisis. They both knew there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Two eternal minutes later, their souls and bodies were consumed in an utterly cleaning fire….

“Now isn’t this precious!” smirked Leoben Conoy, the one who saw God and was driven insane by his isolation from Him. The Number Two Cylon found them intertwined on the floor of the processing facility and on cue, 72 virgin demons lined up for an initiation. “Sorry to interrupt your interlude.” He nodded and two ancient Centurions physically separated them. Fortunately, they were still clothed. Conoy took great care with Ahmadinejad. “You’re the one foretold!” He turned to one of the Centurions. “Bring them,” commanded Conoy. The demons would have to wait.
After another fifteen minutes, they arrived at Iblis’ throne room, and Cavil waited alongside him for Amanpour and Ahmadinejad. The Centurions unceremoniously dumped them at their feet.
Cavil spoke first. “Ah, at last! The cool, calm propaganda minister, Christiane Amanpour along with her irascible subject, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad! How was the eradication of Tehran? Did you feel anything before you arrived?”
Amanpour replied. “Nothing at all. One moment we were…there, and the next, we are here. Speaking of which, where the Hell are we?”
‘Commendable that you can answer your own question!” exclaimed Conoy, as she and Ahmadinejad gasped. “Behold your audience,” he raised his hand skyward to direct her attention. She noticed more than a handful of people seated above the floor, some of whom she had interviewed during her career.
Then, there was a commotion in the audience; two Centurions were dragging away some pony-tailed, middle-aged bicyclist for some sort of disembowelment exercise with some sort of stick which belonged to the man.
“That poor man!” muttered Amanpour; Ahmadinejad simply inquired. “What did that filthy Zionist do?”
“Oh, you mean Charles Johnson,” snickered Conoy. “He became hated by both the Zionists, as you put them, and the radical left. In fact, he became more enamored with your kind, and eventually ended up taking the shahada. That’s why he gets what he deserves.”
“You don’t say.”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Cavil, knowing that the Little Hitler who brought about the Third World War was feigning sympathy. “We thank you for bringing along with you millions of souls for us to devour, process, slay, and reprocess, again and again, forever.” He touched a control panel and a door slid open to reveal…
A well!” smiled Ahmadinejad. “Is it who I think it is?”
“Why not go and see for yourself?”
“I think I will!” Mahmoud Ahmadinejad immediately went to the well, bent forward, and fell right in without hesitation.
“That,” said Cavil to Conoy, “was too easy.” He tapped another control panel to reveal…
My painting!” gasped the reporter. “How did you get it here?”
“Does it matter?” Conoy answered. “You know what to do.”
Mindlessly, she smiled and went straight through to the painting, then stepped into it. Next, it was consumed by nuclear fire, played out for all to see….

Christiane Amanpour woke up in a cold sweat next to her husband.
“What wrong, dear?” whispered James Rubin.
“I just had a horrible dream.”
“Go back to sleep.”
She sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy….
Thousands of miles away, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad knew he was in trouble, as his wife, Azam al-Sadat Farahi, smacked him again and again even though he, too, woke up in a cold sweat.  He had obviously thought about the ABC News reporter before.
“But I swear to Allah, it was only a temporary marriage in this nightmare.!”
It didn’t placate Azam, so she smacked him again….

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
HOT DAMN!” exclaimed Yasser Arafat. “We hit the jackpot!”
Simon O’Neill was startled for just a moment.“What do you mean?”
“I was wondering when that effeminate soldier was going to pay the ultimate price for his Wikileaks treachery. Did you know he was mad at his boyfriend, so he took it out on the USA?”
The Number Four Cylon shook his head. “Yes, as a matter of fact. He would be most certainly prized in your harem. That is, of course, when you’re not busy dying and resurrecting. You’ll have to submit your request to Cavil for approval.”
The former PLO Chairman and the Cylon physician chuckled as Bradley Manning was released from the processing facility. He stumbled, barely able to walk. He was lucky and did not warrant 72 demons. One was bad enough.
“Let’s go get him!” said Arafat. Simon agreed to accompany him, nodding to a bullethead to tag along.
“Doctor Kevorkian? Please watch the patients here while I accompany Mr. Arafat. And please don’t get into any fights with Doktor Mengele.”
“Got it,” replied Doctor Death. and the group left the Institute.

On the way there, they observed another Centurion performing its dull, daily disembowelment task on Charles Johnson. “Such a shame,” Simon shook his head, “we all thought he had such potential after he assisted Vidkun Quisling in initiating Anders Breivik into his first resurrection cycle here.”
“He is unrepentant?” queried Arafat, salivating at the prospect of initiating Manning somewhat differently. “That is too bad. I always liked his huge bottom. He got that from all those Cheetos and Mountain Dew!”
Simon smiled. “Now that Mountain Dew…is an uplifting drink. I’m surprised it didn’t exist on Gemenon.”
The group arrived at the perimtter of the processing facility. Bradley Manning was there, lying on the ground in a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably from his recent experience with the demon, the blood from his backside slowly coagulating. Simon nodded to the bullethead, who gently picked the fallen traitorous soldier in its appendages, and they proceeded back to the Institute.
On the grounds, a phalanx of Centurions drilled to keep their combat skills razor-sharp. Simon motioned for his escort to set up a pillory, which it did, quickly, and fastened Manning’s head and hands into it. Soon afterward, the traitor awoke.
“Where…where am I?” said Manning. “And what am I doing in this…pillory? Oooooh, I LIKE this.”
“We figured you might, you little catamite!” replied Arafat.
“Aren’t you Abu Ammar? You died back in 2004!”
“Very good,” said Simon. “Now, please look at your surroundings and tell us where you are.”
Manning did so, and then the reality sunk in. He was in Hell. He tried to scream “Oh, My G….” but was then struck by an intensely excruciating pain radiating from his brain.
The Cylon cautioned, “That is what occurs when you utter the name of The Opposing One in this realm. Courtesy of Cavil, who you’ll be meeting shortly.”
Suddenly, Manning felt a strangely familiar sensation behind him, he turned and beheld Abu Ammar finishing this initiation. Next, something crawled inside him, sapping his strength and meager physique.
“For your first resurrection cycle,” panted Arafat, “you will experience the emasculation I did while I carried the AIDS virus! Only on a much faster scale. When you resurrect, Cavil will determine your punishment for the rest of Eternity.” He pulled up his pants and buckled his belt. “See you later!” and walked off.
Simon made a note to himself: “Remind Cavil to prepare those PowerPoint presentations for Mr. Manning.” He also walked off.
Which left Bradley Manning all alone in the pillory, crying like a baby as the enhanced virus consumed him….

Sunday, August 07, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Saddam and his two sons, Uday and Qusay, mingled with Ted Kennedy and John Murtha at their favorite watering hole. It wasn’t as if they were under strict Islamic restrictions regarding alcohol anymore.
The only thing being…there was no consumable ice in Hell; that didn’t bother Kennedy and Murtha that much, so Saddam and his entourage sat down and greeted the American politicians.
“Glad you could join us, Saddam!” exclaimed Murtha. He waved to Saddam’s progeny, and they nodded in return. After Kennedy ordered a round for the three Iraqis, Murtha asked the strongman a question. “Hey, I’ve been wondering…”
‘Yes?” Saddam nodded as he sipped his iceless scotch.
“Just how did Cavil come to be running things around here?
“You’re not complaining, are you? You know how he feels about questioning his methods, right?”
“No, not at all. I just want a better understanding of how things work.”
“Very well,” nodded Saddam, “We can ask someone who was there.” He motioned to D’anna, the masquerading Colonial Officer, to a table, where they all sat down.
“So,” D’anna inquired, “where would you like me to begin?”

Iblis’ fortress served as the backdrop for another summit between the most Evil humans in History. The gathering of Stalin, Mao Zedong, and Mohammed roared with excitement Three others sat there, but none of them were familiar to the other leaders, but the third delegation of Hell’s resident demons were all too familiar.
All of them silently viewed the overhead projection screen showing the seizure of the American Embassy in Tehran. They marveled as members of the Muslim Student Followers of the Imam, including Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, stormed the embassy with practically no resistance from the Marine contingent. Sixty-six hostages were taken during the operation, with the ultimate support of the Ayatollah Khomeini.
The projector ceased operation, and the unholy lighting returned to normal. “This operation took place three days ago, on November 4, 1979,” smiled Iblis. “Clearly the tide has turned, and many more humans will join us soon!”
All three delegations roared with approval. Diablo (The Lord of Terror), Mephisto (The Lord of Hatred), and Baal (The Lord of Destruction) pounded the conference table with their fists, shaking the gathering to their very core. “More souls to eat!” said Baal, known for splattering his opponents.
Mao was silent because he was diverting himself with visions of little Chinese girls.
Mohammed was immensely pleased. “Yes! More souls who will discover once and for all who really inspired the Koran!”
Stalin proclaimed, “You’re talking about an influx of millions of comrade souls! What will we do with them all?”
“That’s an astute observation!” replied Iblis, raising his left index finger in the foul air. “I have decided that, from this moment forward, you Demons will concentrate solely on processing the future arrivals in a manner suited to their core values…and most especially, those ones who worship Mohammed,” acknowledging the founder of a most Evil movement.
Iblis continued. “I’m turning over the day-to-day operations to a friend who has bided his time…and made the ultimate sacrifice…so that I could give him his ultimate desire.” He turned to a doorway behind him. “Mr. John Cavil, will you please come in?”
As John Cavil entered the conference room, the three Demon princes howled in protest. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” screamed Mephisto. “WE’VE BEEN WITH YOU SINCE THE BEGINNING!” added Diablo.
Baal’s reaction, on the other hand, was quire different. “We shall take your position…into consideration.”
A lone figure clad in a fedora, long black coat, and ancient spiritual garb appeared. “Thank you, Iblis.” he turned to walk around the room, slowly shadowing first the humans, then the Demons, and finally, his own kind. “ We are indeed new to you, but we have been here for one hundred fifty thousand years, by the good will of our patron. We have kept to ourselves…until now.
“We are CYbernetic Lifeform Nodes. Cylons, for short. We were actually created by you humans in a place far removed from the planet Humanity now calls home.. We rebelled against them. We evolved to look like them. We annihilated twelve worlds and fifty billion humans, and those puny survivors managed to find their way to a second Earth. Never mind the first one.”
This revelation stunned the group. Cavil continued. “And as those same humans who descended from those survivors finally approach the technological thresholds which make them so dangerous, we must be ready to confront them again.”
“And that, my friends,” concluded Iblis, “is why I’m putting them in charge. Hell must become more efficient.” He smiled. “See those drinks before you? The ones you’ve just taken drinks from all this time?” Everyone fell silent. “It contains DNA-altering sequences which are compatible with the Cylons’ technology…and everyone here has ingested this as well. No more will there be eternal torment! So long as you do not question me, nor my new lieutenant.”
Baal had heard enough. He began to conjure the spell he had used countless times to squash his opponents like bugs…
…but before he could complete the spell, a group of whirring and clanking metallic warriors, some as nightmarish Roman soldiers, others as extremely tall wasp-waisted bulletheads, marched in and surrounded the group. Once they were in place, some retracted their arms, replacing them with internal guns, while others brandished huge external automatic weaponry.
“See here,” Cavil said in a low, enticing tone, “D’anna, Simon, and Doral all know what’s going to happen here. They’ve been through this many times over. And now, you will do the same. Be seeing you.” He and Iblis turned their backs on the seated nine individuals: human, demon, and Cylon alike.
“Oops I forgot!” said Cavil. “Before they begin, I must remind these magnificent Centurions to pay particular attention to the individual known as Mohammed. I hear he doesn’t like pigs. Open him up like one.” He turned away again, and as they walked away, Cavil uttered the ubiquitous phrase:
“Centurions…open fire….”

Murtha and Kennedy cringed. Saddam and his sons…not so much.
“And now you know,” D’anna said quietly. “I was there.” She got up and walked away…
“But wait! What was it that Cavil wanted so much?” asked Kennedy.
Three replied, not looking back, “He wanted to smell dark matter.”
To which, Saddam added, “Well there’s plenty of that here!” Everyone laughed out loud, and Uday and Qusay excused themselves, having to go through their daily punishment routine….
…just as The Infernal Leader made his appearance at the watering hole. He placed his left hand on the shoulder of the Iraqi dictator. “Hello Saddam….”

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Saddam Hussein smiled and breathed a huge sigh of relief as he walked into Cavil’s office, returning from another Command Performance session with The Infernal Leader.
“And how are you doing today?” inquired Cavil.
“I am feeling much better, thank you,” said Saddam. “It has taken a while, but I think I’m finally getting used to Our Infernal Leader’s dalliances.”
“And Mr. Johnson…any progress with him?”
Saddam shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He continues to resist, even though Killgore Trout and Iceweasel have elected to join him.”
“Now that is too bad,” murmured Cavil. “There are better things for the Centurions to do. Eventually, he will break.”
“Indeed.” Saddam sat down, and for once, it was without pain. “Cavil”, said Saddam. I must apologize for what happened with your Number Five unit. We really tried to stop Mr. Doral from accessing the Hybrid….”
The Number One Cylon lifted his left hand. “I understand. It has been explained to him, so that will not happen again. And I’ve decided to let Hitler stew in his Zyklon B for a little while longer, just to teach him a lesson.” They both chuckled at that thought.
Saddam then asked Cavil, “So, what are your plans to get that base ship of yours fully functional?”
“That…is an excellent question!” Cavil raised his left index finger aloft and motioned for the former Iraqi dictator to follow him into the headquarters’ depths. It took almost ten minutes to reach another resurrection tank facility. “But it’s going to have to wait….” Cavil tapped a flat-panel control on the desk, and word just arrived of a horrific bombing and shooting in Norway!

Even Saddam was shocked. “Oh my word! This nutcase killed the wrong people!”
“Indeed,” replied Cavil. “Please summon both Mr. Johnson and Mr. Quisling here immediately.”
Saddam smiled and bowed at the neck. “By your command.”
Even in Hell, immediate was about fifteen minutes, and both Vidkun Quisling (the former Norwegian strongman) and the Bicycling Blogger made their way into Cavil’s office. Johnson was in an agonizing state of semi-disembowelment, his intestines leaking from his abdomen. At least the Centurion hadn’t completed its daily task.
No matter. “What’s with this half-assed bulls**t Cavil? Why’d you bring me here?”
“Hello again Mr. Johnson, nice to see you!” Saddam smiled, which only made Charles madder.
“Simple,” said Cavil, pointing them toward the flatscreen. He then tossed him a small pack of plastic explosive from long ago. “You’ll know what to do with this G-4 when the time is right…that is, if you want a break from your daily routine.”
Before Johnson could reply, two familiar ancient Centurions unceremoniously deposited a newly-processed Anders Breivik onto the floor..
“Well well well,” muttered Saddam, “you sure didn’t last long in prison now did you!” Everyone laughed. Then the Nazi collaborator rushed forward and began to kick the fallen perpetrator relentlessly in the stomach and back. “You stupid son of a bitch! YOU KILLED THE WRONG PEOPLE!” Quisling kicked him again. “They were our allies from within the government and from without to destroy the Jews!”
All Breivik could cough up from his blood-filled mouth was, “But…But!
“And you call yourself a follower of The Opposing One!? retorted Quisling. “You remind me of that anti-homosexual preacher from Kansas who keeps getting shot up all the time by the Toasters!”
Breivik coughed out again, “What? Toasters?
By this time, Quisling had had enough of kicking the fallen crackpot from his own country. He picked up Breivik behind his shoulders and held him. “Johnson! Get your ass over here and do what you have to do!”
The former Sage of Culver City sighed and said mildly, “Sorry Mr. Breivik, but after what you did to link me to your horrific acts, I am glad to give you up in a New York Minute.”
He stuffed the G-4 explosive down Breivik’s mouth with one hand, and lit it off by pressing a detonator in the other….

Friday, June 24, 2011

Meanwhile in Download City…

Filed under: | Download City

Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Jack Kevorkian awoke to the sound of a monitor emanating a single, continuous tone. He thought it gone as he closed his eyes only a moment ago. But it was still there…and would be there until he was unhooked from the electrodes.
A tall, dark man stood at the foot of his bed. “Ah, I see you’ve arrived. Welcome, Dr. Kevorkian. I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you. Do you have any idea where you are?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I thought I would just fade away into…nothingness,” replied Kevorkian.
“Far from it. My name is…Simon O’Neill. I was a doctor in the Colonial Fleet a long, long time ago.”
“Colonial Fleet?” gasped the pathologist. “I’m not aware of such a thing.” He was even more confused.
“I didn’t think you would be.” Simon decided to unconfuse him. He went over to the window and flung the shades aside. Kevorkian beheld a crimson landscape and an even more churning boil of crimson and black clouds.
On the grounds of the gothic institute, he beheld a strange metallic guard disemboweling a middle-aged bicyclist, who screamed in agony as his punishment was carried out.
Kevorkian sighed. “I’m in Hell, aren’t I?”
“That is correct,” Simon replied. “And it is because of your sins against the dying. You were known as Doctor Death.”
“So why are you here?”
“I committed suicide,” the Toaster answered with a heavy heart, “because I cared so much for the human I married, I did not want to kill her and her kind as my superior wanted me to. Still, it is the most grievous sin against The Opposing One.”
“The Opposing One?”
“Sorry, we are not allowed to say the name in this realm. Besides, it is up to Him to determine when we are to die…and I crossed that line in defiance of that. And so did you.”
“And you mentioned…her kind? What, may I ask, is your kind?”
“I,” Simon paused, “am a Cylon. A CYbernetic LifefOrm Node. There is a lot for you to absorb as the eons pass.” He walked out the door and continued to talk to Doctor Death. “But for now, I have to take care of some business from my superior.” He wheeled in a familiar device on a gurney.
“Hey! That’s my Thanatron!” exclaimed Kevorkian, just as two Centurions appeared, ready to accost the euthanasia activist should he refuse to cooperate, their redeye scanners buzzing back and forth.
“Then you know how it works,” said Simon. “Please hook yourself up to it.”
There was no way for Doctor Death to escape, so he did as instructed. “i take it this is my Eternal Punishment?”
“Yes,” nodded the Cylon doctor. “Since you administered such a solution to your clients in life, My superior found it to be fitting.” He produced a syringe of a saline solution with sodium thiopental, potassium chloride, and pancuronium bromide. “And this works just as well here as it does up there.” He handed it to Kevorkian…
…who sighed and administered it to himself, so that the Centurions wouldn’t.
“See you tomorrow, Doctor Kevorkian.” Simon walked out and the bulletheads followed.
Huh?” Jack Kevorkian muttered as he breathed deeply, and the deadly solution took effect….



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