Saturday, March 15, 2008

The Tale of Young Snotty

Once upon a time, there was a vicious little bastard who everyone called Young Snotty. They called him that because, no matter how old he grew, he still acted young (in every bad sense of the word) and because his attitude towards everyone around him was always that of an arrogant, entitled, snotty frat boy. Young Snotty liked to hurt things when he was a kid, liked to hurt them bad. Lit firecrackers inserted into the anuses of frogs, that sort of thing. Maybe this was because he had a brain problem, or maybe it was because his Mommy and Daddy didn’t kiss him enough when he was a very Young Snotty. Or maybe, just maybe, he was that way because God made him that way. Because that’s something God would do to a person, if that person were someone for whom God had Big Plans down the road.

So, as I said, Young Snotty grew up but inside he remained what he always was. He wasn’t in a position to do much damage, outside of his immediate family. The most he could manage on a good day was to damage his wife, she of the medicated and defeated countenance. But outside of his small circle, he couldn’t really do any real damage, because he was powerless and everyone laughed at him behind his back, and not always behind his back. In the normal order of things, the most that Young Snotty could have aspired to was to be appointed dogcatcher or garbage-dump babysitter in some little Texas shithole town.

But a voice came to Young Snotty, and that small, still voice in the middle of one of his dark nights of the soul started talking to him. And this is what that small, still voice whispered to him:

“Small time, Snotty. Such a sad little Snotty you are. How small you are, inflicting these million sharp little pains on people within easy reach as you stew in your own booze-saturated juices, heading down. Always heading down, Young Snotty. Let me toss out a vision for you, a vision to conjure with. A whole world, all of it, for you to hurt and punish and give it back to them a hundred times over. Pain and fear inflicted everywhere. Everywhere. I’ll give all of that to you, Young Snotty. All that power to kill while you mock and torture while you preach and invade while you pontificate and bust up everything around you while you demand ‘respect,’ a respect that everyone gives you because that dare not do otherwise because they are terrified of you. I can give you all of that ... and all you have to do in return is worship me.”

“Who are you?” the sad, laughable barfly mumbled into his pillow.

“I’m God. I’m Yahweh. And I am your God. Come with me. Come with me, and together we will smite the world with a great burning."

And so Young Snotty, the laughable looser and bitter barfly, looked up and his bloodshot eyes no longer had the look in them of a whipped dog. It was time to pay them back. Time to pay all of them back. He was The Fist of God, and it was time for that fist to punish the world.

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