Jews.

The Siege of Jerusalem

For the days shall come upon thee: and thy enemies shall cast a trench about thee and compass thee round and straiten thee on every side . . . (Luke 19:43)

If one were to sit me down and ask me, honestly, how I feel about the Siege of Jerusalem…I’d tell them to go fuck themself. Righteous faggot.

Quite a while back, I was employed under Titus as a cheerleader or donkey coach or some shit. The work was dog crap, but I had fun in the sun and got reamed in the shade. I was conscripted into the Roman shitheads, some slime-coated legion. My commander was Tiberius Julius Alexander and the bro smelled like he lived in GOAT-clown diarrhea/refused to wash his fuckin’ feet. XV Apollinaris, that was the name of the legion I was stuck with…bunch of assholes really. For the first few months of service, I pretended to be a fucked up retard. On campaign, my favorite pastime was to sneak into a comrade’s tent and quietly slide into his furs. Then I would whisper naughty poopoo things into his ear and brush my throbbing wart pole against his meaty calves. When the poor pile of congealing rat piss would come to, I’d scream: “POP GOES THE WEAZEL!” and break a chair over his head. In the morning, the few fuckers stumbling from their tents rubbing their asses and their heads and weeping a little? Yeah, those would be the fucks I fucked.

Anyway, we were on campaign, during this real dry desert summer heat and I had this ass infection from Satan. I had been up late the night before deployment, standing on a god damn heap of rocks, doing these ridiculous parlor tricks for all the guys. You know, bullshit like sucking off the main principes leader and spitting it at the crowd and they would all scream “WOOOHOO!!” and flash their rock-hard pecs. Well I did this one, which usually is a nono cuz it makes me shart blood for several weeks after…where I shove a sharpened lance into my crack. The boys loved that one.

So I’m hobbling along the morning after. We march fucking everywhere. I mean we marched for two months straight before we reached our destination and I had this massively awful ass infection the whole fuckin’ time. Well as you can imagine, my flatulence is foreboding to the bastards behind me and we lost several troops along the way to my gangrene gas alone. I cried for much of the way, Tiberius shouting at me to shut my shit or else he’d dump my ass in the red sea. I would just flash my crooked pecker and flip him off. Him on his high horse. What a dumb shit. That very night, I pissed bloody urine into his water bladder and smeared my dribbling asshole over his sleeping mask. I mean it was pure hell that march. I tried my best to keep my belly full with unfermented wine and dingle-berries. I developed this real lurid immunity and subsequent addiction to hemlock, which I brought plenty of. The shit made me hallucinate like I was a god damn holy man on Mars.

The skies were on fire the day we reached the third wall to the west of Jerusalem at the Fortress of Antonia. My anus was afire and I was fucking tripping on hemlock tea when I was assigned to siege engine four, May 15TH, 70 A.D.

OH MY GOD! I was seeing these giant fucking squirrel people flying all over my god damn head! I was assigned to this fucking siege engine, a sort of advanced battering ram. I kept screaming at the others to “DUCK FOR COVER, YOU WENCHES! THESE SQUIRREL MUTANTS MEAN BUSINESS, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” Many of the other laughed, but I recall later being approached by a number of them asking me if I had been serious. “FUCKIN’ A!” I told them.

So anyway, the Jews on the other side of the wall were throwing rocks and all sorts of shit - I swear I was hit with a fucking used condom, which I promptly chewed into ribbons and spat out at a horrified Roman conscript. He threw his down his sword and covered his eyes, then ran squealing into the army at my back. I couldn’t stop laughing. It was around the time of the condom incident that our commander Titus ordered us to begin hacking away at this fucking wall with toy bats or some shit because we weren’t making a fucking dent with the rams. Those god damn arabush bastards began pouring out through this little dick-hole breach and everyone in the legion starts going apeshit. I draw my sword and start banging on my helmet, whopping and hollering that “CHRIST IS HERE AND HE’S PISSED!” A dinky arrow bounced off my chest armor so I bounded from the siege engine and fell upon the first heeb I saw. My two sandaled ham-schlongs landed on his fucking head and he buckled like a bean pole. I bashed him in the head with my hoobastank wand and he passed out. I drowned him in a bucket of rat filth and sat, rocking back and forth over the corpse, spitting and hissing at passersby for the remainder of the foray. I fell asleep sometime after dusk.

I was jarred awake by some asshole early; I mean too early the next day and shoved head first into this dink formation. I was still clutching my sword like it was a severed wonka bar and had a clump of human pubic hair in my teeth. My eyes felt as if someone ripped them from my ocular cavities, sucked on them like caramels, then spat em into my bloody ass. This real tall fucker is shouting at me to “get in line for attack!” and all around me, archer commanders are calling out “LOOSE!” There’s a shit-storm about to take place and my dumb ass is right in the middle. I kicked the tall, shouting guy in the nards and he buckled. Well the command came through the lines to go forward and we rushed in like little mutant vermin, shrieking like banshees. I snapped out of my daze and got to galloping real hard like a fucked up kangaroo on all fours. I ripped off my helmet and swung it high over my head, horse hair forward and then real low under my balls over and over again whilst yelling “I AM CORKY FROM LIFE GOES ON YOU ASSHOLES!” I then crab walked into the fortress like that, my erect dick out from under my armored shit-skirt, pissing out my acidic, hellishly nasty piss all over the sleeping Zealots inside.

Within about an hour, the legion took the fortress. Our commander (the douche of wales is what I called him) goes hobbling up to the tip of our siege tower and bellows down to us that we are the greatest army in the land. I balled up some of my own poop into a grape leaf wad and fired it up at him, striking him in the fucking face. He cried out and fell off the tower onto his ass. I heard him whimpering a little bit back there as many of the men laughed so hard they were falling over. Well Tiberius gets back up to his feet and it’s obvious that he’s crying although he’s trying to hide it. He pretends to laugh and through tears shouts, “Okay, ha ha who threw that?” Silence. “Come on guys, seriously, I won’t be mad. Who threw the doody?” Well I was getting bored so I yelled, “PARTY IN MY TENT!” and tossed this burning torch I had been holding. Right then, Titus came into the soirée on his horse and saw me throw the torch. “NOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed as he daintily dismounted and came skipping toward me. “You fool! I promised we would not destroy the temple!” I flashed my hog pouch and belched putrid, before hollering “COME ON GIRLS, PARTY TIME!”

Only a few soldiers followed me out that night. I raped and murdered them with their swords after the awful bout of a hemlock trip gone badly. I came to around the time the temple was aflame. I watched as the remainder of Herod the Great’s expansion crumpled. Sitting there on the hill, sipping a little wine and weeping for the nastiness burning in my a-hole, I thought to myself of the ways that were and the woes that are. And then, perhaps, maybe it isn’t so bad…being me. A few squirrel people whirred by, ruffling my balding scalp in the furious desert air.

AXE manspray

Lizzie Borden

Forgive me, I was pulled out of bed by my dick by several severely agitated federal agents and although I gave them nothing, it was still a rough start to my day – especially since I was still tripping on baker’s aerosol. Anyhow, I might be a little fuzzy on this one as I sit here, nude, clenching my butt-cheeks together and slurping day old Rainier. Fuck.

Back in the day, I worked the railway a good deal. I traveled from town to town, shredding the anile of multiple hobo dank bunz. The money was good, but every now and then I’d have to stop off in some douche bag and collect extra green for an anus re-sewing operation or something to that degree. I loved the railway though. Loved it. I became real close to this fuck-face named “Milky.” He was a real cunt sniffer and I mean that in the worst way. He loved to play the harmonica. I mean the cocksucker could manipulate the mouth-harp with his RUBBERY schlong!

This one day we were all riding along, Joe and the Crabs, Dirty ‘Boner’ Larry, Dustman, Gibbersdaffer and Milky. Milky is playing a mean harmonica and we are all just listening. I was watching that sparkling instrument with enormous desire. My eyes were glistening with lust. He was halfway through “Old Susannah” when I could contain myself no longer. I lunged at Milky. He screeched and threw his arms up in defense. I ripped that god damn harmonica from his mouth and shoved it up my own ass. There was this unanimous gasp from the other occupants before I spun around and shat the harp right back into Milky’s mouth. He was lying on the boxcar floor, crying and screaming “TIS THEE DEVEEL HISSELF! THE BEAST! OH LOORDY HELP US ALL!!” then his speech went into kind of a gurgle as his mouth filled with my doodie water. Without motive, I bashed him in the spleen with my boot heel and vomit sprayed all over the other motherfuckers in the car. They screamed as one and recoiled in terror to the darkened corner of the car. I grabbed the closest little bitch and looked him square in the eye. He was shivering and smelled as if he was literally living inside a campground outhouse shit-hole. “I’m pregnant,” I said in a real low-voice. “It’s yours.” Then I grabbed him by the pants and chucked him through the open door and into a ravine. I decided that was my cue. After six straight months of no showering and having only eaten rat semen and horse apples, I was ready for a god damn break. So as the fuckin’ trolley passed through this little town, I leapt from the boxcar shouting “GERONIMO, YA ASSHOOOOOOOOOOOOOLES!!!” and landed head first into a fucking cow.

Well I stood and sorta brushed off my nut sack. I left an impression of my face in the cow. So I brush my shit off and stumble toward town. I needed a god damn drink and I needed a god damn job. I stop just short of this stupid sign that read “Fall River.” Well I didn’t know where the fuck that was. The name sounded like a spot I used to dump bodies during high school. I went sauntering in to town along this god damn dusty road. It had to have been a hundred degrees outside. I was sweating. I had on these wool britches and I couldn’t handle the swamp crotch so I ripped them off. The stench was unbelievable. Unbelievable. I mean I almost passed out and you know it’s bad if I can’t hack it. Well immediately the flies are all over me. It was nice to have my cushion crumbs out in the wind, but the fucking flies were buzzing and hooting all around my hell no bouncies and I was getting real agitated. I hobbled around like that for about an hour. Townsfolk left and right were avoiding me like the plague. I kept extending my arms and rolling my eyes back in my head, reaching out to them and moaning like a retard. Little bits of vomit were spilling from my mouth and that smell, oh my god I smelled like a dead child that had been rotting in an old wine barrel in the hot hot heat for 2 weeks.

Well here I am, trudging along, my fucking pants around my ankles and I smell like God’s toilet after a storm at sea. I decide that I’ve got to get out of this heat. I went for the first house I saw, No. 92 Second Street. The residents had no idea I was coming that day and if they had, they would have run themselves shitting into the fields and bludgeoned themselves to death and then set themselves on fire after pouring battery acid into their ocular cavities while watching “Howie Mandell: Howie in Maui.” That being said, I wasn’t ready to fuck shit up, but after all these years, I still surprise myself. This is Thursday, August 4th, 1892.

I burst in through the fucking front door like the Philadelphia SWAT team and bash right into some old dude who was attempting (I can only assume) to go take a piss on his front porch. The hit was so massive that it knocked him out cold and flung him onto the couch like a ragdoll. I emitted an ear-splitting scream and ripped open my shirt like a fuckin’ werewolf. The old dude was out like a light, snoring like a baby. This younger looking chick comes running in to see what the matter was. I darted at her and shouted “WHO WANTS CHICKEN SEX?! HOW ABOUT YOU, BEAUTIFUL?!” Well my gunky lincoln log was flopping out in the wind already so I pumped it up and charged her. She screamed and began to run. I intercepted her with my long rod and she fainted. “FUCK THIS SHIT EVERYONE IS A PUSSY!” I heard a door close upstairs so I lunged up to the second floor, heated and ready for bloody semen cookies. The first door I laid eyes on I kicked open - like a god damn wicker basket it flew and slammed against the inside wall. This woman was standing there looking mortified. I grew a grin from ear to ear and within seconds I was doing a god damned monkey bone dance all over her vaginal paradise. She was hooting and hollering and wouldn’t shut the fuck up so just before I was about to play in the mud I bashed her in the back of the head with the old battle axe I used to hide in my pubic hair bush from Tulsa. She died immediately. I must’ve bashed at her fucking head forty fucking times. She keeled over in a lump of shit on the floor and I made haste. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, dear old dad was still passed out, but the chick that fainted was kinda coming to. I got up into her grill and said, “Hi little one. HIIIIII! What’s your name?? You sweet sweet thing. I can smell your stinkies…” She looked up from under her shaking brow and whimpered, “Elizabeth Borden…” I smiled and caressed her cheek. She began to cry. Then I grabbed a good hold of her curls and maniacally huffed:

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one. 

(progressively getting louder)

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one. 

(until I was screaming)

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks.
And when she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.

I pulled away from her, still chanting this lunacy at full blast. She was screaming. I spun toward the dude on the sofa and raised my battle axe high over my head. I screamed “LET’S REWRITE HISTORY, MOTHERFUCKERS!” and I bashed in that faggot’s skull. I swung again and again, hacking away at his fucking face, little Lizzie Borden shrieking behind. Well after about forty minutes of this nonsense, I decided it was time to get THE FUCK back to the railway. I pounced on Lizzie Borden and pinned her there. She was squirming around all nuts like. I hawked a real nasty loogie and let it string out from between my puckered lips. Just before it touched her squniching face, i slurped it back up. She squealed and I slapped her good and hard. "I was never here or else that loogie goes into your hole." I slapped her again for good measure then stood. I barged out of the house and threw my axe into the back of a passing wagon. I vomited on the dusty street after remembering I hadn’t had a drink in over two hours.

I never found a job, but I swiped a gold pocket watch I was able to barter for sex from an eleven year old kangaroo.

As the sun set at my back, I made my way toward the rail-line, humming that sweet sweet goodness.

The Tucker Cross

The Tucker Cross

Back in the seventies, I had a lot of issues. I mean, I was really fucked up. Worse off than now, some closest to me would say…but they would never say that type of shit to my face because they know I would skull fuck them.

I was renegading in Bermuda. Three years prior, I found my way to town after inadvertently passing out in a storage container bound for the islands. I’d been fucking around on this cargo ship, ya know, as I’d lured the captain of the dream boat with plans to rape n’ rob the candy-coated sonofabitch. Well, I had a shitload of ecstasy I’d lifted from some dirt bag kid the week before. I was hoping to hop a cruise ship and pass the shit out to all the old people, but instead decided to ingest it all whilst butt-fucking el capitano.

Anyway, I came to after three weeks stuffed into this fuckin’ box without food or water. I survived because I chewed off most of my love handles and munched on the occasional diseased rat. When I was finally dumped onto this rotting dock near the Maritime Museum, I’d lost forty pounds and was addicted to drinking urine. It really sucks to be addicted to urine, because you can’t chug the vile tincture from hell without puking your guts out (unless you’re a fucking psychotic Superman.)

So for the first few months, I ran around the island snatching at young man sucker-peckers. I grew these real nasty rat claws so I could tear open big boys’ britches with the force of a fucking jet turbine. I also developed this fucked up piece of property I still keep on the bathroom wall: a vacuum face mask, which would clasp to the tip of targeted man pecker and suck at the bladder, forcing relief from the victim. It was really fucked up. So I’d usually hop and skip around town, not really showering or sleeping or taking care of myself in any way. I looked like an unholy nightmare.

After about nine weeks of this nonsense, I was wrested from my toilet nest near the police station (copper piss is bliss) and forced into some sort of rehab program or some shit by a bunch of nuns. I was a real maniac for the first year of that god damned shit. Because I had lost so much weight and looked like a fucking rat child who had been consuming ONLY urine for the last 63 days, they thought I was some sort of malnourished child and not the 45 year old serial killer considered armed and extremely dangerous by many government agencies including Mossad, the GRU, the Guanbu, MI-5, the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. I couldn’t get out of there. I mean I just couldn’t. Every time I would rebel, refuse to eat, murder someone, break shit, rape a nun, set something on fire, etc….the god damn fuckers would just throw me right back into circulation. Every day it was pray, eat, clean, pray eat clean. I had to live with all these other little fuckers that would beat me up and make fun of me at night. I really hated it. Then, our youth group pastor began to touch me inappropriately. I would run screaming and crying to the head mistress or whatever and she would just backhand me and send me back to the father. He would put on this god damn puppet show with a Kermit doll and a mouse doll and then stroke my noodle and make crazy voices like fingernails on a chalkboard. I would throw my hands over my ears and just scream and scream and he would laugh until tears were running down his face.

During the fifties, I stayed in Bermuda, briefly, while working on my human sex trafficking gig. I knew this piece of shit that lived nearby, so eventually I was able to get a message to him. We’d done some work together in Egypt on Operation Damocles when I’d forged my way into Mossad. One night, Manny was his name; Manny sneaks into the monastery and slips me a little .380 pistol along with a note. The note basically said that he would scratch my back if I’d scratch his dick. Well I knew the fucker was into high-profile theft so I reluctantly complied (although Jesus God in heaven I would do anything to get out of that hellhole from hades.) So that night, I left a note outside my window for Manny, letting him know I was down. Fuck me I wanted McDonald’s. I waited for Sister Ignacio to ring the bell for lights out and feigned sleep. At final check, I slipped from under my covers and tip toed down the hall into my youth pastor’s room. He was already asleep and snoring, an open Bible spilled over his chest. I cocked my lil .380 and put it in his ear. Then I open my fly and whispered, “Padre? Padre?” He slowly opened his eyes and smiled when he saw me. I felt his grody paws go for my crotch. Well what he didn’t know was that I found a bear trap in the maintenance shed and loaded it, then shoved it in my pants. When that iron fucker snapped shut on him, his eyes went enormous. In less than a nanosecond, I pulled the trap out (three of his fingers were sheared clean off) and shoved my throbbing hooligan into his throat before he could scream. While he lay there, gagging on my sweet honker, I slit his throat with a little pen knife, the whole while humming the happy birthday tune. When the mother fucker eventually died, I snuck out through a side door and into the night.

Manny met me around the corner with a half-gallon of nasty island swill or rum and I downed the shit in about 45 seconds. I was breathing fire and covered in blood. Manny took me to a nearby cemetery, where he hashed his plan. It was a gay plan, but I was out of the church and free so I kept my promise. His idea was to lift this stupid gold cross or something that had been found somewhere in a sunken ship or some god damn thing I don’t fucking remember. I also wasn’t listening much because I was horny as all god knickers. I was supposed to start work the next day as this curator security guard or something. I had a lot of connections in the industry, you know, political figures and the like that I’d been blackmailing over the years. Anyway, this fucking cross was supposed to be coming in to the Bermuda Maritime Museum. The Bermuda government bought the god damn piss pilot for an undisclosed amount of bullshit just in time for the fucking Queen of England to take a peep at the thing. I’m always down to rock dope Jesus pieces so I did what I was told.

I worked for the fucking maritime museum for seven days. Seven days I spent, barfing into the exhibits, plugging up the toilets and masturbating on the steps in front of mortified tourists. I was real long into one of these rubbing sessions when I got a message from Manny – the cross was set to arrive the next day. Well I blew my load all over this whimpering frog-like motherfucker and stumbled inside my shack. After injecting several gallons of sterno into my left foot, I promptly fell unconscious. I awoke to my alarm with a nasty snort around 8am. I had twenty minutes to get to the van, that held the piece I was about to steal. I removed a brick of cocaine from under my mattress and began snorting in preparation for what would become one of the most perfect heists of human history. This is April 27th, 1975.

I burst from my shanty about 8:05, my pants were around my ankles and I was throwing up violently. There was a little café nearby and many of its patrons ran screaming from my display. I just screamed at them “YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE, MOTHERFUCKERS!” and made my way to the parking lot three blocks from the ocean. Manny knew a guy that was supposed to drive the van from the loading area with security. Once he ditched the douches with a decoy van, he dumped the actual van in a parking lot. Sure as shit, the van was sitting there. I looked around a little, pretending to be some drunken asshole. When I was sure all was clear, I snuck into the bushes and found the keys waiting for me in a little tin can. Nearby was my museum security detail uniform. I threw on my anal rags and casually fell into the van. Once inside, I drove the cock wank wagon to a nearby loading dock and parked near a fuckin’ tiki bar. I scrambled to the rear and found the iron box holding the treasure. I got a D minus in ceramics in kindergarten, so I drummed up this real shittttty plastic version of the cross using a torn picture that Manny gave me (I kept the pic to masturbate to whilst pooping every now and then). The thing looked like shit. No I’m not joking; it looked like a long dump from a rotting child horn that had been touched by King Midas. So I swap the shit cross for the real deal, package it up all nice, wipe my prints from the crap and lock up the van. I dumped the real deal into a satchel and stumbled away into the day. Supposedly, Manny’s guy was gonna take the van from the tiki bar back to the loading dock where the actual transfer team weren’t even set to arrive until the next day.

I found my way onto a banana boat set for the states and took the loot with me. I ditched out on Manny. I heard the poor bastard was arrested by Bermuda police and tortured to death. I never met his associates, so I never was able to get ahold of anyone (not that I would have anyway.) I made my way up through Delaware where I had the cross melted down. I traded the stones from the fucker for drugs and sold the gold to the guy I had melt it down for $350.