At first, having the Antichrist in my apartment was pretty cool. For those initial few months he rested upright while in a dark slumber and I kept him next to my tv as a conversation piece. When guests came over and a lull in the conversation would come up I'd ask, "Hey, have you seen my Antichrist? I've got an Xbox too. With Madden 2005." That got me more action from goth chicks than you'd believe, but conversely I needed to be careful around my religious friends. When they came over, I had to camouflage the Antichrist by stringing Christmas lights around his slumbering frame and placing a little angel on top of his head that would light up and play "Livin' La Vida Loca" when plugged in for reasons which I don't entirely understand. That got me more action from Catholic chicks than you'd believe.
I found this totally bitchin' picture of the Antichrist, so it's going here no matter what you say. If your fragile world is totally shattered by the awesomeness, then too bad.I'm not much of a storyteller in person, but people would invariably ask me to share the tale of how I found the Antichrist, and this is what I would tell them. When I originally found his naked figure floating in the center of a giant ball of blue fire behind the 7-11 as the prophecies had foretold, I was psyched. Heck, who wouldn't be? I had taken that same route home countless times before and all I had ever found was a half-eaten Spider-Man comic book, but on that day I suppose I had been destined to win the unholy jackpot. I reached into the blaze to pull our dark savior's body out, expecting searing pain but instead finding the inferno suprisingly cool to the touch. As he emerged from his fiery womb into our world's atmosphere, a foul mixture of odors puffed into my face. Foremost was the unmistakable smell of a thousand souls burning in agony, something I would have never attributed a smell to, but there it was. Underlying that was... what was it? I paused for a moment to consider, then I had it. Pancakes. After placing the Antichrist in an old shopping cart, I returned to the blaze and procured the Forbidden Scythe, the Crown of Loathing, and the Cursed 1986 Chevelle Owner's Manual. I took these sacred items which we're all familiar with and blah blah blah. You know the rest.
After 66 days, 6 hours, 6 minutes and - you guessed it - 4 seconds, the Antichrist awoke and my fun ended. The whole thing happened while I was making fajitas, and it's a day I'll never forget as long as I live because those fajitas were simply splendid. A terrible shadow fell over the room, and in the darkness the Antichrist stirred. His eyes met mine, and it was as though time stood still. His eyes were galaxies of centuries-old fire and brimstone and rage, and they locked me in place. I didn't dare to breathe. Then he spoke, and his voice was the air. It wasn't so much heard as it was felt. It drilled down to my core and threatened to scatter me apart as though I was made of sand.
"Woah, is that an X-Box?"
After plopping down on my sofa, he grabbed at the controller which was just out of his reach in the same way that a three year old reaches out at an errant balloon that's floated dozens of feet into the air. With a sigh, I got it for him and went back to cooking. I had prepared myself to be commanded as a lowly pawn in his quest to enslave humanity, but this wasn't exactly what I had envisioned. The lethargy went on for days, his eyes rarely leaving the television. The only real command he gave me was to pick up some good cereal, so I came home with a box of Count Chocula and hoped that he would get the hint. If Chocula's sole motivation was chocolate instead of the blood of the innocent yet he was still able to keep it real in his pursuit of evil, what was holding the Antichrist back? It didn't work, though. He didn't even bother to look up from the computer when I shook the box next to his head.
"This shit's incredible." He pointed at the screen and motioned for me to come closer. "Look, I can type 'the jackson five' into Google and get over 34,000 results. There weren't even 34,000 people in the Jackson Five!"
"Yes, that's great. I don't want to tell you what to do or anything, but shouldn't you be... you know... wreaking havoc? Venturing out into the world to create chaos and eventually bringing about armageddon?"
"Eh. How about I just create chaos in the general vicinity of this desk? It's raining outside."
"Well, yeah. It's raining now. How about later?"
"What if it rains forever? Did you ever think about that? Do you ever think about anything at all besides yourself and how you're going to get the money to provide me with food and shelter? Besides, when you were gone I did do something sort of bad."
"Really?" A glimmer of hope danced in my eyes and a smile worked its smiley way across my face. This was it. Finally, the seed of destruction that would grow and one day blossom into the burnt husk of the earth. "Go on, what is it?"
"I backed up your toilet."
I lowered my face into my hands and let out an exasperated groan, for in that moment I knew he was a lost cause.
"Geez," he continued, "I'm sorry. If I had known plumbing was so important to you I would have never ordered that 'Plumbing Fucking Sucks' book for your birthday with your credit card."
And that's pretty much how things have remained. From time to time I find myself longing for the good old days, when I enjoyed his company and when he was comatose. I realize that what I'm about to say makes me a bad person, but sometimes I wish the Antichrist had never been born.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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