Revelation Book 2

One day I was tripping on Prozac, Aderol, and stuff, and I saw a door in the clouds. There was this dude who was like, come here and look at this. And then I just, like, flew up there and into heaven I guess. There was this old dude, we will all him Bob, sitting on in a recliner. He looked pretty stoned. He was staring at the green laser strobe light on the ceiling. He was joined by about 22 of his best friends – all old dudes – with matching Georgia Bulldogs hats. Surrounding Bob’s recliner was a booming sound system. Behind him, taking up a whole wall, was a bar. Two of the other walls were basically just giant fish tanks – about six of them in all. I think there was supposed to be some significance to that the number, but I don’t know. On the bar were seven bottles of alcohol – expensive stuff like single malt scotch and Gray Goose. In addition to the glass on the fishtanks, the other two walls were also made of glass and mirror. Bob had four slaves. One was dressed like a transvestite, and the others were dressed like different animals. Their job seemed to be to constantly remind Bob how awesome he was. Like some Middle Eastern king or tyrant.  I don’t know; it just seemed like some crazy ego-kick.

Then the most fucked-up thing happened. Bob waved his hand, and the other dudes jumped on the floor like they were praying. They threw all of their hats toward the feet of the main dude and said, you are the big dawg, and our SEC championship is because of you. I was more than freaked out by this time, and was frantically looking around for a way to leave. I could see almost nothing though except for the glowing fish tanks and the green disco-ball light.

Then Bob pulled out a little black book, and some other super-buff dude, shirtless and wearing tight white spandex shorts says, “whoever can guess the number in this book will get a key so they can leave.” I tried but guessed wrong, of course. I swear to god I was almost started to cry. The buff guy said, fret not. Go see that handsome fellow over there? I walked over to the bar and the bartender told me to take one small shot of each of the spirits. I did, and he then gave me a slip with a number on it, which I was supposed to take back to the buff guy.  He gave me the key and motioned back to the bar-tender.

Then, all of the old men laying on the floor started singing some song about why the bar tender rightfully deserved the key. And I was like, please Jesus, get me out of here. He walked over to a new, 2018, white Kia Optima, motioned me over, crunk it up, and together we flew out of heaven and toward earth.

He drove with his right hand. His left arm, from the elbow down, hung out of the open window with a long-barrel .44 in his hand. He randomly shot a few people.  I didn’t question it or anything. All I wanted was for Jesus to save me. I am sure he had some plan and some reason why those people had to die. And even if he didn’t, I wasn’t about to criticize.

Jesus pulled into a spot near campus, got out, and got into a red Mustang nearby. There was handwritten note on the seat that said, take him to Detroit, Chicago, and Baltimore. I was shocked by the number of killings. We (because I was an accomplice now), were distributing guns and drugs and then killing people for their sins.

Near a pawnshop by pier in Baltimore, we changed cars again: a black Charger. The license plate said Famine. The car-changing seemed significant – symbolic in some important way. We drove to the suburbs and stopped at a gas station for a drink. Even here, the shelves were half empty. There were no labels to indicate the prices of the items. When I asked how much for the drink, the cashier said $20. I paid with blood money, but I don’t know how any normal person could afford anything in this place.

The black car was almost empty, and the station had no gas, so Jesus used his key to take another car; a pale Tesla with skull and crossbones seat covers and a license plate that said Go To Hell. When we had driven about a mile down the road, the Tesla caught on fire. Jesus got pissed off, said some kind of curse, and instantly, all cars in the world spontaneously caught on fire, and then there was a limited nuclear exchange.  Death and famine were compounded by fire, brimstone, and war. But I was saved because Jesus took me back to heaven. But now I am sitting around pretty bored. For a while it was pretty cool telling God how great he was for saving me and killing all those other assholes. And walking on streets of gold and silver. But, I don’t know, some people are starting to get restless up here. No one dare say it; but I know how I feel, and I can see it in a few of the others. Even in God’s right-hand man. I read 1984 and know it is probably a trap, so I have dared not approach him or let him know how I feel. But I am so bored. Heaven is turning into hell. I think I would rather risk death than stay here another year. Next time I see that look in Lucifer, I am going speak to him.

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