Succubus

A fairy visits in the night, at around 3:00am in the morning. She carries with her, a plain manila envelope, and puts it under your pillow. Then she gives you a few wake-up taps about the eyes and nose, and takes off.

You wake up a few seconds later, find the mysterious envelope, and begin to read:

"In return for having lead such a great life, the great lord up above, has decided that you will be given an amazing opportunity. His grace has decided that he will decree a thousand years of peace and prosperity on your behalf! The whole world will know the grace and peace of GOD, and everybody will get 20 blowjobs a day from strangers just because! No one will ever go hungry again and nobody will ever experience any misfortune whatsoever. There will be free concerts by great bands every weekend, and the LORD will let even musicians long-dead rise, unsullied, from their earthly confines to rock once again. Hard. Drugs will be legal and powerful, plentiful and non-harmful. The concepts of time and money will be eighty-sixed, along with everybody you ever hate, and everybody who ever hated you. All wives, and girlfriend’s vaginas will grow tight and wet like the Sahel in the rainy season, and all females, even animal females, will all become multi-orgasmic, exhibitionist, sexually permissive (but not in a crack-whore way, more like a Halle Berry in “Monster’s Ball” way) and very very grateful. The whole of the universe will be corrected, and stay corrected for what basically adds up to forever. And all of it will be in your name, which will ring out from countryside to cityside and back, also forever.”

You continue:

“In return, the Lord only asks one thing. God has commissioned the construction of a great amphitheater in Manhattan. He’s got the thing bought and paid for one night. Eight hours. There is to be an awesome and powerful performance, and you are to be the star. The night of the show will come after six months of non-stop interest generation, and so by the time we stand on “go” , the LORD’S tv people tell him he can reasonably expect almost three quarters of the world’s televisions to be tuned in. At the given hour, you will step out onto the stage, and take a bow. Your subjects, the whole world over, will rise in the biggest standing ovation in the history of applause. It will go and go until it’s plainly been going on WAY to long, and is still going on, and you raise your hands in sort of an “I want you to stop - yes - but I also really dig this” kind of motion. Finally, after minutes more of this good natured but uncomfortable ovation, you will speak. You will say these words: (Read them now , but that night you’ll have to have them memorized).”

“My fellow earth people, Thank you for coming out, and the LORD says Wassssup! (avoid the urge to say it in an angry Asian voice and extend into “Wahhsabi…”). (After THAT round of applause dies down, you will get to the important part. This part must be said WORD FOR WORD. Seriously, play the first part loose, make it your own, whatever, but this shit here has to be on the fucking book. Ok. Here it is) I love the taste of poop. I love the smell of all poop, but really, it’s the smell of my own poop that I like the best! In fact, not only do I like my dookie-stink more than all other shits, I like it better than all other SMELLS as well. In the world. All. That’s right. I will now do what the lord - the one true GOD - has asked of me.”

“Then you will step back from the microphone, and move over into a single spot light on the stage. You will then unbuckle your belt, drop your pants and underwear, (there’s a specific kind GOD is into, I‘ll give you a brand name later), turn around, ass-facing audience, and defecate onto the floor in the middle of the spotlight.”

“Now, obviously, there’s some wiggle room here. Shitting involves different stuff from different folks. God has done his research here (obviously, he’s God. HeLL-OH!), and he’s not known you to be an indulgent shitter (and that was actually a huge factor in your being selected but you never hoid that from me right? Right? Allright…). So - bottom line - keep it simple and get the shit out, it’s all good.”

“After the shit, you must quiet the crowd again, which is probably going to be a bit harder this time. If they need to emote for a bit, then so be it. You’ve just taken a shit on the floor while God watches you and jerks off, so let’s just give it time to marinate shall we? There’s bound to be a few freakouts ok? Give them a few good minutes, and then do the arm-motioning thing again until they shuthefuggup. That’s when you speak again (and again, SUPER on-book with this part. This shit cannot be embellished. Can‘t stress that enough): “Thanks you everybody, I hope that was as much fun for you as it was for me. Now if you will join me right back here…” (at this point we’re going to have you sort of over-the-shoulder take, and a little set-kitchen will appear under more spots. There will be a butcher table, an oven range with two tops, and a shallow pan with a non-stick coating. I did it in pre-pro and it looked AMAZING. Seriously. SO PSYCHED. OK. Focus) On the butcher table will seven very carefully measured, fully prepped ramekins full of different ingredients. They’ll be well labeled, and you will read off the labels as you put each item in the pan and bring the heat up like so: Olive Oil (dump the oil), Sea Salt (dump ss), CARROTS (dump carrots), LEAKS (leeks), CHEESE (dump it), and (there’s going to be a long drum role hear so make sure you let that shit sustainnnnnnnnnnnnn…..”And of course….MY POOPIE! FROM BEFORE! REMEMBER? WHOOO-HOOOO!” and you go dancing up to the poop from before, grab it with a ting or whatever, dance back to the pan and add it. Now, I know I just sort of sprung the God-Jagging and watching you shit thing on you, but there’s too much back-story there. Just…Better if you get on over it ‘cause it really doesn’t affect what you do, well it does but not till later, ok now I’m getting ahead of myself. Get it back OK. Here we go.”

“So you add the poop, mix the thing, a few turns. If the crowd is freaking go ahead and just let ‘em freak. If they’re silent, resist the urge to small-talk or say funny things. You stay quiet too Mr. Mouth! Set the timer (forgot:there’s a timer there on the counter as well) for two minutes, cover the pan, and wait. Again, GOD will be watching you and pleasuring himself vigorously, but he won’t be spot-lit so...It's just the two minutes. Tough it out. Timer rings, you take the cover off, and start doing the thing where you wave food-air into your face to smell it. After a long time of this, Like I want you five minutes longer than way too fucking far, ten times over. Wait with this. Waving and smelling the shit steam. Then, after so long doing that, so fucking long, doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it doing it…The equivalent of that last sentence of “doing its”, only like sixty more times and then ninety more times, then you speak again. I know I don’t have to say it cause you know it but I’ll say it cause I mean it: Don’t fucking fuck with the fuckin’’’ fuckin script. Recite. OK. Last part, so lean in. But have fun with it!: ”

“OK, so what I’ve done here, I’ve sautéed some onions, carrots, salt, leeks, my poop, and cheese. It should be right about ready. Ooops!” (I actually want you to say that exactly like that: Ooops! Not “Whoops” or “Whup”, just stay on the fucking book and we’ll be ok. Ok. Now. You say: Ooops! And “see” God over there, and he’s about to finish up, and shouting and moaning, really, cause he really likes to go all the way so he’s gonna’ be lathered by this point. He might not be seated still. More likely lying. On the floor. The actual floor of the pit. The orchestra pit. I’ve seen it, just tumbles and then…Ploop. Done. Out. Has to inhabit another body. I know. It’s…I know) “Ooops! It looks like our friend God is ready as well so, let’s get to it. Thanks everybody!” And now GOD is going to be cumming - like actually CUMMING. And it’s GOD dude. Dude can JIZZ. He’s a pimp. Like a firehouse shooting clam chowder all over the first seven or eight rows. Mayhem.”

“Now you walk over up behind god, weather he’s laying or sitting or whatever, you have a sharp Samurai sword upraised. You walk up behind the guy, and just as he’s really just getting his rocks right off, you slice his head from off of his body. NOW. Wait. Stay with me cause we’re just getting started. Now, the head is off, the blood, blasting right? Right? NO! HA! I FOOLED YOU. GOD FOOLED YOU FUCKER! Instead of blood rivulets and twitching, God’s body is going to just KEEP JAGGING OFF! More cum, and instead of blood, flees and mosquitoes! That’s right! Sick right? We’re going to have a cloud of hungry, dirty, disease-probably-carrying fuckin’ fuckin’ flees and mosquito fly out of his headless, masturbating corpse of GOD and start biting the thing all up! You’d think it would take a while but God does some special voodoo thing and it’s actually kind of interesting. The bugs bite and bite and drink all that blood from the corpse, which is loosing it’s erection by this time (hell-Ooh!), and then, when every flee and tick is full and all the God-body’s blood is drank, the savage insects will rise, a black, malevolent vapor of hatred and disease and bad personal hygiene choices, and fly into the sir, and over to - you guessed it GI! - YOU. Then, well how else could it go? - The bugs eat you from the inside, and God mass-reproduces them inside you while they eat and eventually your body just explodes and the bloody bugs and little maggots just go all over. I know what you’re thinking: high concept. And You’re right. It’s a weird ending, but there’s no talking to supreme beings.”

“Now, there’s going to be some pain here, and I want to be upfront with that. You can’t really, you know, pull a body apart like this without a few ouchies right? So, there’s that. But God is willing to give you his word - he’ll swear on his own name - that after all this he can provide you with a new body, free of pain or disfigurement. Beyond that, there’s all the stuff about piece and blowjobs and what-not from before. That’s nice. But really, this is a labor of love. If you’re telling me you’re in it for the peace and good will towards men, I’m saying: “I picked the wrong fucking guy”. Fuckin’ idiot right? No. This is a soul-job. A real you kind of job. An American job for American winners who worship God. So you go home and you sleep in your bed and fuck your wife tonight and you think about it. When you’re rammin’ it in there, and she’s saying thank youthankyouthankyou like a sixteen year old getting a car on her sixteenth birthday, and you’re howling and barking up there, you can turn to yourself and look at you in the mirror, still fucking, and say “You fuckin’ big-dick motherfucker! You fuckin’ answered the fucking bell Jack! Yeah! Yes! Awright! Ok.”

“So think it over and get back to me, I’ve got vendors camped out in my ass with hot and cold running, and clothes lines. Oh yeah - I forgot to mention - After you explode with bugs we’re going to serve the shit-dish to the first few rows while the credits role. Small point, yes, but I thought you’d like to know. Thanks, and good luck whatever you choose (don’t choose wrong or else GOD will kill you! Kidding! But really not kidding…Ha!)”