Night of the Assholes

It doesn’t really matter what the nature of the apocalypse is, it always means two things; death and assholes. While death gorged itself on the menu of seven billion human beings and countless other species, the number of assholes had still increased proportionately amongst the living. People like me. Lucky enough to live and too stupid to die already. If I were to count myself lucky to still be alive, that would be about the only lucky thing I had going.

Before all of this happened I was unemployed and about to be evicted. I was perpetually broke and unable to properly prepare myself for any doomsday scenario. I had a closet with about two weeks worth of canned food and my bicycle. Even though I suspected that humanity was due for a reset at any time and even hoped for it, I was not actually prepared when it came. Neither was anyone else really and some of the worst and first to go were those who were certain that their knowledge and preparations would guarantee their survival. When the world comes crashing down too much readiness can lead to inflexibility. Expectations and rigidity can be an obstacle even luck cannot overcome.

The sound of my chain snapping was more jarring than the loudest thing I had ever heard in my life. Every acoustic vibration emitted from that small piece of metal separating under pressure went straight to my ears and sent my internal ‘OH FUCK’ alarm into berzerker mode. I had not heard anything comparably awful since I used to play in a furry noise metal band called S.I.S.S.Y. (Squirrels In Satan’s Service Yternally). I had a hikers bag full of wood, water and other necessary supplies. Not much but enough to get to the next place, whatever and wherever that was. I had to make a quick decision. There were assholes in hot pursuit and I couldn’t afford to take the time to make rational decisions so I grabbed the bike and ran like hot fuck.

I was constantly running for my life with a bicycle in tow against all common sense, yet when I managed to return it to a state of repair it had saved my ass numerous times. It was my greatest blessing and my greatest curse. Riding a bicycle was one of the few practical things I had been fairly skillful at before the end times, yet I could probably have done a lot more by the way of learning to fix the fucking things. My friend Zeke was a kickass bicycle mechanic so he always hooked me up with parts at cost and free labor. We used to be in a gnostic christian hate punk band called God Hates Swedes together before I left to join Mandatory Abortion and he went on to Rape Brag. Zeke tried to teach my ragged ass as much as possible but there were a few subjects we hadn’t yet gotten to. Chains was near the apex of that list.

The assholes chasing me were not the most well preserved examples of their former humanity and after shitting myself only once I managed to lose them altogether. I found myself soiling myself pretty often these days. When you pit a steady diet of canned beans and other colonically adventurous victuals against a fuckload of running for your life you are bound to have to evacuate yourself in mid escape every now and then. It is a part of surviving in this world yet when I sit somewhere between sleep and constant aural vigilance I often wonder if a world in which I have to shit myself while running in order to survive is a world I really want to go on living in. The answer appears to be yes, no matter how much I answer the question in the negative asked aloud.

One thing about bikes is that you can find them just about anywhere now. One in three of any garage not sealed off by other survivors still has a bicycle even if it is itself un-ride-able. The problem is that even the bikes that are still able to be ridden often turn out to be of low quality and constructed of parts not meant to fit any sort of decent bike. Only about one in any one hundred garages had the kind of bikes I was looking for and only about one in five of them might have the chain that I needed specifically. If I could not find that chain I would have to try to replace the entire gear set from a bike the same size. It would usually have proved much faster to just take another bike but I had grown accustomed to this one. It was like my only friend now and so I always did what I had to do to fix it.


“Hey, Brice, ya cock-pocket! We gotta get the fuck out of here. Can’t you hear the assholes coming? How are you still alive, dude?” This guy was something else. Here we were about to be attacked by those fucking monster things and all he wanted to do was listen to me tell him stories about my musical history. I guess it is awfully interesting.

“What about all these motherfuckin’ zombies, though?”

“That was the grindcore flat-earther polka band I had in high school, BUT WE HAVE GOT TO GO- NOW!” I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him from his swooning stupor. “Don’t you know what those things will do to you if they catch you?”

I wondered that maybe he did not, except for what I had told him. If he were lucky enough he may have not had many confrontations with the assholes in which he saw them victorious against one of us, fuckin’ ass-ugly shit humans that they were. If you could call them human anymore. Whatever had been released on the world had killed most of it, changed parts of it and for some reasons left a few completely intact. Although some of us were immune to whatever changed the assholes into assholes, we were extremely-fucking-mune to whatever they were now injecting us with to make us one of them; or kill us. I don’t suppose they cared much which.

The assholes used to be regular humans before SHTF. It must have been some secret experimental weapon that got loose or something fucked up like that, but in no time most surviving humans had completely changed. They were primal but highly intelligent. Pack animals with no social skills. They never spoke to us or one another as far as I knew. Yet they seemed to hate us intensely enough to want to kill us or make us one of them. This now-dead science douchebag I once met thinks that they have evolved into some ‘final physical-stage of human consciousness’, but he was also eating a lot of weird shit he picked in the woods so I could never tell if he was smart or all fucked up. But is there really a difference?

Back when I was the chief lyricists for Anal Surrender we were writing a concept album about how miserable it would be to have super-intelligence. It all centered around this man named Fucky Bowler who one day ate a mutant pineapple that gave him super-intelligence and made his junk shrivel up and die. He can no longer communicate with the world around him because he is so far ahead of them and eventually he cannot take the horror of the human species, so he creates a weapon to destroy the entire planet so that it doesn’t infect the universe. The scientists and this business with the assholes reminds me a bit of that. If I remember correctly we were going to call that album Super Intelligent Christ Killer.

I got Brice to his bike and he snapped out of it. Despite the fact that Brice is a fucking moron, he is brilliant with bicycles and other mechanical things. He used to be a bicycle messenger and male stripper but now he is like the motherfucking MacGyver of the Apocalypse. Keeping Brice alive is almost as important as keeping myself alive or at least equivalent to it. When the world gets back to normal, he says, we should start a Juggalo jug-band. He wants to call it The Incest Clown Posse. Its not a bad idea. He is not without merits outside of his tinkering but he doesn’t have enough common sense to fuck his way out of a paper condom.

Another funny thing about the assholes is that they do not use weapons of any sort except those hypodermics they carried with them. That was one of the ways in which they were primal. Like pack animals they hunted by pooling their physical resources and strength to subdue their prey. Since weapons are now almost impossible to find you have to rely on hand-to-hand combat for defense. Something else Brice brought to the table is the ability to be able to fight from and with a bicycle. He is like the love-child of Jackie Chan and Lance Armstrong without all of the cocaine and steroids. As much as he is good for, you might wonder why I insult him so much, but if you knew him it would make sense. It’s like having your own retarded leprechaun around. A retarded leprechaun that can do a bunny-hop/spin kick that makes you want to cry and cum at the same time.

This is the very move he uses to subdue three of the assholes while I give a wheelie/uppercut to a particularly fiendish looking one myself, because, I am picking this shit up fast. That is more out of necessity than out of Brice’s pedagoguery, though. The two of us manage to clear ourselves a path with unhindered ass kicking and get the fuck out of there. It will be night soon and they will disappear until dawn and we can collect some supplies, sleep and then as Brice likes to call it, ‘Go pedalin’ for bitches’. This is his term for our nomadic lifestyle. It is his greatest wish to locate and inseminate as many women as possible before he ‘goes to the Great Flat Tire in the sky. We haven’t seen a woman since I met him a month ago and neither of us for awhile before that. I hope we do, and soon, though. The other day he told me I had a ‘pretty decent pooper for a dude’. I vowed never to experiment with homosexuality again since I played drums for that homo jock rock band, Sports Fabs.

As soon as the sun begins to set we stop to take a pantsless shit and refill our colons with some canned herring and stale Doritos we just nabbed. As is our custom, we excuse ourselves after dinner for some privacy and masturbation. We have three porno mags between us that we cycle regularly even though we both have our favorite. I like Big Black Cocks In Albino Whores (There are more of the latter than you would ever have imagined.) while he prefers Cum Filled Cousins (The incest thing is always coming up with him and I wonder if he had a sister but am afraid to ask.). After this we discuss our plans then retire to get a little sleep before the sun comes up.

Just before dawn we wake up and begin riding towards the next town. It is a county seat so we are hoping it will be big enough to have some good structures to practice our bike parkour while we snoop around for anything useful or interesting. The only thing to do now is to stay alive although I still cannot logically ascertain how my continued survival is of any benefit to myself or others but living is a hard habit to break.

To occupy myself I have been writing a movie in my head. I am tentatively calling it Whore and Peace. It is a modern remake of the Greek drama, Lysistrata, about a woman who convinces the other women of her nation to withhold sex until the men agree to stop fighting. Only in my version, instead of withholding sex the women go fucking bonobo on the men, pooning them so often that they are unable to wage their silly wars any longer. My version has more scrogging so it will obviously be better. Also it will have Crispin Glover if he is still alive and I can find him. I believe.

I am shaken by my revery when Brice emits a squeal. Heading right towards us are two women on bicycles followed by a fuckhoard of assholes. The women approach quickly and we turn ourselves around to follow them. As they pass I notice that one of the women looks just like the upright bassist from the horror/snuff country band, Shank Williams, that I was in for a minute back when the world did not suck rear windpipe. I had the hugest crush on her but the girl on the bike is even more beautiful and even though I notice that she has shit herself I still have a massive boner. I tuck it under my waistline and pedal like hot fuck to catch up and Brice has no reservations about doing the same.

She is a skilled bicyclist and it takes me several minutes to catch up to her. When I do I have been preparing the perfect line I will use in just this situation but before I can belt it out I notice that she has a pink triangle tattooed just above her lovely bouncing left breast. Ahead of me Brice is talking to the other woman when she suddenly throws a leg out and sends him bouncing down the road bikeless, arms and legs akimbo. I think he just figured out what I did. It is the end of the world as we know it. For all I know Brice and I are the only men left on the planet, yet even if that were the case, these women would still not fuck us.

Luck!

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