CHAPTER II
After The Fall of Civilization

Six decades ago, Germany won World War II.

It is now controlled by Augustus Hitler, Adolph’s son. His first lady is Hilary Clinton.

In the wake of Germany’s victory, there is now only a white democracy. People of other races have been decimated. Augustus rules with an iron hand.

“Do I do my father justice?” he asked Hilary as he sodomized her. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging her eyes.

“Yes!” she screamed. The pain was immense.

“Tell me,” he commanded her.

“You do your father justice!” she responded. “Please! You do your father justice!”

Hilary felt the flesh on her wrists split open. She was tethered to the bed by leather straps. Her legs were spread-eagle; inviting to Augustus. She was shaven clean.

Augustus scrunched up his face. And then he pulled out of her with a loud PLOP! He crawled up beside her face, masturbating.

“Take it like a bitch,” he said. “Smell your ass.”

He then proceeded to cum all over her face. He reached down and took her by the chin. He smashed her lips open.

“Eat it,” he said. “Eat every drop.”

And Hilary did as he asked.

After all, she did love him.

President Bush walked in on Laura Wheeler having sex with a dog. The German Shepherd was behind her, doing her doggy-style.

“Is that anyway for a first lady to act?” he scolded her.

Laura looked at him. An expression of pleasure was painted across her face.

“Well,” she said, “if you could get it up maybe I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Bush smirked. “Couldn’t you just play with yourself, or something? Isn’t doing a dog a bit too perverse?”

“He’s better than you,” she said. And she sighed as the dog came inside her. It slid off her behind and ran outside into the garden, barking.

“Get up and put on your clothes,” he told her. “I have a very important visitor coming, and I want you to meet him.”

“Let me take a shower first,” she said. “I stink.”

“That’s an understatement,” Bush said. “Hurry up.”

Laura got up from her knees. They were scabbed from the many times she’d had sex with the dog.

“Maybe you can lick my nipples later,” said Bush. Lately, that was the only way he could get off.

“Maybe,” replied Laura, “if you’re a good boy.”

“Go on and get ready,” he told her. “I’ll be in the oval office.”

Laura nodded and went off to take a shower.

She couldn’t get enough, lately. She’d probably play with herself in the shower, too. And she’d think about the important visitor her husband was so excited to meet: the swamp man.

“Please,” said President Bush, “take a seat.”

“Thank you,” replied Swamp Thing, “but I do believe I’ll stand.”

“As you were then,” Bush told him. He stepped behind his desk and sat down. He placed his hands on the desk and sighed. “Do you know why I’ve requested you?”

“Yes,” said Swamp Thing.

“And are you prepared to accept my offer?”

“No. I don’t believe I am.”

Bush was about to say something when Laura entered the room. She stuck out her hand, feeling herself go wet as the Swamp Thing took it. He gently kissed it.

“This is my wife,” Bush told him. “Laura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Swamp Thing.

“Indeed,” said Laura. She went over and took a seat overlooking the garden. Outside, she could see the German Shepherd chasing its tail.

“Why do you have a problem accepting my offer?”

“I have no intention of killing anyone,” Swamp Thing told him. “And you want me to destroy an entire country.”

“If you take the body of the Golem,” Bush said, “you won’t be hurt.” He took a handful of peanuts and pushed them into his mouth. Crumbs scattered onto his suit. “I just need someone to bring Augustus Hitler to his knees.”

“Then you’ve looked in the wrong place,” said Swamp Thing.

“You know what I’ll have to do,” replied Bush. “You’ll leave me with no choice.”

“Do as you will,” Swamp Thing responded. “I can’t stop you.”

Bush nodded. He pulled out a drawer on his desk. Comically, there was a large red button in it. Swamp Thing thought it looked like something out of a comic book.

Bush pushed the button.

“Nuclear war,” he said, bowing his head.

Swamp Thing nodded.

And as the missiles lifted into the air, Laura peeled a tuber off of Swamp Thing’s chest. She pushed it into her mouth, swallowing it.

If she had to die, she might as well go out with an orgasm.

Dick Stern had escaped Cranston Percival’s makeshift prison. It had been too easy. Cranston was fond of taking sleeping pills, and all Dick had to do was wait for him to be swept away by the sandman.

He found his next two victims walking down a dark street. It was a mother and her child. He had pulled up behind them and jumped out. He took his machete and jammed it into the mother’s back. She let loose with a scream that escaped through Dick’s clenched hand. She bit down on it, and he punched her in the face. Then he commenced to chop off her head.

The baby was squalling. He picked it up out of its carriage and flung it into the backseat. Then he picked up the mother’s corpse and jammed it into the back, too. Her dismembered head rolled into the floor board.

Dick silenced the baby next. As it screamed, he took his knife and thrust it into the baby’s open mouth. It pinned the child to the leather seats of his BMW.

He rolled the mother over onto her stomach. Then he took his hands and ripped open her wound further. He could see the spikes of her spine sticking out. He bent forward and took a bite of her flesh. Strips of it hung out of his mouth as he chewed. Blood dripped down onto his white shirt.

It tasted oh so good.

He would eat the baby next.

Cremorium Vestum

Jimmy knew that he had the book somewhere. He’d located it beneath his bed, jammed in with other artifacts that the reader doesn’t need to know about.

“I knew I’d find you, you bastard,” he said. He opened the book and found the spell he was looking for. It would rip the demon from Dick Stern’s body and send it packing straight to hell.

Before he left, he took another swig of Jim Beam and lit himself a cigarette. He coughed. By this time, he was getting used to the blood he was spitting up.

Then he dashed out of his apartment.

His next stop was Cranston Percival’s mansion and a confrontation with a demon.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Jimmy hadn’t waited to knock on Cranston’s front door. Instead, he had gone ahead and barged in.

He was very surprised to see what was going on behind the closed door.

Cranston was dressed as a gimp. His entire body was hidden by a black leather outfit adorned with zippers. His face was masked by a leather hood. Only his eyes and mouth could be seen behind the costume.

Around his neck was a choker. The chain led off to where it was gripped in the meaty fist of Cranston’s master. The man wore black boots and tights, which didn’t hide his erection, and an executioner’s hood. His eyes were ablaze as they stared at Jimmy. He was bare-chested with a tattoo that read “Mother” on his right breast. On his left shoulder, another tattoo proclaimed: “G.F.I.D.”

Jimmy lit a cigarette. He nodded to the initials on the man’s shoulder.

“God forgives, I don’t, huh?” he said.

The Executioner grunted.

“Anyways,” continued Jimmy, “I think I’ve got the solution to Dick’s problem. You want to hear about it?” He laughed. “Or do you want me to come back later?”

Cranston struggled to pull off his hood. He unzipped it and took in a deep breath. His cheeks were a rosy red; sweat dripped down his bald forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he told the Executioner. “But we’re going to have to continue my training session another day. I hope you understand.”

The Executioner glared at him from behind his mask. He reluctantly nodded his head.

“Now,” said Cranston, turning to Jimmy, “Dick is up in his room. He’s been there all night.”

“You mean you haven’t seen him?”

“Not this morning, no,” Cranston replied.

“Which room is his?” Jimmy asked.

“It’s the last on the left.”

Jimmy ran up the stairs. He threw open the door and looked inside. There was nobody there. The bed sheets weren’t rumpled. It appeared as if Dick had never been here.

“He’s gone!” cried Jimmy.

Cranston appeared behind Jimmy. He peered over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” said Cranston. “He must’ve snuck out during the night.”

“More of your sleeping pills, I’d imagine,” Jimmy told him. “That was real good going. And to think you were the one so intent on having him locked up.”

“I can’t help it,” replied Cranston. “I have trouble sleeping. And knowing what Dick is, it didn’t help matters.”

“Let’s just hope he hasn’t killed anyone else,” said Jimmy. “That sure would be a bitch on your conscious.”

Cranston stared at the empty room as Jimmy turned and went back down the stairs. His stomach rumbled. He felt sick, and puked on the floor. Bits of vomit stuck to his leather suit.

“Get your ass down here,” called Jimmy.

Cranston felt his way back down the stairs.

The Executioner was still standing in the middle of the room.

“If you’re having trouble with this asshole, Mr. Percival,” he said, “just let me know. I’ll kick his stinking ass.”

“Everyone always says my ass stinks,” said Jimmy. “It’s no wonder I have hemorrhoids listening to fuckers like you.”

“That’s enough,” said Cranston. “And that means the both of you. We have bigger problems than someone’s butt smelling.”

Jimmy laughed. He crushed out his cigarette and lit another one. He was surprised that when he coughed no blood came out of his lungs. That’s a bitch, he thought. It’s just one step AWAY from the grave.

“So,” said Cranston, “what are we going to do?”

Before anyone could say another word, the answer came from the front doors being thrown open.

Standing there was Dick Stern.

“Dick,” said Jimmy, smirking. “It’s so good to see you.”

Dick was covered in blood. Bits of flesh hung from his teeth, which were bared in his scowling mouth. In his hand he held the machete, dripping gore onto Cranston’s expensive rug.

He immediately leapt across the living room. He attacked The Executioner, bringing the man down to his knees. Then, with the machete, Dick lopped the man’s head off. He then proceeded to kick the dismembered head across the room.

Cranston screamed.

Dick leaned down and began to drink from the open wound. Blood spurted out into the morning sunlight peeking through the living room curtains.

“Do something!” Cranston barked.

Jimmy looked at him, and then turned his gaze onto Dick. He had his back to him, straddling the corpse, as he drank from the neck stump.

“Hi ho silver,” said Jimmy. He ran across the room and tackled Dick. The both of them spilled out into the living room floor.

“I’m going to kill you,” spat Dick. “You aren’t anything but worthless bastard.”

Jimmy struggled. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to subdue Dick. The demon was just too powerful.

“Burn in hell,” said Dick.

He slammed Jimmy’s head down hard on the concrete fireplace.

Then Jimmy was whirled away into a space of darkness. He no longer was conscious. And he was at the mercy of a hungry demon.

Dick moved in for the kill…