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Scribe
Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: Ottawa ON
Gender: Male
Posts: 83
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The strangest thing I have ever written.
I wasn't kidding. I'll give you all fair warning and tell you that I've rated this PG-13 for language and pollitically incorrect humor. If you are sensitive to anything that pokes fun at religious themes, you may wish to turn back. But hey, isn't writing all about pushing the envelope of our conciousness? I decided to put this in the Short Story section because I don't think I need critique for something that was intentionally crafted to be random, senseless, and outright stupid. So without further ado, enjoy!
The Blitzkrieg of the New Church of Coca Cola and the Lone Warrior of the Semi-Automatic Golf Club
By Magitek Angel
It would be reasonable for me to say that the majority of my days throughout adolescence were reasonably normal, and to say the least, average. I was an ordinary boy, living in an ordinary city, going to an ordinary school. But that was before The Raid.
Now, living in this free nation of Canada has always been a blessing, but like all blessings, there were those who sought to corrupt and take advantage of these freedoms, twisting them to their own devices. One such constitutional victim of our country was the right to free religion and the separation of church and state. Of course, this all sounds good on paper, and to be perfectly honest, we would likely be much worse off without this fundamental freedom. And so, new faiths began to slowly appear throughout Canadian history. New offshoots of Christianity took flight, along with those of Judaism and Islam. Afterward, other, more unique faiths began to appear, such as Raelianism, the belief that Jesus was, like Elvis, kidnapped by aliens and programmed to educate our backwater world, while being paid in full with granola. However, though creative new faiths such as the aforementioned are quaint and cute, later denominations that eventually gained official legal recognition were not so docile to others.
It was in 2008 that the New Church of Coca Cola gained this legal status. And it was that same year that The Raid began. Oh mittens.
This new faith, rooted deeply in the devout worship of carbonated beverages, spread like wildfire throughout the nation, with empty promises of immortality, power, wealth, and refreshment for all. Within two months of gaining legal status, the New Church of Coca Cola had two million recruited members. It was then that they launched their campaign.
The troops began storming cities, one after another, forcing citizens to choose between conversion and imprisonment. Those who resisted were attacked with the latest weapons technology, bought under the table from the French; semi-automatic golf clubs. Cities fell in succession under the wave of the extremist army.
It was in June that my hometown came under attack by the New Church of Coca Cola. At the time I was writing a virus, being the nerdy little wretch I was, and had just stuck the diskette in my pocket. They came without warning, as my neighbourhood was stormed and captured. My parents were arrested and taken away with all the others, as I hid under the stairs, with my best friend, Keith. It was quite the ordeal keeping him quiet, as he was very drunk at the time, and kept mumbling about who was "King of the iron fist".
I lay under the stairs, overwhelmed by twin feelings of rage and helplessness. Our national army was fighting valiantly on all fronts, but in all honesty, thirty guys and a forty year old pair of helicopters can only go so far. So it was then and there that I came to a decision.
"Keith," I whispered. "We are going to take back the city."
He nodded, fighting tears. His family had probably been captured, too, I realized. Or then again, maybe it was just the hangover catching up with him, and it really did hurt that much.
We waited for the main force of troops to clear out of the neighbourhood, when two guards each were posted at every front door. Navigating the house stealthily, we monitored the soldiers carefully for several hours from a basement window. It became evident that soldiers switched to the back door of the houses every twenty minutes. From there we formulated out first plan.
Keith and I waited in a broom closet, not far from the back door. Sure enough, the soldiers passed by within fifteen minutes, and it was then that we struck. Armed with two broomsticks, a mop, some refrigerator magnets and a comically shaped celery stick, we knocked the guards unconscious, and took their uniforms and semi automatic golf clubs. I took the putter from the first soldier, while Keith fancied the sandwich club from the other officer. Anaesthetizing them with some blue vaguely liquid stuff we found in the back of the fridge that sort of looked like a chemical, we headed to where we expected the army to set up their headquarters; City Hall.
The trek was reasonably uneventful, though our cover was nearly blown when we struck up an argument about whether Pepsi was better than Root Beer. Fortunately, we still had the comically shaped Celery left over, and with it the guard whom was listening in was silently dispatched. It is better not to explain how exactly that worked.
At last, city hall lay before us. We reasoned that if we could get in, kill the leader of the movement, and capture the building, we could retake the city by commandeering a satellite based carbonator ray that the New Church was using against resistance movements. We entered the building, hoping to avoid any trouble until the last, but were immediately ambushed.
"Allez a l’enfer!" came the shrill cry, as an energy blast flew through the foyer, narrowly missing Keith as it exploded on contact with the door. "Je vous mourirez!"
Honestly, I had no idea what the hell the woman was saying, but I did notice two very important things. First of all, she was my French Teacher, Madame Fromage. Second of all, she was armed with twin energy clubs, was trying to kill us, and recognized us through our disguises. Okay so that was four things. But you get the point.
Even Keith, drunk as he was, noticed the danger. Coolly collecting himself best as he could, he gathered his resources and took the most logical, responsible action, given the adverse circumstances.
He turned around and tore out the door, screaming all the way.
And so I was left alone, to face a teacher that had been intimidating enough without the energy clubs and financial backing of a religious fanatic group. It was clear to me that to reach the leader, I would have to go through my teacher. And yes, it was probably going to hurt my grade point average. A lot.
I drew the putter I had taken from the soldier, and waited for her to make the first move. The floor opened up beneath us, leaving only a narrow catwalk to do battle upon. Far below, a seething pit of molten Jello bubbled below. A familiar scent drifted lazily up to the catwalk, as I caught wind of a draft. It was the discontinued cola flavour. One false move, and surely I would plunge into the deluge, as my quest came to an anticlimactic and poorly imagined end. Oh, the very thought of it shook me to my core, as I thoght about all the things I hadn’t gotten to do yet, like read... a book, and get married. And have kids... preferably with the same person. Oh, the woe of being cut down before my time! It was all too much to take in. At this time I contrived a sonnet describing the matter in full.
"En garde!" Madame Fromage called, interrupting my drawling narration and opening with a deadly thrust. Barely managing to set my typewriter down and with just moments to put the publisher I was talking to on my cell on hold, I swatted the club away, and put my hardcore gaming skills to the test. She came back with a low sweep, as I backflipped to dodge and countered with a roundhouse to the cheek. She doubled over, but came back with a lunge, as teacher and student were locked in a lethal dance of clubs. Violating several nasty copyright infringements from both Warner Brothers and Capcom, I dodged a high slash in bullet time, and caught Madame Fromage head on with a down, down forward, forward, b, or in English, a super energy blast of painful owwie death. With a howl and a flailing of the energy clubs, Madame Fromage fell to the seething pit below. I listened for a moment to ensure she was gone for good. At last, I heard a sign from below:
"Mmmmm."
Alright, so it wasn’t exactly the death cry I had been hoping for, but as long as she wasn’t coming back up, right! Victory was upon me, as I did a poorly animated victory dance and was rewarded with two hundred experience points and a handful of gold. The end in sight, I carried on to find the leader. As I entered the next room, I heard a cry in the distance:
"No!" came the distant voice, "I wasn’t serious, I don’t even like Root Beer, I was just-"
And that was it. Keith was now probably small pieces and large pieces strewn upon the ground by a passing Coca Cola soldier. I didn’t have time to mourn, and in all honesty, at least now I wasn’t going to have to deal with his hangover. I went on through the door.
I entered the dark room, unable to find the leader. The commander’s chair was in plain view, but nobody was there. A voice rang out from all directions.
"You have done well to make it this far," it said in an icy monotone voice, "but it is time for you, too, to meet your end."
And with that, my worst nightmare stepped out from the shadows, with a rusty clank. I gasped in terror, as the identity of the Coca Cola leader dawned upon me.
It was Jesus 2.0.
"You!" I shrieked. "I knew it all along! I won’t be afraid of you any longer, you overgrown PS2 accessory!"
"Hmph," the Jesus-bot scoffed. "We shall see."
Jesus 2.0 dematerialized, as I stood, on guard, poised to defend. He began to teleport around the room, using an old after-image technique. I concentrated, trying to see through the illusion. Looking past the doppelgangers, I cornered the real robot, and thrust my diskette into his mouth.
"That will freeze you up!" I said, triumphantly.
The robot stopped, and stared at me, surprised. Then, it simply laughed, and spat the diskette out.
"Your hacking is weak, your skills are lacking, and your storywriting is downright horrible." it scoffed. "Maybe that would have worked on Jesus 1.0… but that was because he ran on Windows."
"Damn!" I muttered. He was a Linux model! And he was bashing the story!
Before I could think of anything else, Jesus 2.0 teleported and caught me in a chokehold.
"The carbonator cannon is set to go off in one minute," he said coldly. "You are powerless against me."
I tried to stab at him with the putter, but he batted it away with ease. It did indeed look like it was the end. I closed my eyes, prepared to accept fate. But then a vision of my master came to me. An elderly Chinese man appeared in my head.
"Master?" I said weakly.
"Wha… ayah!" he shrieked. "Who the hell are you? I try order Pizza, I get dumb American guy! Ayy… go away!"
"No," I pleaded… "I’m Canadian. Help me…"
The frustrated old man, looking tactfully at the thought bubble he was stuck in, sighed and looked me over. "Fine…. use the force!" he said.
I moaned in despair. "But I don’t know how to use the force!"
"Ayyah!" came the man’s impatient reply. "Not Jedi force, moron, magnetic force! Next to Microsoft Xbox, most dangerous thing you can expose to machine is magnet! Now leave me alone!"
And with that the old man disappeared, and I drifted back into consciousness, just as Jesus 2.0 was about to finish me off. Thinking quickly, I reached into my pocket, and stuck a magnet on his metallic forehead. Immediately his motor drives went out of sync, and he dropped me, stumbling around the room like an autistic orangutan on E.
"Impossible!" he stammered. "I am the rebirth of the Lord and Savior!"
"Well that’s tough cookies," I retorted, "Because I just happen to be Jewish." With those final words for him to choke on, I threw a magnet that said "Number one Grandma" and planted it right between his eyes. His circuits shorted out, and Jesus 2.0 exploded in a plume of holy fire.
At this point, I couldn’t help but take a moment to admire my sacreligious handiwork. After all, it was cool, explody sacreligious handiwork. But then I thought it all over, and wished I could have thought of something more dramatic to say than "tough cookies". I mean, really, what would my publisher think?
My quest nearly complete, I made my way to the control console, and looked over the cannon. It was ready to fire. I had to turn it off. I pressed a button.
I heard a rumbling in the distance. A hologram of the earth showed a red X appearing over Quebec.
"Well... it’s more free parking for the casino, at least," I said to myself. After a short stint of "einie meanie minie mo" I hit another button. The console told me the cannon had powered down and was falling out of orbit.
"Finally!" I sighed. This had been one hell of a day. There was so much to do still, of course. With their leader obliterated once and for all, it was only a matter of time before the disorganized New Church of Coca Cola collapsed, and cities were relinquished one by one. I had to go rescue my family, my friends, and go figure out how to revitalize whatever was left of Keith. So, my next, mature course of action was to head off to the local Starbucks and pay for a stinko eleven dollar coffee. As I sipped on the overpriced watered down drink, a fireball rocked the street as a shockwave shattered the coffee shop’s windows. I looked across the street, wondering what the hell had happened now. Sure enough, on the other side of the street, the carbonator cannon had fallen out of the sky, and landed on a Starbucks.
Last edited by Magitek Angel : 11-07-2005 at 11:00 PM.
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But thanks for the help, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!
