Encyclopaedia of Hell: An Invasion Manual for Demons Concerning the Planet Earth and the Human Race Which Infests It

by Olson, Martin

  body (known as love) as a connection to their imaginary God, as opposed to the reality that it is a connection to their throbbing genitalia.

  The throbbing of the genitals of humans, and its plethora of psychic waste products, is the source of all human philosophy, philanthropy and theology, as well as, alternatively, rape, murder, circumcision, edible underwear and penis extensions.

  COMMENTARY BY ZYK

  In an attempt to explicate in precise detail the intricacies of human love, a faculty Incomprehensible to Demonkind, I offer the following cranking spew of rhyme:There be cries of perfect moan When she gives her Jack a bone. There be laughter, thief of tears, When she grabs him by the ears. There be flashing, rotted teeth With Jack above and Jill beneath. There be unseemly dives and loops Making human lovers nincompoops.

  LOVING CUP (lə vĭng kŭp) n. Chalice awarded to a human who most successfully hates his opponents.

  Wood Ripped from Forest To Build Pornography Theater

  LUMBER (lŭm bər) n. Camouflage term used by humans to facilitate the extinction of plant life.

  Human Stuffing Carcasses Down Throat Hole

  LUNCH (lŭnch) n. 1. The human ritual, performed when the Sun reaches its zenith, of stuffing corpses down the human throat. 2. That which a Demon heaves when inadvertently viewing alternative comedy.

  Filters of Human Flatulence

  LUNGS (lŭngz) n. Organic bellows which rhythmically absorb and expel Earth’s atmosphere of diffused human flatulence.

  LUXURY (lŭk shə rē) n. The state of a tapeworm reposing in the human intestines.

  LYNCHING (lĭn chĭng) n. See Noon.

  QUADRIFIDUM THE THIRD

  ZYK’S THIRD MEMO TO THE PUBLISHER

  CONCERNING HIS RESEARCH ON EARTH

  MEMO TO

  MORTIMER PÖNÇÉ, ESQ.

  PUBLISHER, MIND CONTROL PRESS

  HELL HOLE WEST

  CITY OF HELL

  FROM

  ZYK OF ASIMOTH, EDITOR

  INVASION MANUAL COMMISSION

  DISPATCHED FROM EARTH,

  ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO, U.S.A.

  JUNE 15, 1947

  Detestable Mr. Pönçé:

  I received a terrifying message on my beeper as I landed here two days ago. It was from Lord Satan himself.

  I was certain that he had heard rumors of the conspiracy to assassinate him, that Cipher and Tophiel planned to lead the rebellion, claiming Lord Satan was mentally unstable. All of this because of Our Lord’s entry under “Supreme Being”! Moreover, since the conspirators worked for me, and since my reports are a week behind, I was certain that He was going to Obliterate me first. Or perhaps one of the Commission ratted on me, telling Him that I was sharing my per diem with a human female. (The e-m field here has caused me to fall even more desperately in love with Debbie, whom I have dragged like a gooning fool through the Densities of Earth Time.)

  But when I returned His Majesty’s call, He mentioned nothing about a conspiracy, thank the Umbra of Ra. Instead, He informed me that He was incensed at the lateness of my reports, and was giving me one last chance to make amends.

  To my surprise, Mr. Pönçé, He sent me on an Urgent Spy Mission. The Crashes at Roswell, New Mexico, he told me, were a key part of His Invasion Plan. The vehicles were souped-up Hellcraft owned by the race of inbred, Red Trash Demons known as Angels. (The Angels, as you know, invisibly orbit the Earth in their “trailer park” colonies.) My Lord explained that His Spies had already planted bombs on several of the Angels’ vehicles to precipitate the Roswell incident. The Red Trash in these crafts were scheduled to travel to Earth year 1947, when cattle anuses were at their peak in flavor. The Angels planned to mutilate the cattle, retrieve the anuses and barbecue them at the Annual Angel Ring-Toss Championship.

  His Majesty’s Plan was for the Angels’ craft to crash, and for the human idiots to retrieve the wreckage and attempt to analyze its technology. The only components humans could possibly understand would be Microchips, Fiber Optics, and the crystalline lasers the Angels used to slice off the cattle anuses. Lord Satan, in His Evil Wisdom, knew that the Microchip would result in the humans mass-producing Hell’s Secret Weapon of Mind Control, Television. Within fifty years of the crash, when Lord Satan has scheduled the Invasion of Earth, televisions would be in every human home, having by then brainwashed Mankind into a race of passive simpletons.

  Ring of Obladadox

  However, Hell’s Spies discovered a space-time Nexus at Roswell which will interfere with the Plan. Due to the Nexus, the Angels who are supposed to crash and burn in 1947 will get drunk and set their dials incorrectly for 1974; if they crash in 1974, this will delay the invention of television twenty years and thus delay the Invasion of Earth from occurring at the Millennium, its most Auspicious Time. Also in the event of a 1974 crash, the Vatican Secret Service would then confiscate the wreckage, back-engineer its weapons system and become an annoying threat to the ensuing Demon Invasion. For these reasons, Lord Satan has sent me His precious Ring of Obladadox. He ordered me to use the Ring to possess the body of one of the drunken Angels aboard the sabotaged craft and switch the time-controls back from 1974 to 1947.

  Needless to say, Mr. Pönçé, I was nervous. I am a Poet; I am not a Spy. I am also disadvantaged by having Sister Debbie with me, whom I love too much to leave.

  Unfortunately, things did not work out exactly as planned. First I kissed Debbie and left her playing computer games in my Hellcraft parked in the Roswell badlands. Then I checked my pocket watch. The explosions would rip the crafts to shreds in twenty minutes. I closed my eyes, rubbed the Ring of Obladadox and directed My Total Evil Power on possessing the Angel commanding the Hellcraft. Feeling a burst of electricity surging through my tail, I passed out. I awoke a nanosecond later, felt a tingling sensation and opened my eyes. I was inside the Angel’s body at the controls of the Hellcraft. Lord Satan’s Black Ring of Obladadox materialized on my finger. A strange feeling rippled through the short, gray body I now inhabited; a moment later I recognized it: I was drunk.

  Three other Angels, also short, gray and ugly, were also drunk, guzzling cranial fluid from a decapitated Irishman’s skull and hopping around the deck like the slathering Glentiqs of Klone. They offered me the skull and, to hide my identity, I drank like a pig, imitating the slovenly manners of an Angel.

  As they turned away high-kicking and singing about the delectableness of cows’ rectums, I desperately focused my drunken attention on the craft’s console. Although my vision was blurred, I found the time-dial and saw that, indeed, it had been wrongly set for 1974. I casually switched the dial to 1947 and sighed with relief. Now all I had to do was rub the Sacred Ring, concentrate, and switch back to my own magnificent body.

  But suddenly a claw clamped around my wrist and spun me around in the chair. It was the strongest and drunkest of the three angels.

  He had spotted the Ring of Obladadox.

  He pointed at it and grunted angrily at the others. They rushed over, gazed at Lord Satan’s Ring, then at my eyes. They instantly recognized that I was an impostor.

  The Angel holding me drew his laser and pointed it at my head. They began yelling in their hick dialects that their pilot was possessed. The smallest one ripped the Ring off my finger. The third yanked open the slit of my mouth. As they laughed and chortled drunkenly, the small one violently forced the Ring down my throat. They all worked my jaw, screaming for me to chew it, howling and laughing like the degenerate hicks they were.

  I tried to spit up the Ring, but was unable to properly manipulate the Angel’s primitive jaw, and was forced to swallow it. That was it. I had had enough of these yokels.

  Furious, I snatched the laser out of the drunkard’s hand and held it up to my temple. I yelled for them to freeze or I’d blow their friend’s head off. They stared at me in shock, stared at each other — and began cackling and hooting again. Then all three materialized lasers and pointed them at me.

  Still drunk, I fired at one
of them, blowing a ten-inch hole in his head. The other two fired, missing me as I dove through an open hatch into the ship’s engine room. They chased me through a maze of crevices in the huge, souped-up engine. These hicks spent all of their time working on this 300-foot thought-sensitive monstrosity into which they’d lasered their names like idiots. They kept blasting me and I blasted back, finally blowing another one’s head off. Now I was alone with the smaller one, and we began stalking each other through the maze of the engine. I checked the timepiece strapped to the angel’s groin. I had four minutes before the explosion.

  I had to get that Ring out of my stomach. If I not only failed my mission but also lost the Ring, Lord Satan’s Wrath would be Monstrous. Desperate, I licked some globs of green fughoot oozing from the engine block and tried to vomit. I dry-heaved the fughoot, but no Ring. I grabbed my stomach with both fists, squeezed till I felt the precious Ring inside and tried to squeeze it up my esophagus like a light bulb through a fashion designer’s colon, but it kept slipping down out of my reach.

  The timepiece showed one minute left. As I shoved it back in my groin, I noticed that the watch was short-circuiting. It suddenly occurred to me that the time might be wrong. That meant —

  The Hellcraft blew sky high. The blast was enormous, not unlike the Magnificent Flatulence of Lord Satan during the Mexican-Eating Contest. I was blasted out of the wreckage and came crashing to the ground amid shards of debris. I staggered to my feet and realized that the body I inhabited was still intact. I saw the other bodies, the two I had shot and the third who was still breathing. I leaned over him to see if he was still alive when I felt a rope thrown around my neck.

  A dozen humans in military and Vatican uniforms cuffed me, stuffed me into a canvas bag and carried me away in a vehicle.

  Zyk and the Angel-Daemons

  It was strange, Mr. Pönçé. For although I was in serious trouble, all I could think about was Debbie. I might never see her delicate and delicious groin again.

  After an hour I felt myself being carried into a building and through winding passageways. From inside the bag, I could hear the humans barking and grunting at each other, sounding like Red Trash themselves; no wonder the two races had a close affinity.

  They slid me out of the bag and onto a table. I decided to play dead. I kept my eyes open and willed the effluvia in my (i.e., the Angel’s) body to stop flowing within the body sac. It worked. The human idiots uncuffed me and prodded and poked me from every angle, propping me up in uncomfortable poses and taking hundreds of photographs. Then they barked and murmured to each other, covered me with a canvas and left the room.

  Alone for a moment, I grabbed a pair of long-handled tweezers from the medical rack and shoved it as far down my throat as I could. The angel’s thin arms allowed me to thrust my hand deep into the stomach cavity. I waved the tweezers around until I heard a faint metallic tik-tik-tik as the tip of the tweezers grazed the Ring.

  Manipulating the tweezers in my stomach, I almost got hold of one side of the Ring when I heard the soldiers and Vatican Secret Service agents returning. I quickly yanked my arm out of my throat, replaced the tweezers and played dead again. The humans entered, accompanied by what appeared to be a doctor and a film cameraman.

  The two new men saw me and gasped, wide-eyed, grabbing their stomachs in revulsion. (If only the moronic humans knew how disgusting their appearance was to Demonkind.) The doctor steadied himself as the other set up his camera. The doctor grabbed a scalpel and barked orders. I fought back pain as the scalpel began slicing through my chest.

  Since this was not my body, I knew I could survive if a few organs were removed. What I needed was that Ring, and severing the stomach cavity might give me another opportunity to get it.

  The doctor widened the incision and began digging his gloved hand through the effluvia in my (the Angel’s) chest.

  As he sliced open my stomach, he turned momentarily to get another tool from the rack. This was my chance. I quickly reached inside the stomach incision and felt around for the Ring.

  It wasn’t there.

  But it must be! The cameraman screamed and pointed to my movements. The humans panicked and screamed at each other in horror as I felt around inside as quickly as I could. Nothing! What if the Ring had dropped through the effluvia into the sickening Angel genitalia?

  I gritted my teeth and, as the humans continued screaming, shoved my claw down into the Angel’s testes sac — and felt the Ring. Struggling to grasp it, the Ring slipped onto my claw. The humans, still panicking, tried to grab my hand and stop me. I yanked my hand free and quickly rubbed the Ring.

  There was an orange explosion behind my eyes and I blacked out again. An instant later I awoke, tingling. I looked down and saw that I was back in my own body and sprawled in the dirt. The Ring materialized on my finger again.

  I looked up and saw Debbie gazing down at me with wet, beautiful, terrified eyes. I staggered to my feet and kissed her as I’ve never kissed a female before. With my tail wrapped around her neck and my tongue shoved down her throat to sensually lick her stomach lining, Debbie began gagging, and from experience I knew this meant that she too must be in ecstasy. After fornicating with her a hundred times against a cactus, I threw my pack over my back, took her up in my arms and hurried back to the Hellcraft.

  Checking my calls, I received a frantic message from Lilith. His Majesty, she said, had just obliterated Asmo Deus. Now there remain only the conspirators Cipher and Tophiel, Lilith and Myself.

  I beseech you, Mr. Pönçé, please press your case with our Lord before we are all crushed to ether. As to the matter at hand, I have dispatched the Ring back to Lord Satan and sent off a batch of new material for the Commission to edit. But I clearly need more time.

  I am taking Debbie and her luscious vagina with me to the next Nexus in Earth’s near future. I know I must leave her behind, but I cannot. May the Blackness of Evil watch over my beloved.

  With Inconceivable Hatred,

  ZYK

  MANUAL OF EARTH TERMS

  THE LETTERS M∼R

  m, M (ĕm) n. Pictogram of the sagging mammary glands, offered above to the Nothingness Which Watches Over Human Destiny.

  MACHINE (mə shēn) n. A human without the blubbering data-bank of emotion.

  COMMENTARY BY ASMO DEUS

  The surrounding of Mankind by machines from morning till night, thereby transforming Humanity itself into a Flesh Machine is, of course, the goal of Lord Satan’s Invasion, and also the goal of the 1% of Humanity who own the citizen slaves and their Flesh-Machine Repositories called cities (q.v.).

  Human Maestro and His Instrument

  MACHINE GUN (mə shēn gŭn) n. An exquisite percussion instrument played upon the drum skin of the human body.

  MACHISMO (mä chēz mō) n. That which masks the homosexual. The more a male impersonates a caricature of a male, the more he represses the playing of show tunes while on a fellatio binge. See Homosexual; Musical Theater; X-Chromosome .

  MACROCOSM (măk rə kä zəm) n. The teetering, sloppy Whole into which the rancid, insipid Parts are stuffed. See Microcosm.

  MADNESS (măd nĭs) n. That which, in humans, inhibits suicide. See Insanity.

  MADHOUSE (măd hous) n. 1. Earth-Density. 2. The Cosmos, save Hell.

  Director of Hitting, Scraping and Blowing

  MAESTRO (mī strō) n. A human in a tuxedo who directs the twitching of others in the act of hitting, scraping and blowing. See Entertainment; Guitar; Harp; Jazz; Music; Soprano.

  MAFIA (mä fē ə) n. See Central Intelligence Agency.

  Maggot Before Its Wings Waft It to Heavenly Ordure

  MAGGOT (mă gət) n. The larval fly, and the symbolic counterpart of a larval human being before it sprouts angel wings. See Angel.

  MAGIC (mă jik) n. 1. That which Imbecilic Humanity, which in effect materialized out of nothingness, denies existence. 2. The lowest rung of the Splintered Stool of Show Business. 3. The pathetic human activity of manipula
ting small slices of a tree to cause astonishment in drunkards and fools. See Entertainment ; Impalement; Gag; Guillotine, Magician.

  COMMENTARY BY AHRIMAN

  Mankind, in its annoyingly limited scope of vision, is incapable of remembering that merely two generations before, his ancestors considered all modern appliances, such as images transported through wire, or telepresence, as whimsical absurdities only entertained by fools who believed in the reality of magic. Of course, Human Science is that which denies Reason and Intuition and, therefore, denies Magic.

  Magic is the playful application of the Imagination upon the Stain of Matter, accompanied by the knowledge that the correct procedure in the manipulation of matter can produce any result whatsoever. The greatest magic, therefore, will be in its application for the Ultimate Magical Goal — of wiping out the Fecal Stain of Humanity from the Pants of Space-Time.