Hallucinating Christ On Shit
by Neil McAdams

   It was summertime in eastern Washington and the morning sun was pre-heating. Soon the grass would cringe under the baking heat. The dust would swirl up and envelop things of its own accord. And 27-year-old concert attendee Carl Hote would be crossing over the wet mountains on the long drive back up to the north coast. But now, right now, Carl had other, more pressing matters, on his mind, err, lower stomach.

   Swearing to himself in silent frustration, Carl stood legs crossed in front of the blue PortaCrap, not so patiently waiting his turn to use the closest (and hopefully cleanest) toilet in the campsite. Carl always thought that these kinds of trips would be fun, but they never were. Camp Friday night, go to the daylong concert Saturday, camp Saturday night, and get "fucked up beyond all recognition" the whole time. Yup, and here it was, Sunday morning, the booze and pot were all gone, the little bit of cocaine they had brought (they being, in order of coolest to lamest friend were: Ted Porter, Joey Ubek, Nancy Rafgell, and Gary Sweager) had been railed on the ride over mountains. Carl had barely eaten any solid food and not a shred of meat since Thursday. He was starving, but there was nothing to eat and even if he did eat, there really wasn't any room in his bowel-swollen gut. Carl Hote hadn't shit since Friday morning, and now, here in this dry, dust stained filthy little valley he had the pleasure of depositing two nights of beer and whiskey shit in the lovely receiving end of mankind's greatest invention ever. The portable toilet.

   The bastard six-year-old-fuck who was currently taking advantage of the PortaCrap was having a tough time getting his overalls buttoned. Fuck! That shit-faced little twerp wasn't even using the goddamn toilet. Here I am, shit crowning out my ass and the little demon is just standing in there too goddamned embarrassed to leave without his fucking pants buttoned all the way up. This is what Carl Hote, 27 of Bellingham, thought as he jimmied the simple lock from the outside, grabbed the brat (who, in case you just happened to be wondering, was named Jason Metrivackle and would grow up to have two kids, both with blonde hair, lose his left foot in a golfing accident and would pay for male sex when out of town on business while his Russian wife Lilka would perform various sexual favors on their 14 year old paperboy Sammy Feldato who eventually…), and threw his half-buttoned ass into the rocky, broken glass lot to run crying to his hung over mother.

   Sighing a silent prayer to any and every god, deity, and historical idol that was listening; Carl stepped his last steps through the dim blue heavenly doorway. Carl surveyed the quiet, muggy scene. Flies buzzed around the low ceiling and spiders waited patiently in urine-steam coated webs in the corners. Carl lifted the seat and was relieved to see that the level of human waste hadn’t reached quite halfway yet. That was good. Too much waste was disgusting and unsanitary, just the blue anti-septic fluid meant that any turd you dropped would splash cold blue disinfectant over your opening anus and sagging balls. There was a hand washing station in the corner and Carl was pleased with the attention to detail these genius bathroom replicators had achieved. Carl peeped out of the latticed plastic vent holes looking to see if there were any cute girls in eyesight he could watch and masturbate over from inside his protective box. There weren't any, and Carl was reminded of all the pussy he didn't get on this trip. All these thoughts ran through his head in less than a second, and now settled in the queasy blue dreamscape, Carl unbuttoned his gray work pants and sat his ass down on the black plastic seat.

   There really wasn't any time to evaluate the situation as it unfolded. No pre-movement farting or even a bit of urine dispension that painfully needed draining as well. Nope, just one big internal heave, a tsunami unleashed in bowely depths by strange digestive quakes. The seal was broken, the mountain cracked, and the poo flowed freely, like wine from the hands of Christ. Like tears dropped by reunited lovers. And it felt good. It felt real good. So good in fact, that a small part of him was jumping up and down yelling and screaming like a Christmas day child so excited about his new toy fire truck and even more excited about the puppy he knew was still hiding inside of one of those boxes.

   Shit belched and dripped from his enlarged rectal opening and Carl didn't care how long he was inside this dump-sauna. Each turd that burgled its way out of his smiling ass crack felt more perfect than the last. His disappointment over not finding some hot drunk slut (or maybe even a passed out fat girl) to fuck digested away like so much consumed yet forgotten barbecue potato chips. Each splash that echoed out of the small septic box sounded like angels plucking on golden, catgut strung harps. And finally the climax arrived. Like the last firework set off on the 4^th of July, Carl Hote's final dump was the biggest, wettest, loudest, and most colorful of them all. And in that one second of absolute, primitive bowel intensity, Carl forgot all about his crippling loneliness, his growing drug addictions, the overall pathetic existence he had lived, and all he knew and felt was beauty. Soft dark grew behind his eyes, and one by one, stars turned on inside his head.

    Carl sat up straight and shook his head. The momentary darkness had passed and Carl assumed the heat had finally gotten to him. Funny though, it seemed as if he had to shit all over again. Carl distinctly remembered finishing his bowel movement, no he hadn't wiped, but he could have sworn that he had pooed all he could poo till he could poo no more. Then he had blacked out for a second. And now he had to crap all over again. Frustrated, Carl dropped his eyes to the ground and for a good five seconds Carl was too stunned to interpret the information his eyes were delivering to him from the urine coated floor.

   There, in the corner, sitting on his own miniature porcelain throne, white muslin robes flowing, light brown hair hanging still in the suffocating PortaCrap, was the son of God, Jesus H. Christ.

   "Oh, Hey Carl, bought time you recognized me eh?"

   What in all of heaven and hell was the Savior Christ doing here? Carl thought. Was this it? Had Armageddon finally arrived? With all the speed his brain synapses still possessed, Carl begged forgiveness for every cheap feel he'd copped, every piece of worthless merchandise he had stolen, every drug he'd consumed, and for every girl he fucked drunk and left crying.

   "Oh now Carl, you don't have to go and do all that just cause I'm here," Jesus said," and no it's not Armageddon, nothing quite as interesting as that, though I have been waiting quite a while now, all that blood and sin, and fire and penance, should be a hoot, anyway, no nothing spectacular like that, you're just dead that’s all."

   "What! I can't be dead, I just…"

   Shit compounded and decaying since Friday dropped from Carl's bowels and he uttered a small grunt and blacked out. He awoke a second later and the Six-Inch Savior was still sitting there on his own shrunken toilet, patiently as, well Christ.

   "No Carl, you quite surely are dead, oh it's not really a big deal, you don't lose total conscienceness, you don't just up and disappear into blackness never to think or feel ever again. I mean if God went to all this trouble to create the Universe and all the life and thought in it do you really think when it died, when its physical life ended, that its ability to experience some fraction of reality would end?"

   "Well I guess not now that you mention it."

   Carl scratched his head and thought this over

   "Of course not! I'm so tired of all these Atheists believing that something as efficient as the NatureProgram6.0 that God installed in this portion of existence would be so wasteful as to completely terminate anything, foolish idea, preposterous really. God is way too much of a cheapskate to waste anything, not even an Armageddon here and there to give his only Son some saving and damning to do. No instead, the son of all creation is sent, rather haphazardly if I may say so myself, back and forth across the Universe to explain to people that they have expired from the physical world and now must be introduced to the newly designed and installed HeavenSimulation 2.7, which as I might as well tell you Carl, is what you are experiencing right now"

   "What you mean this is Hea…"

   Carl shit, blacked out, and re awoke.

   "Yep buddy this is what you get. Heaven for all of its high-sung glory, is for you, an eternity trapped inside of a half full PortaCrap. I would say that there might be some solace in the addition of a hand-washing station but I'm afraid you'll find that you can't stand."

   Carl tried but couldn't move. He shit. Blacked out. Awoke

   "So this is it huh? Heaven. No clouds, no angels, no towering theistic deity gazing down on me from miles up?"

   "Oh it used to be that way Carl, those stories aren't no lie and plenty of identities still exist and interact together in that program, that was HeavSim1.5 I believe, but it wasn't very efficient, no, once up in HeavSim1.5 the mortals kept on being mortals, ya know all that sin and stuff, soon the angels got dragged into it. Problems just got out of hand, the system was corrupted, would you believe that the people in heaven were still so lazy that they developed cars and highways in their afterlife program, I haven't been there in years but I hear that corporate franchises are moving in up there, a couple of McWonalds right past the Pearle E. Gates. So God said 'FuckIt', can you believe that he really said that?, and up and designed the afterlife simulation that now you find yourself interacting with. Pretty neat huh?"

   "What about Hell?" Carl struggled to say as he shit again, blacked out, and re cracked his eyes to the warm blue light around him.

   "Blah, a myth, old wives tale. One of Gods first little tricks to try to get humans, and the angels too I must sadly admit, to behave themselves. It had some impact the first couple of centuries, but only through horrible human domination, those Catholics just took the thing way to far, you know personally, those Catholics make me more sick than any atheist I ever met, horrible people, claiming only priests can talk to God, I've never heard a more power greedy explanation in my life, really now, come on, only being able to talk to God through some lousy sexually twisted mortal with an ego problem, I don't think so. Why would God go to all the trouble of Creation just so that its Earthly population can only converse with Him via some inherently biased and flawed, short-lived human, what communication blockage, I mean it'd be like trying to pass a bladder stone all the time, oh, wait, you're not Catholic are you Carl?"

   "Agnostic"

   Shit. Black. Soft blue light.

   "That's great, I'm glad to hear that. At least you're being honest with yourself. Humans rarely understand, interpret, or comprehend their own lives and actions. How could they even come close to knowledge of the Divine Father? Who happens to be a little late in paying some of his child-support I must say. Anyway there isn't really a Hell."

   "I guess that's kinda nice to know" Carl said, looking around, wondering what Hell could be worse than an eternity in this dank PortaCrap.

   "No the whole thing is a really big hoax. I mean there is level of existence that is classified as Hell and sometimes people do go there, but rarely, and it's not that bad. Father spends a lot of his time down there. Him and Satan have gotten to be quite good friends. They drink a bit too much in my humble opinion. But you can see what my opinion gets me. Telling some pathetic mortal about his present state of reality in a hot, shitty outhouse in a desert out on Earth. Thanks a whole fucking bunch dad!" Jesus yelled, half standing above his mini-toilet, his holy fist shaking in the air, a sacred shit dropping from inside his robes.

   Carl shit.

   "Oh my. Sorry about that little outburst Carl"

   "It's okay, I think I might be starting to understand where you're coming from"

   "Wow really, ya know it's really good to hear that from someone. When I encounter you humans it's always me, me, me. Save me Jesus and Cure me Jesus or some bullshit. I died for the sake of your entire race and still me, me, me. Anyway, I really do feel bad for you and I am going to file a formal complaint to my Father as to a possible failure in the HeavenSimulation2.7. This really isn't fair, stuck in here for eternity."

   "Yeah, why am I here", shit, darkness, smelly blue light," and why do I keep on shitting?"

   "Oh yes, that. I'm sorry, I've been rambling on and on, anyway, when your body quits the conscience world it becomes engaged in a process of looping the deceased's most meaningful, pleasurable, and spiritual moment. For most it's some quiet scene alone taken from somewhere along the course of their lives, sex with a loved one is also real popular and is one of the ways not to be alone for eternity. But sadly, somehow this shit you just took was the most meaningful, pleasurable, and spiritual experience of your life, in fact it was so good that it killed you, imagine that. It's sad, it really is and I empathize with you, but somehow the rest of your life was so dull and pathetic, that this is what you get."

   "shit", Carl said lightly, he did.

   "Oops, well oh my, look at the time, I really must get going, some endrogenous life form has terminated near Proxima 7." Christ said as he lifted his robes and wiped his ass. He flushed and the toilet disappeared.

   "Wait," said Carl, "can I ask you just one question before you leave me in this shit infested eternal damnation?"

   "Sure bud, anything, just ask?"

   "What does the H stand for?"

   "Hardcore, and don't worry Carl, Eternity is insane no matter where or who you are. Why would God have created any company in the first place if he was so perfect? Perhaps he was once, but not since I've known him I'll tell you that much. Nope, eternity is God's curse and he had to drag all us out of his sickening soul and damn us all as well, and I told him that too one day and that is why I am here explaining things to you instead of the Father who is your rightful Creator. No I'm here; left with one of His only responsibilities while Him and Satan are out drinking themselves into a monotheistic stupor. Well it was nice meeting you Carl, take it easy"

   "Good…" Carl tried to finish but was interrupted by his unstoppable and eternally cursed ass.

   When Carl Hote woke up he was alone and an eternity of shit stretched out in front of him. Just dull blue light, decay in the air and shit on his ass, at least until god doesn't wake from one of his hangovers Carl thought as shit passed through his bowels once more. He blacked out

   Carl opened his eyes on his dusty blue prison and wondered just what the fuck he was going to do for the rest of Eternity. In between his conscious blurring rectal activity an old Supremes chorus breathed from his lips. "My world is empty without poo babe, my world is empty without poo babe…"

   On and on he went, singing softly here, screaming there. After his 3,875^th soul-enriching shit, the words mumbled into degenerative laughter and as the tears dripped from his fume-stained eyes, a kaleidoscope of feculance funneled from his infinite anus.

   Carl stopped singing, stopped mumbling, stopped laughing, stopped crying. Panic almost succeeded in tightening his running faucet rectum. What if the reservoir fills up? Carl thought. What would I do if it creeped out from under my shit crusted thighs and after slopping onto the floor and puddling around my feet it rose and rose, and I shit and shit until my shit tickled my ears, sloshed around in my mouth, stuck under my tongue, in between my very back molars, and crept it's slow, deadly, way into my nose, cresting over my eyes and pushing it's way into my skull, worming its way into the creases of my brain, filling up my plastic blue tomb, filling me up…

   With warm, soft lumpy thoughts of processed organic waste drifting in his restricted skull, Carl Hote fell slowly asleep to the diffused blue light around him and became wholly focused on his shit-induced paranoia. Drowning in pools of silent bobbing refuse, Carl shit.

©2003 Neil McAdams

Neil McAdams/ Deek Jersey is from Bellingham WA, and is 22 years old. He enjoys abusing non-synthetic drugs, playing in a punk rock band (Dolphin), sci-fi and horror, and is also a dedicated frissbee player.