Somehow, this story didn't print right... so, everyones comments were on two paragraphs from the middle of the story. Or so I think, since I came in here and only two paragraphs were here. They may have read the whole thing... Sorry. Here is the real post.


On the run from the vast Mormon Mormon High High Counsel, and a crack team of ninja scientologist lawyers, some crazy Kabbalah killers lead by Mad Donna, Assface Kurcher and Demigod Moore, the God Ralph and his often unfaithful followers are trekking across the welfare and robot-worker propped up 'Land of the Once not so free but now really a bit Too Free,' post-bush world (meeting culture after culture that had sprung up among those . . . 'left behind' . . . when the Bush Monarchy moved the rich to the moon and created The Very Very White World). After three days of driving at speeds upward of 150 miles an hour and causing dozens of accidents that forced Ralph's followers to go through numerous painful resurrections and healings, they have come to a part of the country that is filled with trailer parks.

Trailer parks stretched throughout the mid-americas for thousands of miles on all sides, and little was known about the inhabitants. Leading into the labryinth of mediocrity was a road filled with bags of garbage, old car parts, and a number of suprisingly well kept up garden gnomes in various holiday themed outfits. Ralph ignored the barrier, and was almost dissappointed when the bus smashed right through. Immediatly the world almost seemed to turn on it's side... all the people they were seeing were grossly misformed.... eight arms, three heads, four huge ass cheeks... and what looked like a bunch of half-human, half-goat people.

"Yuck," Mugily said. "What the hell is wrong with these people?"
"Descendents of hillbilly's and white trash. I suspect without a strong government in place to stop inbreeding, the walk to the neighbor's was too far for them. Looks like the goats were closer than the neighbors too. Usually that doesn't result in offspring, but all the inn-breeding and beer has actually managed to make their genes stupider than normal. They all seem to weigh over three hundred pounds. You notice that?"
"Of course I noticed. They look like huge warts on the landscape."
"They would probably look better as warts. Yes... they... would."
"Ralph!!! Do not make them into warts."
It was too late. Two mountanious women in tube tops and short shorts standing outside of a trailer became huge, bloated red warts. Mugily expected this to enrage the others, but instead they non-chalantly began breaking peices of the warts off, rubbing them on their genitals and then eating them."
"Ralph, tell me they don't consider that seasoning?"
"They're just seeing where the wart fits best. You fucking humans and your gland rubbing and juices spurting... " The one thing that Ralph found disgusting was human sex. The gods looked at it like humans were basically puking vile juices on one another while flopping about all slapstick -- Mugily suspected this masked Ralph's jelousy over not being able to connect on a deep emotional level, but he was wrong.
" They'll eat the evidence in ... wow, they devored those warts."
"Can you bring them back?"
"Why?"
"Yes. Good point. What's with the Elvis statue?"
"They worship the older, disappaited Elvis. They try to look like him. Mostly they just watch soap operas, drink beer and have family oreinted orgies."
"Don't stop."
"We have to. I've already told Elvis's ghost that I will talk to these people on his behalf. He doesn't like being the patron saint of Gravy and Biscuits. He wants it to be Cadillacs. I'm going to see what I can do. I loved Hound Dog. Once played it for fifteen years straight. I'm going to give them some more warts to eat, to ... uh, make friends."
"Ralph, don't piss them off. Can't you see they all have shotguns in their pick ups and those little confedirate flags that on their bumpers, the ones that declare -- 'Too Stupid For History Class."
"Mugily, my scribes usually do what I tell them."
"And look where that has gotten you Ralph? We've got Ninja scientologists, mad cap mormons... that whore Mad Donna... all trying to kill us. They've already succeded like twenty times and I am so sick of feeling my own death.... and they'll kill us again if you keep warting these people."
"I'm just trying to make following me fun. Forgive me for enriching your pathetic little human life. Well, I guess we should stop and talk to them."
"No, let's just keep..."
"Hey, look, a statue of Elvis with a chicken wing hanging out of his mouth.... Oh, reading their minds is pretty gross... all they think about is beer... and their sisters, mothers, uncles... wow, I thought you were sick, but these humans. . All they eat is gravy and biscuits... barbacue their dead at big, ritual parties where the women flash their breasts and the men flash their... these guys have big asses."




As the unweildy crowds gathered around the Bus, Ralph took the PA and began speaking to them: "Listen, we don't have a lot of time... first off, I am Ralph, a god, and I am here with news from Elvis. He wants you to give up goat fucking, first off."

Hearing their beloved goat fucking maligned by an outsider pissed off the Elvi Peep's (as they called themselves). Angry cries of, "What? Take away goat fucking? That's blasphemy!"
"Only one touching my goats is me, and peoples who can trade a sheep or a large cat." "Get him!!! Make him fuck a goat!!"


Ralph waved his hand in the air and bongs suddenly appeared in the hands of one and all... "Here, this is my special blend. I want you to put down your beers, inhale the weed, and lose your four or five extra asses, okay?"

Beer cans and rocks and small children began to pelt the bus as the angry crowd threw whatever was close at the interlopers who were threatening one of the profound tenents of the Elvi -- 'No Goat Shall Go Unsodomized."

"Look, you walking warts... Elvis has spoken to me, okay? Why the hell else would I come here?"
"To fuck goats?" One of the crowd asked?
"No, you see... I'm here... "

A commotion on the edge of the crowd caught their attention. Then a group of black clad ninja's and hippy looking people with red garrots could be seen trying to fight their way to the bus. The commotion died down almost as soon as it began.

"Ralph, what is it?" Mugily asked the now seemingly bored god.
"Oh, the wart people are eating the scientologists, kabbalists, and Mad Donna and her hanger ons. They're already sending out replacements after us."

"People of the trailer world,"Ralph told the crowd, "We brought this offering of folks to ritually sodomize and barbacue as a way of showing our freindship. Now ... there... you are cured of your imulses toward goats and relatives."

Cries of approval immediantly began to come from the crowd.

"Hey, Elvis never shared his drugs..."

"Will you bless my gravy and biscuits?"

"Thanks for making me despise my uncles asshole, Ralph."

And lots of other affirmitive remarks which helped to quell the trembling in Mugily's bowels that he had been feeling ever since learning he was distantly related to the white trash that he was sure would eventually ritually sodomize him and then cook him up in a barbacue (in a forgotten reference to better times, the ritual sodomizing on people about to be barbacued was called 'stuffing,' though none of them seemed too impressed when Mugily pointed this out to them, and for a moment he wished Ralph had made them all warts).

Later that week, as they drovee out of the other side of the trailer park, the ghost of Elvis tearfully saw them off, then went out into space intent on being reincarnated as a common, garden variety toad, which had been the earliest and most pure dream of his childhood.