[The Good Shepherds]

Revelations (Part 9)
Church of Heathenous Shepherds; Las Vegas, NV 10/1/2021

Welcome back to the home of depravity, sickness, unadulterated pleasure, addiction, and acceptance for all.  Unless you’ve been able to attend in person services, you’ve probably missed it here.  Not much has changed.  It still looks like an abandoned church, something that should be condemned.  There’s still scorch marks on the walls, spray painted idolatry and tag marks, and the most rag tag bunch of believers I’ve ever seen in my life.  Basically, you haven’t missed much.  My number of followers has increased, though.  Imagine that.  In the City of Sin, people love being told to give into their innermost temptations.  Surprise, surprise.  We’ve reached a total of 438 members prior to tonight’s sermon.  Let’s see if I can’t reach a few more ears this evening, shall we?

Everyone is seated as best as they can be.  Others are lining the walls, reminding me that an “outdoor expansion” might be necessary soon.  Paying tribute to me are several horny individuals, making out and… worse, against the walls, in the pews, and even on the altar.  I must admit that a tear came to my eye as I peeked through the curtains.  I have The Good Book in my arms, and I’m ready to tear it apart in front of everybody.  But there’s a bit of a pause in me as I think about what is ahead of me.  It’s always a fun show, and I get a chance to vent… at least, I thought I was able to vent.  Do I need to censor myself going forward?  Do I break my own cardinal rule?  I don’t have time to think about it when there is a cold set of claws appearing on my shoulder that sends a shiver down my spine.  It feels like the Dark Prince himself, and no, I don’t mean Ozzy.  The cold burns into my shoulder, but I know I must face Him.  So I turn, and what I see is nothing like I would have expected to see.

Filth:  You don’t seem surprised.  That’s good.

I simply stare with contempt.  There is a moment where I even think about throwing the Seraph of Sleaze out of the door myself, but she’s right.  I’m not shocked at all that she’s appeared.

Me:  I honestly expected this sooner.  But, I can’t say that I’m thrilled considering what you’ve done to my family.

Filth:  Another grudge holder… I knew I liked you for a reason.

I scoff at her remarks as she runs her finger down the exposed chest of my half buttoned shirt.  I push her hand away effortlessly.

Me:  You put my mother in a wheelchair, and my fiance relies on crutches, and probably will for a very long time.

Filth:  Mother Mavis is on crutches now as well.  That’s an improvement, right? I mean, it’s not like you’re a family man these days, David…

I’ve had enough and I am pretty sure that my face says that.  Not like I have to ask, but I do anyway…

Me:  What do you want?  I’m about to deliver my sermon that I’m already running late for.

Filth:  I don’t like answering questions where the answer is obvious.  So why don’t we just cut to the chase? How much?

I stop for a second, because, while I know her motivation is to sneak her way into my organization, her question doesn’t make sense.  I stumble on my words for a moment.

Me:  W-what do you mean?

Filth sighs and she reaches into a bag she’s carrying.  She pulls out a few bundles of Benjamins and sets them in my arms, curling them around the money.

Filth:  Is that not enough?

She reaches into her bag again and pulls out a checkbook.  The ease of transferring so much money comes as a shock to me when I consider that she’s just an indy wrestler in the basement brand.  She drafts a number on the check and holds it up, and I’m still in shock.

Filth:  I can keep going, David.

Me:  What are you doing?  What is this for?  I refuse to sell my rights to anything.

Filth:  I wouldn’t dream of it, filthy.  I simply want to pledge to your cause.  Well, we do…

Skag comes walking from around the corner, half skull paint fully intact.  He walks over to us and he drops down to his knees, clasping his hands in front of himself.

Skag: Vergib mir, Vater, denn ich werde mich an den Freuden des Fleisches erfreuen, denn ich habe kein Geld zu spenden. (Forgive me Father, for I'm about to take joy in the pleasures of the flesh for I have no money to donate.)

Skag goes to unzip my pants, and I drop the money on his head.  Some of the bands snap, causing the hundred dollar bills to go everywhere.  His blue eyes look up at me in wanton, but my stomach turns in utter disgust.  My pants drop to the ground and Skag continues on his mission as Filth flicks her tongue at me, in some weird way of giving me permission.

Me:  You’ve got this all wrong, and YOU’VE got me all wrong.

Skag:  I know what you want, herr.  I know I am no replacement for the Icelandic one, but I promise it is worth your time.

Filth:  He wants it more now than ever.  They’re on the rocks, and we know he likes to run at the first sign of trouble.

Skag:  Ja fraulein. I just want to give your glied a warm, wet hug. I want to pledge to you.

Me:  Not interested.

Skag:  He says so, yet his body says differently.

Filth snickers as she looks down and sees that he is, in fact, right.  I pull my pants up and uncomfortably fumble with the button, trying to relieve the pressure by leaning forward a bit, quickly getting my thoughts elsewhere.

Filth:  Your church needs funding and it needs people to help spread your message.  I think you know that.  Your father has a similar model, and you really want to stick it to him.  It’s evident.  I can provide both.  I have friends in very low places.

She looks down at Skag, who opens his mouth, all but begging me to give him what he wants.  I feel obliged to give it to him, but then my senses break through and I turn from the two, walking to open the curtains again.

Filth:  We’ll be in touch.  Keep the cash as a sign of good faith.  Call me when you’re ready to talk business.

I look over my shoulder as Filth saunters over to Skag and unzips her ragged black jeans, dropping them to the ground as Skag gets ready to deliver, even if it is not for me, as he leans way back and Filth goes to straddle his face.  I literally do barf a little in my mouth, spitting it to the ground as I walk through the curtains, placing The Good Book on the podium.  The events of what just transpired are still weighing heavily on my mind, but I know I must push past them.  I clear my throat into the microphone as everyone stops what they are doing to look up at me out of respect.

Me:  Welcome brothers, sisters, and all of you depraved, sick motherfuckers.  You are home.  If you’ve been looking for a place where you are accepted for who you are, then look no further.  Everyone here has been cast aside by society for embracing the things that make us who we are rather than hiding behind a mask of normalcy.  We have so many new members that I can’t even begin to name you all, but know that this dwelling is yours just as much as it is mine.  If you’re looking for answers, you can book an appointment with me, and we’ll figure it out together.  If anyone here is going through a hard time, thinking about ending it all, I beg you not to.  Things are heavier now than they ever have been, and support seems nonexistent.  Even though we tend to reject most teachings of our Christian counterparts, we do maintain one similarity.

I can’t help but gag, and this gains laughter and praise from the fellowship.  I swish water around in my mouth before spitting it to the side.

Me:  If you are unable to reach me, please rely on your fellow heathens.  We require support just like anybody else.  My recent mental health struggles made me realize that I needed to make sure that we understand our calling.  We have been so used to bearing our own sins, and keeping them to ourselves, not realizing just how much it’s tearing us up inside.  So please, please don’t go through that alone.

I look down at The Good Book on my podium before me, and I glare at it with contempt, refocusing myself on the matter at hand.

Me:  We are chosen, called forth to restore chaos to the City of Sin.  Just because we are dedicated to one another doesn’t mean that anyone outside of these walls are immune to this mission.  We do what we must to show a united front.  We do not owe ourselves to this dark, cruel world.  Only to our cause.  So, if you’re tempted to pickpocket that ignorant tourist on The Strip, go for it.  Give in to your carnal desires.  But do not forget our core values here.  Being a douchebag is not the way.  Never feel entitled.  Never feel like this world owes you anything, because it will not feed you.  It will piss in your mouth and laugh in your face.  It will take, take, and take even more from you.  The world will not take care of you.  Grow some fucking nuts and take what you want.  You don’t want to be some lonely podcaster cutting promos in his mom’s basement.  A literal neckbeard.  I endorse hedonism to the fullest.  But I do not support laziness.

I step from behind the podium as I look out into the audience.  I see a number of people who look as if they could match the description I’ve given.  Rather than singling them out, I decide to move on to the main point.

Me:  Be better than that.  You see, this Sunday, I plan on celebrating by knocking around a man who holds laziness as his highest standard.  A man whose ambition is not equal to his drive.  A man so deplorable that even I cannot get behind him.  I am, in fact, talking about Gabriel Wank.  You may know him as “The Troll”.  Or the man with the worst win-loss record in the history of Sin City Wrestling.  There is only one thing I can admire about him, and that is the fact he coveted his neighbor’s wife, and he went for it.  Sure, it didn’t turn out as he’d hoped, and watching him piss his pants by fighting a non wrestler was priceless.  But he is exactly what is wrong with this generation.  He should’ve been a wank stain in his dad’s underwear, but instead, his sow of a mother allowed these defective seeds to spill upon her fertile pastures, and now we’re all forced to breathe the same air as him.

I look around the crowd as I begin to slowly walk back and forth.  There is a ginger manchild in his thirties, wearing thick black rimmed glasses, looking down, and I choose to speak right to him.

Me:  Degenerates aren’t always useless members of society who don’t contribute.  We’re not always driven by an unfounded need to be right while not actually giving something back to this world.  Nihilism isn’t the same as gluttony and sloth and envy.  Make a change.  Bring down a sliver of the establishment.  Rebel with action, not stagnation.  Action is key.  Without it, you won’t get anywhere.  And come Sunday, I’m taking action to draw a line in the sand.  In my return match, I will show that I’ve not missed a beat.  Of course, against someone who is even lazier than the person who books matches like this in SCW, there’s only so much I can do.  But, believe me when I say that I am going to enjoy this thoroughly, regardless.  It will be my first time back in the ring in over two months, and I plan to make the most of it.  I will teach The Troll where blind ambition gets him.

I look at a twiggy teenager with greasy hair, pimples, and a Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt on.

Me:  I will show him the light of day when I put him on his back.  When he’s staring up at those bright lights, much brighter than the ones on his parent’s basement ceiling, and they burn brighter than the gleam of his own self indulgence of the pitiful two inch creature between his legs, maybe… just maybe… he will understand where he’s gone wrong, and he will do better.  Maybe he will act better.  Maybe he will BE better.  And in showing him the error of his ways, I will be doing my good deed for the week, in front of millions of viewers worldwide.  And if I’m capable of opening up someone’s mind, then so are you!  So I implore each and every one of you to open up the minds of the soul-less, thoughtless robots surrounding you.  For that is our true mission.  Now, go forward and be blessed brothers, sisters, and depraved motherfucks!

Congregation:  AMEN!

And with that, I pick up The Good Book.  As people disperse, I hold a large pillar candle up to it, watching the pages slowly burn in a brilliant mixture of yellow, orange, and black.  I drop it to the ground and watch it as I slowly walk backward.  Take that, dad...