Satan Burger by Iii Carlton Mellick

powerful than life itself, isn’t it?" he says.
    A smile cracks Christian’s lips, not concerning Vodka though.  He has remembered the most essential thing to remember upon entering a vehicle. 
    He yells, "SHOTGUN," and we all grunt.
    Mort argues, "Paper-rock-scissors, ye bastard."
    Christian argues, "I already called it."
    Vodka barges in, "NONE OF YOU SIT IN FRONT.  I get both front seats in my car."
    "We can’t all fit in the back seat," Mort whines.
    "How dreadful," Vod responds.

    We pile into the Gremlin, with my corpse squished in the bitch seat.  Vod starts up the car and takes a few essence-breaths into his lungs, humming with the engine purrs.
    Vodka is one of those people who loves everything that is bizarre and disturbing and dreary and dead.  Richard Stein called these people Black People , because they always wear black clothes and sometimes listen to black metal.  He said that these people become black from hating everything.
    They only like things that nobody else likes, and that is because they hate everyone else.  Once their favorite underground band becomes popular, they won’t like it anymore.  Not because it isn’t good anymore, but because they can’t stand to see normal people listening to their favorite band.  That is why many of them turn to black metal, because that style of music can only be found in Germany and the Scandinavian countries.
    He also went on to say that the leader of the black metal scene was a small troll who could only speak in ancient druidic languages.

    After Vod finishes his car-meditation, he blesses the steering wheel.  Then we leave for Satan Burger.

Scene 5
    Silence Hurts the EyeSilence Hurts the EyeSilence Hurts the EyeSilence Hurts the Eye

    Stag and Gin and a corpse strapped to the roof, all drunk-slobbering and bobble-stupid.  Up a sideling sludge hill, where crab-thorn trees and scorpion flies live - no female baboons up here, but neither man nor corpse is afraid.  Stag’s motto is: "Too drunk to fear."
    The moon is a white construction paper cutout, the sky and night stars colored with crayon-chalks, which made God’s fingers all dust-gritty from the smudging and trying to color between the lines.  When God fails to color properly and misses a tiny space, we call it a ghost . 
    Beginning colorists, such as kindergarten students, always finish a picture with many ghosts unaccounted for, but the mistakes are pardoned because they are only five-year-olds and aren’t even old enough to buy beer.
    Sometimes five-year-olds will go back to their creation and fill the ghosts in with color, and the picture will be fine.  But when God creates ghosts while coloring the world, it’s not so easy to correct them.  They have to be filled in with the souls of people who have recently died.  These poor souls are condemned to Earth forever.  Instead of going to Heaven, they have to stay here and cover up God’s mistakes.

    Neither Stag nor Gin believe in Heaven.  They believe in a place called Punk Land , which is kind of like an amusement park but people can punch each other bloody and none of the security guards seem to care.  It is supposed to be a gladful place to live, like Heaven, but only for punks.
    Since the punk style of person would not be happy (nor welcome) in Heaven – being surrounded by white colors and angels and God and very nice people – he is sent to Punk Land, where he can be punk and talk about punk and listen to nothing but punk rock all day long in a totally anarchist society. 

    Stag is still very drunk.  He is swerving widely about the road, singing an Irish drinking song called All For Mr. Grog .
    I once knew a man named Mr. Grog.  He lived next to my ex-parents and would buy me alcohol when I was underage.  He always told me that the world is just a boring place made for rich conservative old men and there’s no reason to try to succeed in it unless you’re one of them.  Best to just get drunk, try to be happy, and