Crash! Wham! Alakazam!

The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God Logo


“Some say—that from the ashes will rise an ally, and that ally will be a kind of key. . .a key to the gatekeeper. Where there are no ghouls, only Dana Fembots. Pray, friends, for if they are released upon the world. . .Feminism will have our world by the jollies.” —Bhal Aundy, Children of the Lost Marriage 1:03

[The scribe was kind enough to enclose an audio holotape for your eargasm pleasure.]


Day 42.

Since my last battle with Rubricon, the crater hasn’t been disturbed. From up to the north, where we’ve traveled to, we can still see it smoldering; billowing gray puffs to the skies above.

As I promised my flock, I took them to the Lakeshore Creamery for some Ice Cream. I ordered each to get their own and to have as many scoops as they wanted. They seemed quite content. Tara, Shana, Tama, and Tata all seemed to get very. . .aroused. . .by licking their delicious treats. For one minute, they’re sucking, biting, and licking their frosty treats, and then the next, they’re stripping and repeating some said actions to one another, with their treats. Some even started defecating [the rest of this passage is indecipherable].


After they finished their act, showered, and I killed the creamery staff for slipping a concoction of Buffout, Psycho, Mentats, Jet, Deathclaw blood, Mirelurk eggs, RadAway, and Mutifruit; which resulted in some sort of ecstasy. Some associate had called it a “Pudding Pop,” or something like that—whatever the case, it was unacceptable—NONE MAY TAINT THE BITCHES OF THE MIGHTY BEAR GOD, LET ALONE MY FLOCK!

I will have my minions ransack the place, and we shall stay for the night. The ‘shrooms, or whatever they had in my sundae have given me an unpleasant stomach ache. Maker above, I will probably be squirting this shit out for hours. Ugh. At least there is toilet paper around this time. Albeit, I do think my flock enjoyed cleansing their Mighty Bear God—probably too much. I will have to reaffirm this. Later perhaps.


Day 43.

I sent a few of my flock to check on the crater where Rubricon fell. They have yet to return. It’s been awhile, and I do hope that that son of a bitch stayed down. Maybe I should have hit him harder—or played a different song. Whatever the case, if they don’t turn up soon, I will be forced to leave them behind. Waiting makes my loins quiver in uneasiness.

***

Ricky, Dicky, and Flub came back. Finally! They report that the crater is vacant and that there is no sign of Rubricon. I suppose it was to be expected. He is a fucking rabbit. . .and when rabbits fuck, they’re just as bad as cockroaches. They just get everywhere!

Wait. What’s that? There’s an orange. . .fiery ball. Ah, shit.


[Scribe Tetanus recording here. It seems that a massive fireball has fallen on top of The Mighty Bear God. It seems to be a round metallic capsule of some kind. There’s a window, though it’s not view-able—too dark to see what’s inside if anything.

Wait it appears to be moving. Yes! Yes, it is! It’s moving! The Mighty Bear God—He has risen!]

[chanting ensues over the recording]

“What. . .the. . .hell?” The Mighty Bear God remarks, having lifted the space capsule off his person, and rolled it away. “No, seriously, what the hell is this shit?”

[The capsule hisses with the release of an airlock, smoke, and ozone escape it.]

A pair of oversized dummy black eyes peered out into the sunny Wasteland. A gray smooth-skinned alien poked its head out, slightly alarmed by its surroundings.

“Greetings, Earthlings. I am Captain Ack—” a raspy voice escaped from the alien’s fish-like lips.

“NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!” With tremendous might, the Mighty Bear God booted the alien into the capsule, picked it up, and then hurled it back towards whence it came.

The alien yelled over a loudspeaker, “it was a traaaaaaaap—” which could be heard for several moments until it dissipated over the horizon or back to space. Wherever. Anywhere but here.

The flock looked to their Almighty Bear God, who spat at the dirt beneath him. “I am not doing that. Aliens exist. I get it. There is no way in hell that I am going to include them! Not now! Not ever! YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

[Beyond the world, above and far beyond, eyes peered in. The Maker sighed and rolled his eyes. He continued to construct, deconstruct, create, destroy, and pretty much do whatever the hell he damned well pleased. He typed out a note and folded it into a paper airplane. With a gentle breath, he sent the message to his recipient.

Out of the sky, there flew a brilliant piece of paper. One that defied all logic and reasoning. It was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. It landed in the Mighty Bear God’s paws. He unfolded it and read it to himself.]

“If I want aliens, I will fucking put aliens in. If I want you dead, I’ll make you dead. Remember. . .

You’re my bitch, bitch. Go fuck yourself.

With Love,

The Maker

The Mighty Bear God’s lips curled, and then a scowl came over his face. “What a cunt.”

[Soon after, another white piece of paper came floating down and then, with a great surge of speed, plowed into The Mighty Bear God, practically destroying the area.

On the unharmed, the pristine paper had the words scrawled: F-Bomb. I win. 🙂 ]

THE DIARY OF THE WASTELAND BEAR GOD IS AN ONGOING A.B.NORMAL PUBLISHING EXCLUSIVE STORY BY ROBERT J. S. T. MCCARTNEY. CHECK HERE FOR MORE

Author: Sincados

Writer, gamer, foodie, brew enthusiast, and awesome dad. Also likes to make explosions...but not in any particular order.

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