Meat the Messiah: s01e01 – Pilot
the road makes its own gravy. the sog of chew churns the juices through the masticated sludge. somehow the chief thrill is the swallow where the gut’s dark alchemy makes the gravy to smother the world.
hulk hogan stands on the shoulder, farming out his processes. hulk hogan is the perfect american. he is taller than his shadow. half-chubbed, he has a bible in his right hand with his left thumb outstretched.
the thumb, immaculate, moisturized by the eyeblood of his enemies, beams godlight in a column from the thumbnail to the heavens.
i, the devil, tried to tempt the hulk in the desert, offering him gay sex and communism, but he held fast. he drank muscle milk and came on some big american tits he moulded out of sand.
(the road’s gravy pipe plugs into the rio grande. fish swim upside down as they try to cross the border.)
a cadillac convertible pulls up. elvis is driving.
elvis: i’m headin’ to vegas, man. need a ride?
hulk: you know it brother!
the sun is a derringer pistol firing solar storms into the middle distance. radiation bathes the car and it has a green glow as it cruises through los alamos.
the desert feels like song and they sing viva las vegas. they stop at a bar. the sky is dark with black wings.
hulk: we can’t stop here. this is bat country.
elvis: don’t be a pussy, man.
a bat comes down and bites hulk hogan on his dick. hulk throws the bat on the ground and body slams it. elvis karate kicks it. the bat is no more but hulk bleeds from his dick.
elvis: i hear you can fuck better with a rabies dick, man.
hulk: i’ve had worse, brother!
the bar is a dive, all set up like christmas in august. it smells like smoke and beer and piss. they order two pints of kerosene and see lauren bacall behind the bar, or it looked like bacall, in her 40s.
elvis: say, mama, what’s your story?
bacall: growing up, everybody said i could be a star, but i got knocked up early and now this is what i do.
elvis: i didn’t mean it like…
bacall: it’s funny to think of now, the years i spent sucking off my dairy queen manager for raises. whatever little bit i had that wasn’t spoken for was spent on going to the movies. most girls at my age then had boys take them out to the movies. i had a husband and…
john wayne and lyndon johnson kick open the door of the bar. the door just falls the fuck over.
john wayne: i guess some big dicks swaggered into town.
johnson: ain’t gonna beat ol’ jumbo here.
john wayne: show us your dicks and we’ll show you ours.
i, the devil, watch this intently and start jacking off.
elvis (hard): you got it, man.
bacall: now, i don’t want any trouble.
hulk (also hard, but feeling the pain of the bite): show us your dicks, brother!
The four of them stand in a circle, the turgid dicks nearly touching heads.
john wayne (to bacall): Show us your tits so it’s not gay. $100 in it for you.
bacall: $500
johnson: deal.
lauren bacall takes off her shirt and preps the bar, cursing under her breath.
the four men crank their hogs at eachother. in a dick duel, you’re trying to cum last. elvis is out in two strokes, then john wayne cums next. then the former president. then me.
the hulk cums last and the jizz spills out the bite holes. he looks at his dick. it’s going black with necrosis.
***commercial break***
in this fastpaced digital world, two men sit in two lawnchairs on 2 lawns, the way god intended. each man has his secrets. they are old men, white, southern. they have hoods in their closets. we ask these men who has the better lawn. they each say they have the better lawn. one says, that’s horse shit, you have a brown spot right there. the other says, that’s cuz your cunt wife let’s your dog piss on the lawn. what did you say about my wife? she’s a cunt and she gives sloppy top. i’m going to end you. scotts brand turf builder! get the best lawn in the neighborhood!
***
elvis (drunk): let me tell ya, man, when i was born, my mama was so poor, she couldn’t afford to give me a name. so i got a job as a little newborn, workin’ in the coal mines, man. i went into those baby coal mines for months. my first words were ‘blasting caps’ and finally, after getting little baby black lung, i went down to the general store and bought the cheapest name they had: elvis. nobody wanted that dogshit name, but i made it cool, man.
hulk (also drunk): hell yeah, brother!
this sunset puts confidence in the market. it’s a sunset that hit its mark and knows its lines; a sunset with the same great taste you love.
at this moment jimmy olsen of the daily planet photographs this sunset to adorn postcards with the caption ‘you can have everything you want’ in big white letters.
elvis’s cadillac straddles two lanes in the dusk light, headlights off. they swerve all over like danger.
hulk: let’s grab some food, brother!
elvis: somethin’ fried.
they see a shining drive thru on a hill. a mcdonalds radiating light, like something holy, like heaven in the desert, polluting the view of stars. they ride up to the drive thru.
worker (nervous): good evening, would you like to try our deep fried divorce papers, or our honey dipped sadness log?
elvis: naw, man, i just want 2 #1’s… and what are you getting?
hulk: yeah i need 25 big macs to feed this muscle hammer! You got that brother? 25 big macs.
worker (nervous): so 2 #1’s and 25 big macs. that’ll be $271.93 at the first window.
they follow the big white arrows painted on the ground, pointing the way to big macs. good think the arrows are there or they might just drive off into the desert and never be seen again.
elvis: how’s your night going?
worker: well i haven’t slept in 20 hours because i work three jobs to help my ailing parents who…
hulk: woah there, brother. i don’t need your memoirs.
worker: that’ll be $271…
hulk takes off his wrestling championship belt and throws it the dude’s face. It knocks him over. when he recovers, his lip is bleeding a bit.
worker (warily): what am i supposed to do with this?
hulk: that’s solid gold, brother. you could easily make two grand at a pawn shop.
worker: i need cash money. my till can’t be off count or i lose this job.
hulk: you need a better job, like c-list celebrity.
elvis: or rock god.
worker: i need cash.
a shot rings out and the worker’s brains are splattered all over the wall. ronald mcdonald is holding a shotgun. he opens the cash register and stuffs it all in his clown suit.
hulk: does this mean we don’t get our big macs?
ronald: i’ve got your big macs if you’ve got a ride for me.
***commercial break***
in today’s fast paced digital world…
***
dawn is cotton candy at the rest stop near purgatory canyon. there’s a brick shithouse and a series of picnic tables. grass grows from the cracks in the asphalt, gone brown with thirst. past the rest stop is rocky desert as far as sight could reach.
elvis finds a crate of records in the trunk of the cadillac.
elvis (to ronald): lemme see that there pea shooter, man.
ronald mcdonald: i’m not giving you my gun, dude.
elvis: then i guess i’ll have to skeet shoot these records with my .45 instead.
ronald mcdonald: alright. that does sound fun. what records are we smashing?
elvis: now we’re talkin man.
hulk stands at the picnic table with 25 big macs. starting from the ground, he begins assembling all of those big macs into one ultra mac.
elvis: alright we’re gonna play keep or pull with these records. each of us gets three records per round. if we want to keep a record, say keep. if we want to shoot a record say pull.
ronald mcdonald: this is a good game.
elvis walks 25 yards into the desert, toward the snakes and lizards of pugatory. they have to yell over the distance.
elvis: insane clown posse!
ronald mcdonald: keep!
elvis: do you want to know which album?
ronald mcdonald: keep!
elvis: okay… the doors!
ronald mcdonald: pull!
elvis hurls the record into the air. the wind catches the record and it takes a hard right turn toward hulk hogan, whose big mac tower is still under construction. the ultra mac is 15 burgers high
hulk: hey watch it! i’m eating over here, brother!
elvis (to ronald): i don’t think this is going to work, with the wind and all, man!
ronald mcdonald: let’s go shoot wherever they make wind so we can put buckshot in jim morrison’s face.
bukowski: they make the wind in hollywood. i’ve seen it.
elvis: where did you come from, man?
bukowski: i was always here.
hulk hogan finishes building the ultra mac. it stands 3.5 feet tall. he gets on the picnic table and jumps off to body slam the ultra mac. it smashes down to a 4 inch tall burger, trembling with kinetic energy. hulk eats it in 2 bites. the burger explodes in his gut. it would’ve killed a lesser man.
bukowski holds a beer and is ready for anything.
credits roll.
***
Horror Sleaze Trash 
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