tick shit

goddamn motherfunkin’ shit-tick rolls a perfectly turned ebony marble of guinness shit around and fools some schmuck into believing it is a god. he crawls around on his knees offering up new nuggest of crapola for this uncaring and aloof god. the man’s wife captures him digging around in his own arse-crack and inquires as to what he thinks he is doing.
they find the wife a week later, head split open by a rolling pin, infested with blowfly – vast and swollen and purple (full of gas).
the walls are smeared in excreta that appears to be in different glyphs. less distinct stains that appear to be smegma are interspersed. this is the birth of a millennial cult.
psychiatrists rush to write papers on the phenomenon. philosophers theorise upon the mental rewind to an earlier state of being. and the lost and the hopeless, finding copious links on facebook and myspace, burrow down into the heart of the rotten apple, pruriently lapping it all up, until they become infected, start hallucinating their own dung beetle deities, executing their significant others, and redecorating their houses in socially unacceptable ways.