Sonic opens the fridge.
He's about to make some bad sandwich decisions with some old ham that's been there for way too long when the phone rings. RING RING RING the phone rings.
"SAWNICK!" screeches the voice in the phone.
"Ugh, Amy. What is it?"
"SAWNICK," screeches the voice. "DID YOU EAT THE HAM."
"NOT YET NO THANKS TO YOU YOU BELLOWING PINK RODENT," Sonic says, no sez, no says.
"Hey now. No need to be racist. You're a hedgehog too."
"No."
Amy rolls her eyes, but Sonic can't see this, see, because she's way out in Florryda on a business trip. As a professional hooker, she's made it high on the echelons of success. She's the only pink hedgehog her age that will do the kinds of things she does with a big hammer - things you wouldn't dream of. Things you wouldn't want to dream of. Things you can't. Dream. Of. And that is big.
"How's business on your side?" she asks in a tone of voice highly suggestive of anticipated disappointment.
"Motherfucking great," he sez. I mean, says.
Whereas Amy enjoyed the most titillating successes as a hooker, Sonic's luck was not nearly as auspicious.
"Satan's blueberries are goddamn everywhere," he continues, "and Charlie keeps rushing the front lines even with his throat cut. We had to use his GUTS for AMMUNITION, AMY."
"Jesus Christ, Sonic, have you been drinking the mouth wash again? You know you're not supposed to swallow that stuff."
"Yes. I mean, fuck no!"
There is a pause as Amy once again rolls her eyes. Once again, Sonic can't see this.
"You won't get any fucking clients this way, idiot. Nobody wants a goddamn junkie pathetic enough to resort to sink hooch."
"What'd you just call the Listerine!?" Sonic bellows. "Give some fuckin' respect! It's damn quality mouth wash."
"I really don't get it, Sonic, you're old enough to buy alcohol. Why don't you drink alcohol like a normal person."
"AND LET THE GOVERNMENT STIFF ME ON THEIR BULLSHIT SIN TAXES? Eat a dick, Amy. Eat plenty of dicks. Enough dicks to suffocate an elephant."
"I already have, sweetie, that's why I'm vastly more successful in our line of work. Also I don't drink FUCKING MOUTH WASH."
"Oh yeah? And where'd the 5 litres of Purell in the house go, huh? Seemed like there was a 5-litre jug of hand sanitizer in the sink cabinet until, oh, the day before some pink rodent went off to some place called Florryda!" The sneer in his voice hits Amy right where it hurts.
"Sonic, do you know how much germs are in semen? You don't, do ya. You drink mouth wash, you never wash your goddamn hands, and I've heard you give handjobs like a chimpanzee. Like you don't even know what it is. You're not peeling a goddamn banana."
"This ham sure tastes kinda nasty," Sonic sez as a large belch erupts from his throat.
"Be sure to eat all the ham," Amy says, nodding factually even though Sonic can't see it. "Every last drop of ham. It's important, for science."
At the very moment, said drops of ham are dribbling down the side of Sonic's mouth.
"Say, Amy. Last time I checked, ham was a solid."
"That's a lie perpetuated by the liberal media."
"Fucking liberals!" Sonic takes a good swig of mouth wash, to wash the drops of ham from his mouth. "I'm lookin' forward to that wall, you know, the one they were gonna build to keep out all the smelly dogs."
"Dogs piss me off. I charge them double because they smell bad and they're rapists."
"Fucking dogs, man. And echidnas too!"
There's a moment of silence. "Wasn't Knuckles an echidna?" Amy sez all of a sudden.
"Dumb, big knuckled rapists if you ask me. The fisting is terrorism. Never trust a stinky island dweller."
"But Knuckles tips double, if I let him fist me. He's a good client, Sonic! You have to respect the clients in this business if you want to get anywhere! Like I say, Sonic, clients first."
"Sometimes when you're gone, I feed Tails pills and have sex with him and pretend he's you."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Ah. Anton LaVey is here. I think I have to go."
"EXCUUUUUUUSE ME, SAWNICK?"
Sonic doesn't hear the last syllable of that phrase, the "NICK" of that drawn-out, high-pitched "SAWNICK" that blasts through the telephone line only to meet a hung-up receiver. Actually, a receiver being bashed repeatedly against the counter-top until it breaks in at least nine to eleven pieces.
"Hey babe," Sonic sez. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Did you get rid of the bitch?" Anton LaVey asks seductively, tracing his nipple with his pinky in the bathroom door, clad only in Amy's lacy pink panties and short, undone bathrobe. "I've got some more hand sanitizer," he says, pouring it into a hollowed out light bulb and striking a green plastic lighter under it.
"No, baby Laby. It's the mouthwash I ordered, honey."
"Mouth wash is for pussies. Try this hand sanitizer - you won't be disappointed."
"All right, baby," sez Sonic as he downs the bubbling hand sanitizer out of the hollowed out light bulb just freshly warmed by the fire of a plastic lighter. "Say. This shit is pretty damn good."
"Only $911 a shot, babe," baby Laby coos. "Paid in cash or cheque. Or dark sexual favors."
Sonic finds himself inside of Satan's butthole. He's not sure how he got there, where Anton went, or how exactly he immediately knew it was Satan's butthole. Perhaps it was the smell - kind of like a decaying donkey stuffed full of old nachos. Only, more sinister...
"MAKE AMURICA GREAT AGAIN!" bellows a voice not too far from him, within the inside of Anton LaVey's butthole inside Satan's butthole. He notices now, what was not there before, his mister mistress stretching his sphincter agape to the size of a silver-plated saucer. Two glowing yellow eyes peer from the darkness within the puckered sphincter, beckoning his presence closer.
"D-Donald Trump? I-is that you?"
"Grab 'em by the pussies, I tell ya."
"Donald Trump! That IS you!" Sonic exclaims excitedly. "I'm your BIGGEST FAN!"
But it's not Donald Trump. It's Dr. Robotnik in a Donald Trump suit, bad wig and all. Sonic doesn't notice the difference.
"Yes, my child. Come hither and suckle the spoiled milk from my flabby teat of manliness," he says, unbuttoning his Donald Trump suit shirt and Donald Trump jacket and sliding his Donald Trump tie out of the way for easy access.
"Oh yes I will suckle the spoiled milk from your flabby teat of manliness!" Sonic says as his dick goes really, really hard.
As his mouth closes over Dr. Robotnick's Donald Trump tit, Dr. Robotnick's Donald Trump dick ejaculates a hot steamy jet of diarrhea.
"FUCK! I plugged in the wrong holes!"
"Capitalism is great!" Sonic exclaims, licking his own semen concoction, sour milk and hot stinky diarrhea from his lips and cheeks. "I never want this to be over!"
"It'll never be over my child! Not as long as we MAKE AMURICA GREAT AGA-" Dr. Robotnik's Donald Trump watch alarm begins beeping and he looks at it quizzically before zipping up. "Uh, sorry to cut this short, but I'm afraid capitalism is over for now."
"Wait!"
"Goodbye!" Dr. Donald Robotnik Trump says, fading away into thin air.
Sonic desperately squeezes his face inside of Anton LaVey's puckering and quivering anus in order to chase the Donald Trump dragon that was never there.
"So is this the meaning of life?" ponders Sir Richard Dawkins.
"Shut up, faggot," Anton LaVey says as he encircles the rim of Sonic's anus with his fingers stuck up his own rectum to reach it. "Mmm, vore is good."
"That's no way to speak to your pimp, ho," Richard Dawkins says. "I'll be expecting a freebie."
Anton LaVey sighs, still fingering his own asshole as he gets on his knees and kisses the tip of Richard Dawkin's powerful two inch Little Richard.(A/N: that's what Richard Dawkins calls his penis because Richard is another name for Dick and Dawkins is another name for faggot.)
Meanwhile, Amy waits in the Florryda hotel room. Her next victim is an important one, a very important one indeed. Between her legs is the deadliest weapon yet unknown to mankind and mostly unknown to mobiankind. A killer virus, hiding in the mucosa of her plump fleshy snatch, a bioweapon carefully engineered to cleanse both Amurica and Mobius of its unworthy kind.
"Sorry S-J-W's," she snickers under her breath. "My V-A-G is a W-M-D."
The hotel doors open wide, and in staggers none other than Hillary Clitnon.
"Hey babe," Amy coos.
"Hey yourself," Hilary winks through her disguise. Her forked tongue flicking out between her degenerate smile. "I heard you do obscene and unnatural things with a mallet."
"I prefer to call it a hammer," she says, laying back on the bed. Gyrating her hips seductively. "Get out of that awful human suit and get over here, Lizard Lady."
Hillary Clitnon crawls on the bed, forked tongue vibrating towards Amy's wanton, throbbing cooze.
Donald Trump smiles. The real Donald Trump. The one watching from inside the pink hedgehog's cavernous extremities, wearing a top of the line government issued biohazard suit.
His plan is coming together flawlessly.
"To kill the snake, you gotta cut off the head. And to get a woman, you gotta grab 'em by the pussy." This, Donald Trump says to himself as his face contorts into a disgusting, complacent smile. His signature expression, second only to the wrinkled pig face.
"Are you ready?" Amy asks with full confidence. If this worked out, she'd get paid a hell fucking lot.
"I was born in an alternate and less dense dimension ready," Hillary says, blushing.
Amy grabs her hammer, spreading her legs as wide as she can, and smacks the gooey reptilian overlord monster head first into her gaping vaginal entry.
"Oh no, honey."
"That won't do, now won't it?"
These phrases emanate from the second and third head, respectively, which have newly sprouted atop the gooey reptilian overlord monster's broken neck.
"I'll tell you what will and won't do, you creep!" Donald's voice echoes throughout the wideness of the cave. He's pointing at her, accusing.
"Trump! What are you doing here?! How did you see through my disguise?!"
"Am I done?" Amy asks in the direction of her hole. "My vagina kind of hurts now, y'know. You sure take up a lot of room."
"I've been waiting a long time to say this, Hillary," Donald Trump says triumphantly. "Hillary! You're fired!"
As if on cue, Hillary Clitnon's scales begin to rupture and melt off her lower-density bones. No amount of blood rituals in either the world or underworld could save her.
Donald Trump laughs, as the skin begins to peel off of his face below the top-of-the-line-government-issued biohazard suit.
"Are we fucking done already?" Amy groans. "If you wanna stay in any longer, I'm gonna have to charge extra."
But there was no response from the depths of her compromised womanhood. The two politicians melted away in obscurity, so deep within the rotten flesh-crevice that they were never to be seen or discovered again.
Amy gets her paychecque. She sees this, because the bank app downloaded on her sparkling new iPhone 7 plus in her hand has just flashed in a pretty rainbowy color. The amount is enough to feed her and Sonic for the next two weeks. Excitedly, she runs out of the hotel room stark naked, drops of black liquified politician dribbling down her juicy pink pussy lips like ham.
"Oh Laby baby!" Satan coos gently into Anton LaVey's hair as he works the mud out of Richard Dawkins's crankshaft, all this within the great gaping rectum of Satan himself.
See, Satan is infinite.
God is infinite, but Satan as well.
While Satan coos into Anton Lavey's hair while working the mud out of Richard Dawkin's crankshaft, God is having a beer. God decides he's getting too old for this shit. So he packs up all his bags, and leaves. Just as God's spirit once hovered over the waters, thus darkness returns to the surface of the deep.
Sonic drools, staring off into space like a zombie, seemingly not noticing any of this happening. Mostly because he's on his couch, after ingesting extremely toxic doses of hand sanitizer, and none of this really is happening. His nipples and belly covered in regurgitated hamfluids.
But none of this matters. Because in exactly nine hundred and eleven minutes, all of humanity and all of mobianity will cease to exist, along with the remainder of the universe.
See, as Amy deposits her tight little ass atop the first class seat of the airplane, sighing contentedly while looking out the window as the world gets smaller and smaller beneath, she's oblivious to something occurring. A glob of heinous black goo has plopped into the seat of her underwear, sizzling and melting its way through the seat under her ass, the floorboard beneath her, the cargo hold, and eventually the thick, rich steel of the bottom of the plane, raining plague and horrendous murder across the Amurican-Mobian skyline.
Amy's goo is powerful indeed, too powerful to say. Too powerful for both the universe and mortal comprehension.
Everyone dies.
The end.
bp&m
backpack bootswiper map - 2016