Moloch

moloch_dot_com @ 2003-10-15T21:17:00

2003-10-16T03:16:00Z

What the...? I last remember eating a Lotophagus child, then I passed out for one of your hu-man years. Fortunately, as an immortal, it's like a five minute nap to me. I feel totally refreshed.

So, I was eating out on the front porch the other day; a fresh batch of kids that I caught with my Gameboy-baited trap. Actually, I'd barely call it a trap. More of a box propped up with a stick attached to a string that I pull as the little boogers lunge for the Gameboy beneath. Y'know, a lot of truly stupid kids live in my neighborhood. Thank Lucifer all that TV makes 'em so slow-witted. It's a cardboard box too, they could easily bust out. Whenever I lift it up to retrieve them though, they usually wave me off and say, "Shhhh... I'm almost at Level Three." I let them finish beating the Level Boss before packign them off to my larders.

So, I'm on the porch, picking my teeth with a fingerbone, staring at nothing but the street. Then I see Loki coming up the sidewalk. He's hard to miss, all dressed in red and black and wearing those big, curving Viking horns. I like Loki fine, though the smell of herring is a little thick about him, and I can't help but snicker at his accent. He walks up to the house, all smiles, and he's carrying a bag that seems to be squirming. Good old Loki. He knows that the gift of infants will always make him welcome in my home.

"Hallo, Moe-lock!" he says in a Norwegian accent as thick as a fjord. "Would you like some chil-dren? I hink their names are Yack and Yill... What is so funny, I am asking you?"

My eyes are tearing up at "Yack and Yill." But I stifle the laughter and say, "Nothing, nothing, Lok. What's up with you?"

"Nothing, huh," he says, smiling, "I am thinking it is my accent you are with the laughing at, by yar. Why not give me mit a MOOOOO, eh bossy?"

"I guess I'm just being a yerk again, Lok." We chuckled, and he sat down beside me. Sticking a dagger into my feedbag he pulled it out and began gnawing what came out as if he were eating a taffy apple.

"It is a nice night, yes?" said Loki, choffing away.

"Nice enough," I said. At that moment, a spawn of Nyarlathotep ran by, chasing a rubber ball and leaving a trail of slime in its wake.

"Cthulhu moved in next door," I tell Loki.

"Oh, ya? I like him, He throws great parties. He's a fun guy," said Loki. "Yuk, yuk, yuk. Oh, you betcha, I am making with the jokes."

"I'll ignore that one, Loki." As a mishief maker, Loki can't resist telling a groaner once in a while. "But yeah, Cthulhu... He's all right. The Old ones aren't a bad bunch once you get to know 'em. Hard to have a conversation with the bigger ones. They operate on an entirely different time span. I asked Hastur how he was doing this morning. I figure i'll get his answer in about 20 years."

"They are not so old, you know?" Loki whispered.

"Do tell? I remember Yahweh never mentioned them for about 1 billion years after Creation. He said they were strutting showboats. 'Ask 'em to make life from nothing sometime. Piffle!' he said, 'Sure they can drive the average soft-brained human mad with one gaze, but I can't even talk to an earthling without blowing them to smithereens.' That's what he said. He also told me that he could kick Cthulhu's ass into a non-Pythagorean shape."

"Ah, Yahweh, such a showoff!" said Loki.

"Yeah," I replied, "But he's got the touch. I used to dominate everything on both sides of the Euphrates. Now I'm in a subdivision named after a fucking tree." I nibbled at my kids. "I don't hold it against him though. He beat me fair and square. Well, square, anyway. Damn, those Israelites did a number on my worshippers."

We were quiet for a while. Autumn leaves blew by, and the air was scented with Falldeath.

"Are you missing them?" asked Loki.

"Who? My worshippers?" I stroked my muzzle thoughtfully. "I never loved them; I'm evil after all. But I miss having them around."
I smiled. "Man, the virgins used to undulate all over my statues, and the children's screams sang like a castrated chorus in my belly's flames back in the day. Now I'm just... existing. Oh, every now and then I devour or grant a boon to some idiot teenager who summons me instead of Satan. That's nice, but it's not worship per se. So, yeah, I miss them."

"At least you were having the worshippers. I was never considered as butch as the Woden or the Thor. My worshippers, they are few, and moderns are thinking me a cheap version of Satan. Trickster god... Yar..." Loki's face curled into a snarl. "Damn ass Aesir would never do anything but rape, kill, or pillage without me around. All that is fun, ya, but is boring after the third millennium. So I am tricking them, hiding the hammers and fooling Woden into fucking Fenris Wolf. Then Baldir is promising peacefulness, and I am imagining how much still more boring it is. I kill him with missile toe, you betcha."

"Mistletoe," I said. "The arrow contained mistletoe."

"Missile toe. Mistletoe. I have my toe in his ass either way. Baldir is deader than coffin nails, ya," said Loki, grinning. He raised his hand and I gave him the high five. "Fucking peace hippie. Hel uses him for toilet paper now. Oh ya. Har!"

I laugh my bellowing bull laugh, and Loki and I clink our cans of malt liquor. Yeah, I miss my minions sometimes, but sometimes it's good to just shoot the shit with another evil god. Such is the life of a daemonic deity in semi-retirement.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-27T22:09:00

2002-08-28T04:06:03Z

Midnight, and I'm sweating like a third-circle imp feasting on habaneros from Satan's garden. I wake up in a fright, my bull's eyes wide and glowing with blue fire.

"It was just a dream," I tell myself. "He's not here. It's just a dream."

I force myself to believe it. What makes a demon's nightmares? Snips and snails and puppy-dog tails, or the lack thereof, blended into a vision of what my life would have been like if I hadn't run aground this planet amongst the Ammonites. We gods who do not make our own worshippers find our worshippers by mistake or chance. We find the disaffected chattel of some arbitrary wishgiver, longing for a better way, or at least an easier way. You wonder why some people worship evil beings? A black cess of a deity that eats your children and rapes your daughters in exchange for fertile crops and cool, clear running water in the desert looks 20 times better than a lawgiver who only steps from the clouds every millennia to deign to let you touch the hem of his robe and potentially walk again.

I watched after my own. I watched them, vaporizing with fetid breath and flamethrowing eyes any who dared to take them from me. I took my lumps from stronger gods too, but I knew that at heart we, my worshippers and I, were simpatico. I needed them, they needed me, a marriage forged in hell. A deal is a deal is a deal.

But it wasn't always such.

I found the fold in time in Hell's lower rim, where we punished the perverters of science and nature's law. Did you hu-mans think you were the only species fit for hell? Wicked Venusians, Antaraeans, and Centaurians writhe forever for crimes you don't possess the body parts to commit. I found a fold, a fold in time where a band of renegade Invicean engineers--who would most closely approximate Nazi rocket scientists, albeit from a more poisoned world--had gathered enough raw supplies to escape from hell to a cave on the shores of the Dead Sea by generating a rift between the dimensions. I let them escape out of respect for their initiative and craft, though they probably find eternal invisible undeadness only slightly more tolerable than eternity in Hell.

I also appreciated the respite. I entered your world, and there I found the Ammonites. Crops brown, illness pervading, people growing thinner with each passing day.

I knew something of cloud seeding; not all miracles are mystical hocus pocus. Firing charges from my ass-hole, I brought the rains. The crops returned, the people rejoiced, I made my pitch.

They hesitated only briefly. these were uglier times, you must understand. Nine fattened children for one was an acceptable equation beside 10 children lying dead. I fed: myself and them. We were happy. For their own peace of mind I made quick work of my sacraments. They thrived, then they became corrupt. I am a demon, after all.

Then came Yahweh, and I was done for back east. He was a little faster, a little smarter, a little nastier when it came time to be. How do you compete with that?

Now I sit in the dark of my bedroom, sweating, wondering if he'll find me again. He's not omnipresent, you know, he's just big. He moves slowly, but he moves with a crushing step. I wonder if I have enough dogs stationed outside, and if the gun beneath my pillow will be enough to take him out if he breaches my bedroom door. And what will he do to me if the hundred tons of fuckbomb beneath the house aren't enough to kill us both? We are gods, after all, we two.

I need a drink. The taste of the beer mixes with the toothpaste in my mouth's wet corners. It tastes like death. Bad death. God death.

I shudder again.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-12T18:10:00

2002-08-12T23:13:47Z

I have decided I am no longer a god of child sacrifice and fertility. I have decided I am, in fact, now a

LOVE GOD

. Lay your naked bodies before me, undulating with perverted sweaty hairy human passion. Await my potent charnel bulltool with open orifices and eye-rolling ecstasy, as I shtup you in a Hamilton Beach food processor powered hip-bucking bone-a-thon. For I am

MOLOCH

the

LOVE GOD

.

Please? Honey? Couldn't we do it just this once?u

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-08T16:32:00

2002-08-08T21:35:14Z

Moloch demands that you visit his avatar fatherdan at mrdankelly.com!!!

Pay no attention to the man behind Jane Curtin!

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-06T11:47:00

2002-08-06T17:47:16Z

We were having a party, we gods and demons of evil and death were. Held it at Set's house: all the hoity-toits of pure evil were there: Satan, Kali, Furau, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Baal, Tiamat, all the deadly sins, and the rest. A good time was had by all. The blood flowed like wine, and Loki's canapes were to die for.

Then one of those fucking mischief gods showed up; one who shall remain nameless.

Mischief gods are the nerds of the evil god set. Usually they have better sense than to show up at Set's parties, but this was one of the younger ones.

So, I was chatting up Hel on the sofa, flirting madly as we noshed on a bowl of infant hearts, when this mischief god comes up, wearing a too-revealing toga and drinking a Tab.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" he says.

We try to ignore him, but he plops down right between us.

"Hey, some party, eh? All us evil gods, hanging out, just being guys, right?" He grins a shit eating grin. "Boy, it's great to be evil, isn't it?"

Hel's not buying it. "Oh is it?," she says, "And what great works of evil have you done lately?"

The mischief god starts to giggle, "Hyick, hyick, hyick! Well, get a load of this. I found Hercules asleep in a drunken stupor, so I tied his sandals together! Wait till he wakes up. Wham! Oh, how deliciously evil, right guys?" He slapped both our knees.

"Shouldn't you be off short-sheeting Theseus or something?" I say, eyeballing him.

The mischief god stared at Hel, checks out her rack, then looked back at me, "Oh I get it," he says, winking. "Well, don't mind me, Molly. I know when I'm crimping another god's style."

I exchange a glance with Hel. She understands. "Will you excuse me a minute, darlin'. I've got to show my new buddy here something in the den." I grab mischief boy by the shoulder.

"Hey... Hey, I'm fine right here, Molly. You don't have to show me anything... C'mon, let me go." He writhes around in my grip like a kitten. I nod at Satan and Anubis who follow me into the den.

We sit him down, Satan and Anubis on either side. I turn a chair around, sit, and stare him in the eyes for five minutes until he shuts up. His laurel has slid down on one side, and I think he's sweated blood through his toga.

"We've got an agreement with Zeus that when one of his boys stumbles onto our turf, we just let him go with a warning. He does likewise."

Mischief god relaxes a bit and starts apologizing.

"Mischief gods--particularly those who fuck with his son Hercules--don't count."

The mischief god's eyes widen, then practically pop out as Anubis and Satan work on him with the bats. I get a few in myself with my fists. Too bad there aren't enough Louisville sluggers to go around.

In a half hour the mischief god looks like a pizza with everything. We wrap him up in a Hefty bag, tote him out to the backyard, and toss him into the dumpster. He'll be fine the next morning. Immortality is like that. But he won't be so pretty. Turning around, I see the Coyote god of the Native Americans trying to sneak in. One thing I hate more than a mischief god is a prankster god. He sees us then scampers off.

On my way back to the sofa, I pick up a cold one for Hel, who waits for me with the biggest smile I've ever seen. Heh.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-05T00:46:00

2002-08-05T05:44:25Z

BLARRRGGGGGHHHH! I AM MOLOCH!! WORSHIP MEEEEEE!!!!! SELL ME YOUR CHILDREN!!!!! SELL THEM TO ME!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!!

no fatties.
>

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-08-03T15:39:00

2002-08-03T20:34:32Z

Christians. Bah.

Time was all I had to worry about was Yahweh and the Hebrews swooping down on my minions to bust up my furnaces, decapitate my women, and force my men to circumcise themselves. That was okay, we did the same thing to them, except we'd tref their food and force them to re-circumcise themselves, which is much funnier than it sounds. It was a crosstown rivalry thing, like the Cubs and the White Sox. We had our fun.

Then the Christians came along. When the first wave showed up to "redeem" us, we played it the old way. We slaughtered them, expecting they'd do it to us before we did it to them. Good Lord, you never saw so many people so absolutely delighted to be run through with a sword, just so they'd get to heaven faster. Sick os.

The next batch came, and this time we thought we'd play it as it goes. Bad move. Half of my followers fell for it. I mean, I know I'm eating their kids and all, but shit, Moloch provided some of the best temple whore nookie in the Middle East. Cl ean girls and boys, you know? These Christians offered some vague promise of eternal paradise, but only if you didn't enjoy yourself HERE. Man, I paid my followers upfront. Plentiful crops, parties, whores, more whores, and even more whores on top of that.

So, I buttonhole one of these Christians. He tries to rebuke me, but I just sigh, poke him in the chest, and say, "What's the deal, chum? Who's this Jesus and why does he want a piece of my action?" He babbles something about eternal life in his Fat her's kingdom. "Is this Yahweh we're talking about?" I say, "This 'Father?' Buddy, I've been butting heads with Yahweh for years, and let me say, he's a right picky bastard."

He tells me it's not true. This Jesus' god is the same Father, and he is a G od of forgiveness who loves all his children. I just about wet myself laughing at that one.

"Yahweh? This is YAHWEH we're talking about?" I started crying with laughter, black tears rolling down my bull's head. "Yahweh, that mean SOB who ordered his followers to butcher the Midianite male children and nonvirgin women? Boy, I respected that, but that was a lot of good meat gone to waste. Buddy, he won't let you near him without taking off your shoes first. I'm not sure he'd let a pissant like you wipe his dog's ass."

The Christian coughed and said he hadn't read up on that part of the Bible. Of course, they didn't call it the Bible then. it was the Torah and a lot of separate texts written by some cranky guy named Paul. Boy, I could have used him i n my business.

"Look, kid," I tell him. "You've got a good thing going here. Obviously, some people want it. But you can't assume everyone else is going to fall into line. That'll just make you crazy. It might make you all crazy in due time, and unwil ling to see any other side but your own. Ever hear of the Chinese or Indians?"

He had, but only through stories told by traders.

Those folks haven't heard of your Jesus or Yahweh or any of that for thousands of years. Now, you're telling me that all those people, the good and the bad, are all writhing in Sheol right now? How fair is that?"

"Well, Jesus said so, so I know it's true. Can i leave some tracts with you?" he smiled a dead-eyed smile.

I think that's called an unassailable assertion. I must admit, I've done plenty of evil in my time, but this sent chills up my back. It was brilliant, really. You could justify anything. ANYTHING that way.

I left the Christian behind. Walking away, I thought, "Ah, it's just a fad. It'll pass."

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-28T12:58:00

2002-07-28T18:09:07Z

I'm standing in the McDonald's, looking longingly at the kids in the Playland, jumping about in the moon walk, sliding down the slides, and crawling through the human Habitrail tubes.

"Sir?" a voice says behind me.

I'm lost in my reverie, concentrating on a little porker on the monkey bars. Boy, he'd go well with some A1 Sauce.

"Sir? I'm going to have to ask you to leave." I turn. it's a 22-year-old assistant manager, broken out like a pineapple and with a voice not full masculine.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything here. What's the problem?"

"Sir, it's your bull's head, and the way you're standing at the entrance to Playland with a net. it's disturbing the parents and not a few of the children."

"It's a free country," I say.

"Not in McDonald's it isn't sir. Now will you kindly exit the restaurant?" says the ass manager

"Look, kid," I say, laying a claw on his shoulder, "I'm not causing any problems. Now why don't you go back to the kitchen and scrape some of the Mazola covering your face into the deep fryer?"

He gulps. Sweat beads acorss his forehead, creating pretty rainbow hues as it mixes with his human grease. He might have been tasty himself once. Now he just looks like a fish stick to me.

"Security!" the kid screams.

Ah geez.

A 6'6 Isaac Hayes clone walks over, tonfa stick and pepper spray at the ready.

"Sir, I must ask you to leave the premises immediately," he starts fingering the trigger of the spray like it's his wife's nipple.

"You can't do this," I say, "I'm a customer."

"Sir, I have not see you approach the counter at any time today. Now you're gonna have to buy something, sit down, and eat, or I'm gonna have to eject you." he's hungry to do it. I can tell. And despite being a demon-god, he looks as if he could do even me some damage. The guy's just doing his job. I understand.

"Okay," I say to the ass manager, "I'm ready to order."

He listens, trained to respond to customers with ass-bearing fealty.

"Him," I say, pointing out a chunky little monkey, frolicking in the ball pit. "Serve him up."

Ass manager and guard grin evilly at me, then open their shirts to reveal the Elder Sign interlocked with the Golden Arches, branded into their flesh.

"Do you want to supersize that, sire?" says the ass manager.

I smile, revealing all my fangs.

"Why not?" I say, "Why not indeed?"

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-22T18:38:00

2002-07-22T23:36:48Z

Boy, could those Ammonites make a graven image of me or what?

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-22T12:08:00

2002-07-22T18:14:15Z

So, once again I'm sitting at home watching the tube, because I just spent most of the morning making fertile the fields of Ur and Babylon in exchange for a schoolbus (or as I like to call them, snackpacks). Once again, there's a knock at the door. I'm expecting Anubis to come over for a game of Risk (same as human Risk, except we use real armies), so I get up and answer it. There I'm met by Odin, with his snotnosed son Thor in tow.

"Did you yell at my kid?" Odin says.

I look at Odin, then I look at Thor, who's got half the top of his hammer in his mouth, drool trickling out on either side of his pie-hole. He doesn't look the way they portray him in Marvel comics. Nah, he's wearing a fur diaper, a helmet, and has seven days growth on his face, which is damn impressive for a five-year-old.

"How the fuck should I know?" I say, "He looks like every other god kid, except maybe for that horned helmet. A batch of the little bastards were tearing up my rose garden earlier and I told them to get the fuck out. Is that what you're talking about?"

"I don't give shit one about your roses, prettyboy. My kid told me you yelled at him, and nobody yells at my kid but me."

"Daddy, our dog...hims got brown hair," babbles Thor.

"Shaddup you little prick!," he yells, then he pimpslaps him one. Thor rolls with it like it was a good night kiss, still sucking on his hammer. Them Asgard kids are tough little shits, I'll give them that.

"So, what you going to do about it, you short-eyed cow-headed fuck?" he asks.

It's a shakedown, I recognize that. Before he has a chance to say, anything else, I ball up a claw and suckerpunch him in his one good eye. He makes a sound like a dog that's been kicked, which inspires me to sweep the leg and ram my heel into his floating ribs. Luckily I was wearing my boots. It's hard to kick someone properly from this position when you've only got hooves.

"Listen you fucking Norwegian, if you and that little bastard don't haul ass off my property, I'm going to get The Chairman and ten of his .44 caliber friends." Odin kicks blindly, trying to crawl away from me. Meanwhile, Thor is screaming "Daddy daddy daddy!" I fix a gimlet eye on him and he shuts up toot-sweet. By the time they hit the sidewalk, I've already slammed the door, gone to the kitchen, and opened another beer. The good imported stuff. The doorbell rings, and I've already grabbed and loaded The Chairman before I've thrown open the door. There's Anubis, holding a six of Mickey's big mouths, laughing hard enough to shit himself. He says he's just seen Odin being led back home by Thor, passed out on the back of Sleipner, his eight-legged steed. I can't help but grin.

Punk-ass new gods.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-21T15:20:00

2002-07-21T20:45:39Z

Okay, so I'm sitting at home, trying to watch the game, when there's a knock on the door. My friends know better than to bother me during a match, so I figure it's some door-to-door salesman. I ignore the knocking, but then it occurs to me that it might in fact be a Bible salesman. Still annoying, but I love smiting the hell out of those bastards, especially when they try to defend themselves with a one of those wuss-wuss new age "Good News" Bibles or the ones rewritten in modern lingo for teens ("Then Christ said, 'Hey, Peter, chill, dude. I am the most righteous Son of G.'"). Puny humans, it takes a Latin Vulgate or Torah scroll to make a nick in my hide.

So, I get up and answer the door, and it's my next-door neighbor. Seems he's having some trouble with his lawn. Lots of dry spots and creeping bent. Short form, he tells me he seeks my help in summoning the cleansing rains and several applications of pesticides and fertilizer over the course of the summer, keeping his lawn lush and green. I'm barely listening, of course, trying to hear the announcer. The crowd went wild at one point, and I knew I'd missed a goal. Seething, I'm ready to smite the jerk right there and then. Then I notice he's accompanied by his 13-year-old daughter, who's scented in sandalwood and wreathed in robes and sacred ivy. Old story. She in exchange for a perfect lawn.

I looked her up and down. A little too much make-up, but a nice-looking kid. Lean, but not skinny. Sure, sure, I tell him, listening to the game and trying to see the TV from the doorway. "Nice lawn, eat daughter, yeah. Okay, just leave her. G'bye." I pulled her inside and left the idiot grinning as the door slammed in his face.

"You want a beer? The game's on. You like soccer?" I ask her.

"Sure, whatever," she says, with that Gen X attitude, and even though she was made to look like a Sumerian princess--flowing gauzy robes and the rest--she plops down onto the couch like a common street urchin, in MY couch dent. Fucking kids have no respect for their Elder Gods. She sits down with me and starts watching the game, taking sips of beer and sucking on her teeth.

"Okay, at the commercial I'm going to eat you. For now, shut up and watch, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever."

It bugged me. Once upon a time, a kid would literally turn to stone before my gaze. Now they're all desensitized by videogames and drugs. Geez.

So, we're watching the game, and then I start to smell something not quite right. Blood. I smell my fingers, claws, and pits, but it's not me, surprisingly. Then I realize it's coming from her. I start smelling her and she gives me a "what the fuck" look. Then it hit me. Pissed, I grabbed her hand and dragged her over to her father's house. I banged on his door, almost knocking it down. He answers, "color me confused" written all over his face.

"She's menstruating, you fucking fuck!" I bellow.

He shrugs, not sure what I mean.

"She's not a kid, dumbshit. She just started puberty on my fucking couch. She's useless to me. I am Moloch, besmeared in parents' tears and childrens' blood, etc., and I don't fucking eat teenagers!!!"

Naturally, he started supplicating and grovelling before me. Meanwhile, his daughter goes back inside and starts playing Gameboy. Jesus, kids. I'm potentially about to blight her family line and she fucking plays Gameboy.

Well, I kick her father in the head, then tell him that if I didn't have money riding on the game, I'd use his ribs for toothpicks. Instead, I drop trou and piss my dread elder sign onto his front lawn, followed by a "FUCK YOU!" in ten-foot letters. He can resod till Doomsday and he ain't NEVER going to get those marks out. Asshole.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-21T10:00:00

2002-07-21T15:14:28Z

"Then did Solomon build an high place for Chemosh, the abomination of Moab, in the hill that is before Jerusalem, and for Moloch, the abomination of the children of Ammon." (1 Kings 11:7)

Boy. that Solomon was a sweet guy. I appreciated that high place, I really did. It made it easier to eat kids, which, believe me, requires a very high place indeed. See, if it's a low place, they can get away easily. "Come back here!" I'd yell at the kids, and they'd just laugh, climb out of the low place, then run away--usually with one of my lawn gnomes. The high place was much better, and it was set up a lot like a dentist's office. The kids would wait patiently for their turn--or at least pretend to--then they'd grab a toy from the play area or steal a copy of Highlights magazine, and try to bolt. Ha ha ha! Imagine their surprise when they reached the edge and discovered they were 1,000 feet up. Sometimes I'd wet myself with hellish pee as they dashed about, trying to find a way off. The high place pretty much looked like a 1,000 foot statue of yours truly, and they usually came out on a platform created by my lower lip (or my left nostril if they took the stairs). So, here's all these stupid kids, running around my lip looking for the escalator. Then--and I loved this part--I'd possess the statue, toss my head back, and chew 'em up like Raisinets. Good times, good times.

moloch_dot_com @ 2002-07-20T18:31:00

2002-07-20T23:33:03Z

Yea, I am Moloch, consumer of children, and I have a question for all you so-called gods. What is the problem with consuming children anyway? There are certainly enough of them, and wherever you go there's some kid nattering at his mother to buy him the latest Power Ranger figure or whatnot. If you ask me, some children are begging to be consumed. Well, I'm back, and my belly is ready to start busting out with kid burgers. C'mon, moms and dads. Aren't they getting on your nerves even a little bit? Obey me! Fill my fiery furnace with the little bastards and I will grant you money, power, and the dirtiest orgies east of Ur.

Don't be pussies. Feed me! Now! I am MOLOCH!!! Besmeared in childrens' blood and parents' tears. Grrrrr! Arrrggggh! Slurp!