Subcultural Apocalypse!

BY Doug Hendrie

Then war broke out in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, which fought back with its angels; but the dragon was defeated. Then, a bit later, a beast came up out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads; on each of its horns there was a crown, and on each of its heads there was a name insulting to God.

And the beast spake and said, that last fight was not fair, for thou art omnipotent. And God knew it to be true, because God was omniscient and knew he could kick the beast’s arse with half his powers.

And, feeling a trifle bored by his eternal opponent, God declared that this time the battle would be via proxies of their choice, and that Satan would be entitled to conjure up subcultural humans to fight for him. And lo! There was an arena dusted in stars and the eternal battle between Good, Evil and Boredom begins once more.

First come the shock troops! Fundamentalist Christians wielding lethal injections and swinging Islamofascist babies by the hair, Thou Shalt Not Kill tattooed on their chests and eyes blazing a righteous pleasure. Then, their sworn enemies, slinking from the shadows, Pro-choicers and New Lefties silvering the air with curettes and polished biographies of Mao. I choose to do this, I believe I am left therefore right, they mutter, as the Fundamentalists, eyes turned to heaven, trust in God to guide their merciful injecting hand.

But God has become bored with their dogmatism, for God likes change as much as the next guy condemned to eternity, and permits his followers to impale themselves on gleaming metal and paper and prove their faith the hard way. Satan grins a toothy grin and puffs smoke. He savours his triumph for a moment, before whistling in his next performers.

The Rockers and the Bosozoku roar in on ridiculously oversized motorbikes, Japanese and Westerners united against the hideous Mods. The Mods putt-putt around the arena on scooters, looking sharp. Their suits clash with the Rockers’ leather jackets. The two groups toss each other evil glares. Girls are suitably impressed. They both win and get to pass on their genes.

And now, at half time, appearing like Cheshire cats, the Dadaists. Walking, pausing, giggling amidst the carnage; a doodle in fresh blood here, a delicate composition of severed limbs and asparagus there. The Hare Krishnas! A teetering line of orange-garbed cultists, throwing cheap vegetarian food to the four winds, offering peace in exchange for Om. Several Dadaists pause. The Krishnan line falters and dies. Someone throws a fish. An aged cauliflower returns fire. More fish. More elderly cauliflower. Sounds of mass suffocation arise. Satan grimaces at the scene. A draw, speaks God, amused. Is it art?

A few expatriates materialise unexpectedly and cast a disparaging look around. They utter a few trifling words. “Not quite Rome, is it?” “You’d think He would have better taste.” Irritated, God sentences them to death by tourism.

Then, after the combatants have availed themselves of refreshing orange slices, the gates open again and a shuffling horde of otaku freaks comes forth to face its sworn enemy, the LEET-talkin’ hackers. The armies move closer. Closer. Closer, until the geeks and otaku can see each other’s t-shirts, replete with pixel-pics of Unreal Girls with Giant Bosoms, the likes of which the jaded porn-monkeys have never seen before. A vast rustling and sighing sweeps the crowd, as the stench of unwashed crotches heralds furtive masturbation. God delivers a stern look. Suddenly, hair sprouts from their jiggling palms, and spreads, tickling the sinners to death.

The arena is abuzz – the titanic contest is closer than anticipated! And here! Look! Satan’s Goths! Facing – no! surely not! – their long-suffering parents. The two deities reflect in anticipation. Surely this will be a fight worth watching. Brandishing confiscated scalpel blades, the parents move as one. “This is for the five years of angst-wank you’ve put me through,” cries one, speaking for many. The Goths synchronise a flick of tousled hair across eyes, taking out black eyeliners and ostentatiously sharpening them. “You never understood me,” spits their leader, a beanpole of a blackened boy. His mother narrows her eyes across the divide. “There was nothing to understand, you banal fuck,” she screams. “Try childbirth for real suffering.”

But wait! Who are they in the darkness? Legions of Gothic Lolitas, fresh from Japan’s suburbs! They inch forward, peering through the dark, trying for a good view. One Goth falters. “Such… such fiendish beauty! Such suicidal grace! Such schoolgirl outfits!” he says wonderingly. The Lolitas creep forward and engulf the Goths. God cups his hand to his ear and captures a moment. “You… you understand me. You understand me and you’re sexy,” cries a Goth. The parents seize their moment and slice outstretched wrists. The Goths sink next to their partners, bleeding on black silk. Perfection.

The final showdown. A tense silence. Satan unleashes his Skinhead Neo-nazis. They skulk about like uncoordinated sharks, seeking the scent of Black/Jew/Non-White blood. Suspense builds. A vicious little scuffle explodes in the corner. The Skinheads home in, sensing blood, and kill one of their own.

Ah! God has called up his final subculture. How fitting. Streaming in, direct from LA and New Yawk, the roughest, toughest, danciest motherfucking Black Rappers the world has ever seen. The Skinheads coalesce. They form a Nazi swastika. God points out they’ve reversed the arms and it’s an ancient religious symbol again. The Skinheads kick Jesus because they were wrong and make a better cross. Then they pounce.

There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth and beating of heads against walls. Breakdancing destroys many bare scalps. Rap challenges humiliate others into self-immolation. The Skinheads are strong and numerous and unemployed. They aim their rage at a designated Black target. They thrill in battle, in defending Whiteness against Black Cock.

But! Ah! A secret weapon! The Rappers fall back and regroup, whipping out spray paint. In a second, the Skinheads are covered in black paint. They turn on each other. One of them has sex with his cousin before committing suicide in a bunker. The others tear each other apart and flee to Argentina. It’s glorious! God wins again. You love it! You watch it again and again and again. The End.