Jack Hardcock: The Wrath of God (Part II)

Jack stepped outside to take a piss. He held his dick in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Dear God…please take away this burden, he thought to himself.

When he was done, Jack zipped up, dropped the bottle to the ground and stumbled back into his trailer. He fell then vomited all over himself as he took the first step.

His brother rushed up to his side to help him up. “What happened to you, Jack?” he asked, “I was afraid that the devil would get you when you went to California.”

“Layla,” Jack kept mumbling.

Three of Jack’s plain wives helped him over to the couch and cleaned him off. His brother was afraid. He had never seen Jack so disheveled…so unkempt.

“The Mormons,” Jack kept mumbling, “The Mormons are helping me see the light.”

“But Jack,” his brother said, “you’re a drunk, you basically run a harem out of your dilapidated trailer in the middle of the desert, and Joseph Smith was a spawn of Satan.”

“You don’t get it Peter!” Jack retorted

“Peter? I’m your brother: John! Johnson Hardcock! Who is Peter?”

“Oh shit!” Jack realized, “I’m so sorry John! I can’t stop thinking about Peter Tucker!”


One of the many wives walked up to deliver a glass of water to Jack. “He’s been calling everyone ‘Peter’ these days,” she explained.

“Uh huh,” John said, then pressed forward. “Jack, what are we going to do about dad?” he asked, “we can’t just let the cartel kill him!”

Jack let out a massive fart. “I think I shit myself,” he said.

“Focus!” John snapped, “The cartel wants $2 million in cash and I just don’t have that money!”

Jack sat up, uncapped a bottle of Jim Beam, and started chugging. He then loaded the .38 and began slurring out his words. “I’ve got a plan,” he said, “since Biden won’t build the wall, I’m gonna saw off Mexico from America.”

John threw up his hands. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” he said. He stood up and looked out the window to the vast, shitty Utah landscape. “It’s been 2000 years since Jesus walked this earth,” John continued, “I just know in my heart that He’ll be returning at any moment. There’s no way that millions of people have been wrong about this. I know that I haven’t totally wasted my life believing in nonsense.”

Jack began to sober up. “I know what you mean, brother,” he said, “I too have felt that He’ll be coming soon. He’ll be coming hard, coming fast, and coming all over. And this time, there will be no kind words. He’ll be coming with a sword to vanquish His enemies. And I am that sword.”

John turned to face his brother. “How do you know this?” he asked.

“I don’t take this burden lightly,” Jack said, “Sometimes I feel like Jesus on the cross; sometimes I feel forsaken by God. It’s a responsibility I would wish on no man. But I am the chosen one; chosen to deliver God’s wrath. That is my duty and I will fulfill it.”

“Then you must find our father before it’s too late,” John replied.


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