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John deGroot

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The Un-Holy Tribul
by John deGroot   
Books by John deGroot
· Do You
· Nothing Better to do Than COP    >> View all

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Kindle Edition
Amazon

Category:  Literary Fiction
Publisher: Amazon

ISBN-10:  1505504767

Type: Fiction

Pages: 92

Copyright: 
Dec. 13, 2014
ISBN-13: 9781505504767


You said they stopped writing the bible? Who/what can He be now?

The UN-HOLY TRIBUL

John deGroot Version (one true version)

The Future Testament of Prophesy


The first book of John, called Nemesis

At the End, as the BIBLE grants reward to the deserving folks with their right to the tree of life and right of the book of life and grants to those without this right of the tree of life to be written out of the book of life, I am writing these DOGS from the book of life with John, the mighty bad. As for the blessed: the grace of God be with them and they have no need to read the TRIBUL and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen. The TRIBUL is the unholy word of John that is the future condemnation of John for the liars, pimps and sluts, murderers, and idolaters of the black magicians’ technological, financial, industrial, entertainment, and the generally hedonistic worlds. And it, condemnation from the mighty bad John, will come to pass in the unfolding of these stinking wretched pages.


Excerpt

The UN-HOLY TRIBUL

John deGroot Version (one true version)

The Future Testament of Prophesy


The first book of John, called Nemesis

At the End, as the BIBLE grants reward to the deserving folks with their right to the tree of life and right of the book of life and grants to those without this right of the tree of life to be written out of the book of life, I am writing these DOGS from the book of life with John, the mighty bad. As for the blessed: the grace of God be with them and they have no need to read the TRIBUL and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen. The TRIBUL is the unholy word of John that is the future condemnation of John for the liars, pimps and sluts, murderers, and idolaters of the black magicians’ technological, financial, industrial, entertainment, and the generally hedonistic worlds. And it, condemnation from the mighty bad John, will come to pass in the unfolding of these stinking wretched pages.
At the end of now John created the pissed-off-ness that pisses-off those of the world and the underworld. Some of these pissed-offers call themselves the good and some of these pissed-offers call themselves the I’m bad and they are all ugly in the comparison to the unholy John. And the electricity flows across the appliances of utility and amusement of every day consumer.
John says let there be bringing of false warranty for the purchases of the prosperous buyers and sellers. Now there are many line-ups of the dissatisfied at the Walmart alters. And John is pleased. The parked cars of the lot of parking do not start so the feet of the refunding sojourners, that are unaccustomed to treading the concrete paradise, become swollen as the glans of the sell-a-butTt. The tears of the cheated bespoil the facial make-up of the many with only the replacement of foul slime. The children of the whine of shopping mall fear for the scoff of their fellow classmates for the inadequacies of the self-gifts.
The agony of disgruntled shoppers is seen by John and He has mercy on these goodies grabbers to no avail. John provides a benevolent libation of beer for the un-satisfied; but they, being of higher mindedness than John, want to convict and fine; they only drink the foul waters of bottled. And John says Let us slug beer and party hardy but the spenders say, what no DOM, no Drambuie and Pinch, no Crown Royal, no Canada Dry; so they heed Him not and limp away to search for sympathetic refund-givers at the temple of Walmart and they search for un-needed items that may out-live the time of false warranty. This is an improbable and futile quest for the non-beer-drinking-finger-pointers-of-disgust-for-John; meanwhile, John is happily staggering and beer-burping with reverence for the foaming beer Vat.
There remains a few still functioning electronics and appliances of entertainment and labor-saving and the multitudes of users and networks of informed users gather in heaps of sexual HORN-y-ness while forsaking the freedoom of beer as gifted by John, the mighty bad. The level of their mesmerization of flash is saddening for the John of the garden and John decides to admonish and punish these trendy hypnotics with His increasing the swiftness of the terms and times of fashion thereby causing immediate un-coolness for all. And they disperse from their places of partaking for fear that others will notice the sudden plain style of out-of-style. Each hides in solitude and shame but they cling to their hopes for future progress and improvement in all the realms of purchases.
At the end of the great parking lot is a large void of wasted land of fertile soil and this place is avoided by the non-manual-labor-shoppers. It is here that John creates a garden of unpacked, unwrapped, unbottled, unfrozen, unprocessed plants. And they know not what grows here. It is here that John domesticates animals and fish and birds that are unground, unmarinated, undyed, undried, unpackaged and uncanned, unrotisserried, non-dellie, non kosher. And they fear these animals as being smelly, dirty, and cute non-pets. John, the mighty bad unHoly, lined the perimeter of expansion between the lot of Walmart parking and the boundary, attached there-to, of the garden of unwanted fertile soil that requires the labor of manual (who is not the president of Mexico) and garden of domesticated creatures with eternal burning Xmas trees. These impassable flames die-rect the welcomed shoppers to enter the Garden of John through the one and only entrance arch above which a sign reads Free. The shopping multitudes of wise (now) unfashionable browsers that are ashamed of their plain-al-ity say no cover charge, no line up, free, this can not be good to enter. And they do not tread therein the lushness of flora and fauna of unHoly mighty bad John. John luxuriates in his solitude and solace of His place. The mall wanderers singularly tramp the concrete with moRnful slapping of their slow lazy soles of unstylish shoes in protest to their poor warrantied purchases. The dejected buyers and sellers of bum items are consumed with the worry of how will we survive the imposed poverty of new possessions. And then there is the mounting mountain of bogus credit card charges and sir-charges, and phony late fee charges and excessive over-limit charges, and contrived handling and shipping charges that John mighty and unHoly bad has freely gifted to the non-followers of every body but His. And John sees that this is good. And the plants and other creatures of the garden of John resound with advertising ditties in quick paced chorus, I need you you you, every body needs some body, I need you you you, some body to love, I need you you you. But the ears of commercial lovers are filled with the elevator and mall music of The Girl from Ipanema, tall and tan and young and lovely and they do not hear the song of the garden. Meanwhile unHoly John is singing I met a gin-soaked, bar-room queen in Memphis--- she tried to take me up-stairs for a ride. And the mall and elevator music has no effect on the affect of John so He further curses the want-to-be-shopping-again-for-good-goodies-shoppers with endless strains of Moon River. And John is pleased to have His funk of early Stones. And John decides to replace the “Garota” and Mercer/Mancini with some My Way Paul Anka if only one wanderer would enter the gate of Free; but NO. So let it be Ahhh and wider than a....
Many periods and terms of false warranties pass while the unHoly mighty bad John allows Himself no mercy of relief for the deviant commercial consorts of Walmart congregation. Gluttony of hedonistic Epicurean gorging of food delights is now sought by the disappointed buyers now attempting to cope with their frustrated imposition of plain styles and bum exchanges of doubtful currencies for deceptive guarantees of defective items. The food courts of mall proportions are next to be defiled by mighty-bad-you-know-who. The ice-creams are running a race down the sides of the cones; a race that the liking-lickers can not win thereby causing sticky fingers of a fishy aroma that is not unlike the female fragrance that the now defunct feminine hygiene products and monostat-cheese-fighting products are helpless to disguise. The pizza slices become slivers of crap crapped-out by a sweating pizza oven perched greasy Greek pretending to be Italian; the crust is sloppy mush and the toppings are not to be identified in their micro-portions. The imitation Chinese buffets of fifty plus different dishes of who knows what wrapped up in a fried dough ball of soaked-up rancid rendered animal fat layer become, under the unforgiving command of John, a collection of ingested belly swelling gut bombs of indescribable power of mass destruction of appetite, appetite that is replaced by gagging and dry heaving to near death that is compared to the turning inside-out of week-long-worn sniffed sweat socks with the turning inside-out of the guts to the level of the buchal cavity of mouth-i-ness; then these puked vile contents are regurgitated back to the inside-in. The gorgers want to drink something that is soothing so John of the garden has a plan of quenching also. So, they want something to drink John thinks to Himself; He decides that the carbon of carbonation of soft drinking watered drinks is replaced with sulfur that makes rotten eggs seem like candy. The caffeine beverages are substituted with liquefied and puréed liver toxin sweat of countless alcoholic ascites sufferers. Trust of solid and liquid food is now mistrusted by all and John is pleased. The big bad thinks maybe they are ready for the mercy of entrance into the garden of real food of raw and cooked realities that are new and previously rejected by those wanting to be served. But alas the waiting and seated of food court decide not to respond to the chow bell calling of John’s host table; they decide to repel the hunger for food with the hunger for illusion of sex and violence as shown in the Walmart-attached multiplex of theater screens. Let us go to the show to forget about our continual growling stomachs. This plan of entertainment-seekers is foiled by the unHoly John with His replacement of the recent movie hits with old classic movies of intellectual significance of content that none of the goers can mentally fathom because of the loss of the depth of thought that is required for following of plot: because this preponderance has long been long-time-lost through a steady supply of superficial slock that these ticket buyers are accustomed. All viewers are stupefied by the superlative of quality of production of old classic movie (never before seen by these recent release releasers) and they are pretending with stress to be intellectually occupied beyond the level of required attention needed to watch Flinstones II ; the feigners of understanding show no visible or spoken signs of their communal public darkened deceit of false internalization of external pictorial and audible illusions. The film is one of the long day long life of mighty bad John’s favorite of unHoly, Casablanca. John likes the whitehouse as a symbol of destination of destitution.
The mass dejection of Walmart-ites, that are lingering until they can get to their comfortable homes to emulate the high moral standards as displayed by the twice a day TV sermonizing of Springer-ites, caused by the false warranties, caused by the less than functioning items of hey man you fact true-ing, caused by growling Epicurean hedonists’ organs of digestion of foul snacks, slimes and absurd cravings, and melancholy caused by the swollen stench-mystifying mall trodden feet of imposed bipedal mobility as a result of mass vehicular disintegration of working components, and finally, the despondency came from the over-powering of self-intellect needed in Vain, USA. Walmart mall and lots of parking, for the sustaination of perceptual coping of unaccustomed visible and audible input of artistic value. THESE FUCKERS ARE DOOMED by the mighty bad John of unHoly testament of future prophesy. Yet they do not enter the arch of free entrance to the garden of John. But there does a lingering by the garden gate of the one of the less disgruntled and one of the curious of culinary experimentation, let his name be Henri of Chez-Henri. One is more than none John decides to punish the obvious and oblivious to other than AC AC-lovers. Let there be no conditioning of room and /or outside of the room atmosphere of gaseous state. There is fluctuation of temperature Fahrenheit in an increasing number on the scale of symbolism for the actual surface temperature of layer of air touching the skin of the shoppers and they snap their crayons in total and absolute despair and loss of hope for escape from the demon sweat. So sweat they do and do and sweat they do do more and more and sweat they sink into a heap of emptied and cursed useless BO de-odorant balls of applicators and the heaps of feminine hygiene purse-sized bombs of piss flap spray . The loss of AC has snapped the mental crayons of Walmart patrons at last and for all but the one Henri of personal non-caring of his self’s fragrance that increases in potency of aromatic strength with his corresponding elevation of next to his body’s temperature in degrees Fahrenheit of the outer body’s layer of atmosphere’s surrounding temperature in those same degrees of measurement. John merely calls this fluctuation of temperatures both cool and warm weather. It is fine weather in the garden of John this one day long. The pile, of disappointed in their smell prevention and protection from smell, is amassed as bearings of balls in their races being metamorphosed from ball eggs into worms that are crawling slowly and steadily into the shallow bowels of earthen Hades of top soil in which these worms help to cultivate the tilth and fertility needed to sustain the grass from which is all flesh including that stinking flesh of which feeds the one Henri who is one survivor of liking his own smell so he is saved for his possible making of an entrance into the garden of John. All others, except Henri, of Walmart and surrounding lots of parking and malls of strolling are consumed to over-lived usefulness of bodily non-warranty, DEATH. It is death by AC deprived sweat producing sebaceous cell smell with the related associated diagnosis of psychosomatic embarrassment unto irrecoverable hiding of life unto DEAR DEATH. John sees that all is good with the singular survivor, Henri, who is about to come on down and take a little take a little step off the lot of hardened top surface onto the soft spongy tilled soil of plant-growing-conditions. Shall Henri come in? Come on down says John the mighty bad and unHoly. Enter the garden Henri and you may drink a free beer from My giant Vat. I have barley and hops fermented to the ancient recipe of societal-sobrietial-stimulational of human life-spice. No one wants this libation for any other purpose than to fine and convict; thereby earning coffers for the lawyers and their compadres. Income from beer fines helped to feed the registers of Walmart cash. There is no fear of beer crime conviction because the piles of body smell haters of potential finger pointing have stunk themselves to death, rather than their enjoying of their selves by their selves in all their bodily glory of ethereal, liquid ( both piss and sweat) and solid excretmentations. The most harmful of these excrementations was the slanderous words for unHoly beer-drinking John that these now dead had said against His unHoly and mighty bad person. Look at Him stagger. Listen to Him slur. He is drunk I can tell the smell of beer domesticated and unfit for our cellars. Cool man I will come in the garden of John for a cool brew Henri replies with a smirk and while he is thinking that this dumb fucker has no idea how much I like and can drink beer. John, with His heightened beer soaked senses, pre-knows and admires the passion of the consumption rates and quantities to which Henri devotes himself in his love of beer-drinking. Let Henri enter for free and free beer will be the reward for this final stroller and staggerer of the floors and surfaces of the Market of Wall. John predicts that the excesses of indulgences of Henri will cause his inevitable expulsion from the garden of John and that this exXxodus will spawn the future creation of the new and improved temple of trade transactions, Mart of K and Super. The omni-powerful of stupefied suds induced mental cavity douched insights of John is determined previously in His cognition that the future and as of yet unborn mall-peops of the Henri inspired, created and populated Mart of K and Super will be DOOMED to the similar fate of Walmart. They too will worm their ways into the dark soil of top layer of His planet Earth of the garden of John the mighty bad and unHoly composer and transcriber of these beginning words of the unHoly TRIBUL .....



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