"What Madness Is This?" Volume II: Prophecies in the Dark

That is Zap Zephyr! Which will actually become an important part of the plot of the timeline, believe it or not.
No Zap I am your father!
1. Great job Patton! Steampunk now has a POD!
2. I’ll be doing a lot of research as steampunk and technology isn’t my strong point. Either way this idea is awesome and it’s awesome you managed to find a POD for it.
3. I’ll definitely take a crack at a Steam punk TL either as a team effort or single effort.
4. Sorry it took so long for a reply.
Admittedly I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to technology and engineering either. So if you do decide to create a collab setting I'd be happy to join in.

No worries it happens.
When I hear of Zap Zephyr I think of Tek Jansen from The Colbert Report. I know that Zap is supposed to be more in line with Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers but I see Zap Zephyr cartoons on Saturday Mornings or late night movie shows.

folks as temperamental as Custer and Steele).
It seems that Custer has a fame of bad temper and volatileness similar to his succesors, but I don't understand why. Custer's age chapters don't show him as particularly psychotic or trigger happy. Yes, we have the genocide of an entire nation and opponents teared apart by bears but throughout his attrocities he acts rather calm. Some posts ago I read that Custer must have made a lot of vanity projects, which doesn't fit with his refusal to take control of the AFC "to not boost his ego". And if that wasn't enough his POV chapters aren't neither as sinister as Steele's cold sadism nor outlandish as Oswald's narcissistic drug addled rambling in the Pinnacle Future. I'm not saying Custer is a better guy, I'm saying he is more normal and down to earth than what people make it sound.
No Zap I am your father!

Admittedly I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to technology and engineering either. So if you do decide to create a collab setting I'd be happy to join in.

No worries it happens.
I’ll PM you when I eventually decide to go through with a steampunk TL (or if you end up doing it I’d be up and happy to work on it). The main reasons I’m not going to do it right now is that schools restarting and I’m already doing a TL. So when I’m done with that (unless asked before) I’ll start the Steampunk TL. Otherwise I’ll be doing research on the effects of the POD.


June 2, 1938
New Canaan Badlands

50 miles outside Metropolis
Two horsemen rode through the ash-blanketed desert of New Canaan, one on a black horse, the other on a palomino. It was a rare clear day since the sootstorms began. Both men had gas masks draped around their necks and red ponchos blowing in the wind. The thunder of the horses hooves was the only sound for miles as they galloped across hill and dune, through scrub brush and past endless numbers of cacti, some as tall as fourteen feet. Now they entered a canyon, impressive sandy walls on each side of them. In the Immolation days this had been the site of an Infee guerrilla ambush on Yankee cavalry. Now it was silent and bare except for the two riders and the occasional skeleton of man and beast still bleaching in the sun's rays, bones long bare of flesh and cloth. Here and there a gold eagle button or beltbuckle could be spotted among the rocks and pebbles.

A rider, the one on the black horse, hollered at the other in a gruff voice, "You sure you believe the story, man?"

The other man laughed as he lashed his horse onward. "Nah, nah, I ain't sure of shit in times like these. The world's endin', don't you know. But you know what the Good Books say?"

"Whole lotta shit. But what verse or quatrain or other are you wantin' to sockdologize on about this time?" the gruff one asked, before coughing some black dust out his mouth and onto his leather gloved hand. Even though the weather seemed clear, it was still in the air, almost invisible.

"Hosea 10:8, my friend. 'The High Places shall be destroyed, and the sinners shall say to the mountains, cover us; and to the hills, fall on us.' I reckon we're either gonna find this 'Miracle Man' I told you about or we'll ask these mountains to fall on us." A hint of bitter doubt hung in his voice even as he spurred his palomino on again.

"You reckon to save our souls?" the other asked. "We done an awful lot of sinnin' in our lives, man. We've had a few too many campground shakedowns and nose powder, don't you think?" A grim chuckled escaped his contaminated throat.

Palomino-rider chuckled as he heard the chugging of a train in the distance and spotted the outline of the Miracle Man on the horizon, atop a dune, standing tall like an Old Testament Judge. "Well, I reckon we're still Pinnacle Blooded, Buckshot. And if this dude is for real, then I think we might just find our names and souls on the winning side of history, if history is to continue and the world doesn't pass into darkness. In that case, we're just fucked. And I'll ask this canyon to fall on me and my sinful ass."

"I thought we had enough of this religious hoo-hah from the orphanage. But whatever you say, Candy."

Candy Johnson looked over at Buckshot Settle and shouted, "And there's shitton of money in it for us, if the world doesn't end!"

A smile spread across Buckshot's face. "Well, hush my mouth and call me corn pone! Count me in, pardner! This better not become another Century Falcon, though, by-fuckin'-Jev. "


The October Flight from Metropolis would go down as the stuff of legends. A smiling, laughing Billy Graham waved at the adoring masses as they rose up against the local government and as he fled to the safety of the desert. He was a local sensation, a charismatic "down-home people's parson," and the people were willing to riot in his name. This was probably the worst thing that could have happened to him, however. Being disrespectful to a Church elder and promoting heresy was a major offense. Many historians are still surprised that Reverend Duke Gottfried was willing to merely run him out of town rather than just have him executed. It is likely that the sparing of Graham's life was to prevent the very riots that were now erupting all across the city anyway. While RUMP and Zealots managed to contain the crowds around the First Church of Metropolis, Gottfried himself was now public enemy number one to the rioters and had to remain under heavy guard inside the temple. Graham and his escaped comrades were now listed as being wanted dead or alive by both RUMP and ORRA. He was now a terrorist in the eyes of the state, and a terrorist inciting rebellion at that. It would be at this point that Joe Steele first heard the name of Graham via a report from Gottfried forwarded to him by Lovecraft.

But even though a massive superpower had just christened him a revolutionary, the ongoing sootstorm catastrophe and the fact that the largest war of conquest in human history was being waged to the south prevented much action at the time, and the December start of the Starry Wisdom Revolt pushed Graham out of the law's eye for the time being. Graham and his cohorts now found themselves seeking refuge in the heart of the desert, using a large cavern as a hideout as the world crumbled around them. Once every couple weeks, several members of the party would venture out to resupply from abandoned cars and traveling traders. There were a decent number of caves in the area, and many refugees were making use of them, so the traders were more common than one might think for such a desolate locale.

Many of the local cave-dwellers were aware of Graham's talkiebox broadcasts. When they realized the inspiring young minister was living in the cave right next door, they began to turn up with offers of food, supplies, and support. They loved the young minister. One family in particular, the Baxters, would frequently stop by and converse and pray with Graham. Mr. Roy Baxter was a carpenter and the father of four sons named Zion, Zeb, Zeke, and Zephyr Baxter. All the children were in their early teens aside from Zion, who was only three years old at the time. Roy's wife, July Constance Baxter, was only in her late 40s but became bedridden with an unknown illness. Graham would spend many nights helping tend to July, who reminded him of his own step-mother in appearance. After a while, the Baxters and Graham became very close friends and helped organize the refugees into specialized groups, building decent structures and ramshackle little apartments underground while the might of the Union military tried to crush Pennington's Revolt.

Andrew was marveling at his friend's success. Graham was years younger than almost all present, but he was somehow becoming a de facto leader of sorts over some thirty refugees. Every Sunday, they would have services in the "Chapel," which was a large area by a placid underground lake that looked as if it were one enormous mirror. The torches and campfires cast an eerie glow onto the makeshift pulpit, made from banana crates draped with a hand-painted altar cloth. Graham was getting better and better, lifting morale when everyone needed it and launching into fiery sermons promising a better, brighter tomorrow in a Pinnacle Future of the New Jerusalem. Even though Graham was officially an enemy of the state, a fugitive, and not even born an American citizen, he was welcomed by the needy and downtrodden. In fact, he often failed to mention his Cacklacky heritage, letting his new followers believe he was from somewhere in the Old South. His words brought hope and pumped new life into the Holy Books. "His sheer charisma could have made a horse get in line at a glue factory and smile while they ripped his hooves off," Zeb Baxter would say years later.

In truth, his cult of personality was already gorging his ego, and he wanted more. His step-mother promised him he would be a leader among men, and now here he was, administering to his own little compound. As the people's love for him grew and the situation in Metropolis was getting more and more dire by the day, they held him up as an example of what a Christian American man should be. More refugees came, as news of the "Hole-in-the-Wall Church" spread. They began to properly fortify the cave system. On clear days, trucks would roll out, disassemble nearby desert homes for materials, and work on a system of walls and stockades. It was America, so of course most people were armed with decent firearms already and knew how to use them. Watchman shifts were created, with citizen guards promising to "protect the Good Parson." This was about when it all began to spiral far out of control and into the pages of history.

One important and almost totally overlooked aspect of Graham's character was his depression, deep and dank in nature. Wallowing in self pity, Graham would often disappear for sometimes a day at a time to huddle at this base of "Wailing Rock," a bizarre-looking cave formation deep underground. He would pray and beseech God to show him greater purpose. As the weeks faded into months in the compound, he began to almost resent his own followers, telling Andrew, "I wory we'll be stuck here till Hell freezes over. This place is fine enough for some mud-covered savages, but a page in the history books or a booth at a talkiebox station it is not." The frequent days at a time without sunlight and the poor air quality likely also exacerbated his deepening depression, as did his lust for the married Norma. Norma clearly was interested in him from the start, but her always-present elderly husband prevented any further growth of the relationship. Graham wanted to beg her to be with him and leave Chick, all while Chick sang his praises, having no clue his charismatic young minister friend was trying to steal his wife. Graham's own religious beliefs and Steele's Focus on the Family Act also made Graham feel incredibly guilty and sinful. This same radical devotion to religion was what had guided him through depression in the past. Everything came to a head on May 23. Graham, despondent and alone, decided it was time to end it all. He had a light meal of some stew, drank a glass of water, and went alone to the Wailing Rock to kill himself. The revolver he had "borrowed" from Andrew still hung on his hip.

The Wailing Rock was surrounded by a large amount of brown mushrooms, known by the locals as "foolish mushrooms," ugly things that they warned were poisonous and not to be trifled with. Graham played with the idea of blowing his own brains out for several hours, even raising the gun to his head with his finger on the trigger multiple times. Unable to follow through with such a bloody suicide, Graham tearfully plucked one of the mushrooms out of the ground and shoved it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it before collapsing to the ground to await his own death. As the future Second Prophet of Manifest Destiny laid on the filthy cave floor in the fetal position, weeping hysterically and believing he had failed his step-mother, her prophecy of his greatness, and God himself, everything around him began to spin in a whirling kaleidoscope of colors. And then the laughter began. He howled and cackled and the emotional cacophony echoed throughout the cave. Irritated bats began to swoop hither and thither, screeching loudly. It was perfect madness. Instead of killing himself with poison, Graham had unintentionally ingested large amounts of psilocybin hallucinogens. He picked himself up, stretched his hands to the heavens, and felt another wave of visions and colors explode in his mind.

1. It was as if the entire history and future of mankind and the earth were revealed to me all at once. Through these Fruits of the Spirit, all uncertainties and doubts and fears were carried away in a dazzling, rapturous, raucous wave of sublime jubilation. I rejoiced, for the day of sanctification was upon me and I sensed the presence of strong Magicks coursing through the very air I breathed.

2. Almost like unto a motion-picture in the mind's eye. I saw Nothing, before Jehovah moved across the face of the waters, and then I witnessed the creation of light. I saw the Garden of Eden, and I saw the Forbidden Fruit with that Daemoniac Worm luring Mankind to Hell. I watched Moses parteth the Red Sea, and I saw Pharaoh's forces become engulfed in the tide, carried off to the Hell. I saw Christ upon the Cross, and I saw him ascend into the heavens. I saw the Prophet Burr at Valley Forge, and I saw the Martyr Arnold die for him. I saw the golden streets of Heaven. I saw the nothingness and emptiness of the Void, filled with Inferior un-souls. And I beheld the deepest, foulest pit of Sheol, where the treacherous, murderous, and barbaric souls of the damned burneth for eternity upon eon, from Judas Iscariot to Drummond the Despoiler.

3. Then it was as if a divine light blinded me, and I fell to my knees. When I saw again, a shining figure stood before me, clad in gold raiment and with a face masked by glory. I bowed and groveled, for I knew it was the Angel of Destiny. The Angel put his hand on my shoulder and said unto me, "William Graham, Second of your Name, thou hast been chosen by the Maker, Great Jehovah, to preach and prophesy His Word. The End of Days is upon the people of Earth, and the New Jerusalem shall gird up her loins for the coming battles by following the words of a mighty Chosen Man of God.

4. Yea, though thou art Cackalack in stock, ye shall be great among the American Race, a Second Prophet of Manifest Destiny. Thou shalt restore order to my Shining Gem of the Desert, and thou shalt go forth and preach in my name with no fear in thin heart, for the Lord God of Zion is with thee. Go and speak these things unto thine brethren, and trust in Jehovah. A host of angels and patriot-saints surround thee, and no harm can befall thee. All hail the Pinnacle Son of the New Zion."

- The Book of Graham, Chapter 2, Verses 1-4


To say that Graham's friends were... taken aback by his new revelations was something of an understatement. Here was this man, only twenty years of age, professing that the Angel of Destiny, the most sacred figure in Fundamentalism next Jehovah and Burr, had anointed him the next Prophet. It was heresy. It was possibly another form of suicide. No man since Burr had been so bold as to deny the One Prophet Doctrine. This was unheard of. Not once in the church's history sprawling two centuries had such a claim been made. No one would have dared risk it. But here he was, already listed as a heretical religious terrorist and now claiming to be the next rightful head of the Church. It was also incredibly bold. Graham was a gambling man, always upping the ante and raising the stakes. Aside from his bouts with extreme depression, he usually possessed an uncanny self-confidence, instilled in him by his step-mother and demonstrated by how he dealt with Reverend Gottfried back in Metropolis. Now he was overcoming this depression once and for all.

"I have been filled full of fire, full of vigor, and of the Holy Spirit," he proclaimed proudly to Andrew after he explained his experience, still high as a kite on the mushrooms.

Even Andrew was still quite dubious on whether or not to believe Graham, but had no idea about the effect of the mushrooms or even that Graham had eaten any. To him, Graham was just acting extremely weird. Andrew told him, "I need a sign. A genuine miracle. Prove to me that you are the Angel's vessel and I will follow you to the gates of Hell, brother."

Much to his surprise, Graham agreed that such a sign would be forthcoming. "I shall heal Mrs. Baxter. I will bless her and bestow unto her a new lease on life. Within a day, she will rise and walk once more. So let it be written, so let it be done. Hal-le-lujah!" Graham jubilantly proclaimed, clapping his hands together on the "hallelujah." He practically ran to July Baxter, laying motionless on her straw mattress in the living quarters of the compound. He knelt down and prayed over her, speaking in tongues. "Hoo-baba-kanda! Tala mo shiki alaa, kedo mo shiki kanda! Rise up, woman! In a days time I order you to rise up, in the name of Jehovah Almighty!" He picked her up, and as a crowd of followers and friends gathered around, he carried Mrs. Baxter outside with him. "Let the rays of God's sun warm your bones and set free your body from the grip of death! Moga dal kedo mo shiki!" The next day, July Baxter's fever broke, and she walked again for the first time in two months.

What no one knew was that July was not sick. She was slowly being poisoned to death by her own husband after he realized she and Graham were having sex, or as Graham called it "spiritual conjugation." He had been drawing the murder out, taking happiness in her suffering. After his wife's "miraculous" recovery, Mr. Baxter left under cover of going on a routine supply run and began the ride to Metropolis to report the growing power of Graham's movement to the Church. Baxter would be shot a mile outside the city by marauding bandits, who stole his horse, wallet, and dumped his body in an unknown gully.

The reaction from the followers was immediate. Many began to believe Graham really was the Second Prophet. Many were simply so heavily invested in him, trusting him, that they felt no other way forward. Several left, proclaiming blasphemy, but most stayed on and began to jubilantly cry, "The New Jerusalem begins here!" Andrew wanted to believe, and the "July Baxter Miracle" was no joke to him, but he was still uncertain. It was all so bizarre. This culminated in the night of June 3. Graham entered Andrew's personal quarters and, while Andrew was sleeping, pressed one of the mushrooms into Andrew's mouth. After waiting a short while to allow the hallucinogen to kick in, Graham shook Andrew awake. To Andrew, the whole world was a giant splatter of paint and shadows, and he could barely make out the face of his best friend who now was pulling him out of bed by the arm.

"My friend Andrew!" Graham shouted. "Join me and rejoice! For the Angel of the Lord is with us! Can't you see him! Hal-le-lujah!"

Rubbing his eyes in desperate confusion, Andrew soon fell into a trance-like state, easily manipulated by Graham. "Billy? What is going on?"

"Andrew, you shall be my Apostle! It has been written and it shall be done! The Angel revealed to me you are to be the right arm of my ministry. Together, we shall pave the way for a glorious new era. Come, follow me! Let your tongue move freely in the Spirit and let your eyes partake of the wondrous splendors of the fruits of the spirit! Come, follow me!"

In a dazed, drug-fueled stupor, Andrew reluctantly followed Graham through the underground compound and out into the desert, where the orange sun was just beginning to peak over the foothills. For hours they ran, as if possessed. Andrew felt compelled to follow Graham as the sweaty, dust-covered minister sprinted ahead, spinning at irregular intervals and joyously screaming to the heavens. Before long, Andrew fell in with the erratic behaviors as the mushroom fully kicked in. He began to spew nonsensical gibberish at a feverish rate, almost as fast as Graham. By high noon, they were far from camp and deep into the desert, without a landmark in sight. But still he followed his friend, the Second Prophet, over hill and dale. At last, the drug's effects waning, Andrew collapsed in a foamy, sweaty, sunburned heap onto the sand. "Billy! I cannot go on!"

Graham's cowpoke boots, black with silver tips, stood right by his head. In a blurry haze, he faded in and out of consciousness, unable to move. As the sun glinted off the silver boot tips, he passed out. He awoke just a minute later to a splash of water pouring from Graham's canteen directly onto his face. Gasping, he shot upright. "Billy, no more! Please! I cannot bear it! I am exhausted."

Graham smiled and handed him the canteen. "Drink, my brother! And behold! The reason I brought you here is right over this hill!"

After a long while spent nursing the canteen, Andrew let Graham pull him up and lead him over the nearby dune. "Billy, I do not understand what came over me. How long have we been running out here?"

"Several hours," said Graham matter-of-factly, as if gallivanting across a desert warzone was normal for two seminary students. "Look! Train tracks!"

Before them, in the heart of the desert, was a shiny, modern railroad track, stretching from one horizon to the next. After not explaining that he had visited this spot the day before and met with two new friends, Graham looked at his pocket watch. "Just ten more minutes, Andy! Ten more minutes and you shall see our deliverance!" About nine minutes and thirty seconds later, a massive armored train appeared in the distance. The two men laid low in the sand to watch it pass by. Several of the cars were painted purple and covered in bizarre star-like symbols and other occult emblems.

"W-what is it?" asked Billy, slurring his words from exhaustion and the lingering side effects of the drug.

"What is it?" Billy scoffed. "What -is- it, he asks? Hal-le-lujah! Brother, this here is the hand of God leading us out of the Valley, son. They will call this the Miracle of '38, one day! That right there is the train running from Lapham to Metropolis. Lapham was overrun by Pennington's middle management lunatics months ago and has an easily defensible train yard. They are using it to rush new supplies and men into Metropolis. That's how the Starry Wisdom cultists never run out of ammo or food. It all comes from Lapham."

Andrew was confused still. "That's all well and good, Billy, but how does that help us?"

"Glory, glory, Andrew, my Apostle! Trust in me to lead the way! We are going to take that train, by hook or by crook, and cut off Pennington from the outside world completely. We're going to save Metropolis, boy! We're going to crush this nascent cult into dust and take back our rightful place among the Betters of Society. And then the world shall know of the Second Prophet. All the supplies going to the Starry Wisdom will be redistributed to the people! Freedom from want! We will be heroes."

"Billy, how on earth are we to take an armored train?" Andrew gasped, still fearing his friend insane while the drug trip also made him doubt his own.

"Some new friends which the Lord hath lead into our flock, Andrew. They caused quite a stir before the war by stealing George Washington Carver's personal aeroship. Tell me, have you ever heard of Candy Johnson and Buckshot Settle?"

"No," squeaked Andrew as he feverishly sipped from the canteen while eyeing Graham like a crazy man still.

"Well, turn around and say hello," Graham said, the sun shining off of his perfect teeth as he smiled widely and gestured with his arm for Andrew to turn around. With gas masks hanging around their necks and with broad-brimmed hats upon their heads, Candy Johnson and Buckshot Settle sat atop two mighty horses. Settle had the black one, and Candy rode the palomino. Both were armed to the teeth. Candy looked Andrew straight in the eyes and extended a hand, as if to pull him up on his horse.

"If you're a friend of the Miracle Man, you're a friend of mine. I hear y'all have a train to rob," said Candy Johnson.

Andrew stood up, laughing madly. "You fellas look tough, but that's an armored train completely full of mercenaries. You and what army are going to take that train?"

In the distance, more horses could be heard. From over the hills came a massive dust cloud, but not one caused by nature or a monsoon. There were probably forty horsemen galloping toward them, rifles shining in the sun. Hoots and hollers and cheers rang out as the mob of hooves thundered around the two ministers. Many of them sang the praises of the "talkiebox preacher."

"You were saying, pardner?" Candy said wryly, still extending his hand.

"Right. That army," Andrew said blankly, grabbing the hand and heaving himself up behind the horseman.

"Alright," said Graham, hopping up behind Settle, "let's get back to camp and plan the crime on the century, gentlemen, in Jesus' name!"
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This chapter was an absolute blast to write, and it's starting to bring the various arcs of the "Rise of the Second Prophet" chapters into one big storyline. It's a wild mess to figure out all the moving parts, hence why my long-teased "Miracle of '37" is becoming the "Miracle of '38." I cannot wait to write this freaking train robbery. It's going to be one of the wildest bits of alt-hist you'll read for a long time. I've been pumped for it for like six months. lol

One of the most convenient things I discovered during my research for this chapter is that psilocybin mushrooms can induce a euphoric state that makes the user "speak in tongues," in what sounds exactly like what some Christian sects do. The best part? The user totally believes they are making sense and that it isn't just gibberish. Pretty convenient for a cult leader, huh?

And in other news, I am attempting to hit at least 4000 words an update. I will also be rebooting my patreon in an attempt to draw in some revenue because honestly I can barely afford to survive right now to the point of anxiety attack. *upside down smiley here* So if you want to reward ol' Napo for years of entertainment and hard work, that'll be an option. I'll likely make the page less focused on _WMIT_ itself and more on "Napoleon53 Productions." This will include all my writing and youtube ventures, but mostly Madness because COME ON. lol Just an FYI. If no one gives me a dollar more, I'll still keep writing. It'd just be nice to maybe pay a bill off with all my efforts and me feel like a proper Pinnacle man.

I've also thought about sitting down in a nice outfit and with a decent backdrop (or just some relevant stock footage) asking viewers to send me some cool questions or comments, and I could wax poetic on the wonders of writing this insanity and answer them. lol Sort of a Madness podcast. Maybe even finding a cohost on here eventually. I have dreams. lol
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I can't help but wonder when Graham will start wrapping himself in bandages or ask his followers to take drugs and kill a bear.

Seriously though, interesting to see the cult around our boy Billy growing. Will see if I can send some euros your way when the bills this month are paid
The aesthetics of the Miracle of '38 of the next chapter can be described (tongue in cheek but only a little) as follows:



Another day of offering exciting careers in the ever-changing field of modern workplace security. Also, the stars talk to the Regional Manager. Don't ask unless you want written up.

Some Workplace Security Specialists and middle management on the way to the scene of the chaos


Middle management discovering a hostile takeover

Some desperate 1930s ranch hands on their way to help found a weird occult sect in the name of Billy Graham, 1937.

Candy Johnson and Buckshot Settle inspect a rightfully-born arm.

Billy's waifu (This is just how I picture Norma now, even if the original actress was Italian lol)


Candy and Buckshot on a mission from God to feed the masses and redeem their souls while high as hell on cocaine.


Candy on a big peepee energy mission from God while still high as hell on cocaine.

All this, but with moar Billy Graham.

Yes, it really will be the most insane fever dream you've ever read in your whole-ass lifetime. You may not like it, but Billy Graham on shrooms telling a bunch of starving, toxic fogged ranchers to steal a fucking armored train from mercenaries is what peak performance looks like. *chesthair grows uncontrollably*

I also like how the near apocalyptic events in Metropolis could see an art deco megacity revert to horses for a time. Imagine 1930s LA or NYC but it's a warzone and anyone who wants to get around quickly is riding a horse because gasoline is nonexistent. It's such a weird mental picture.
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When there is no update from Comrade-Patriot:
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When there is an update and you have high expectations:
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When said update exceeds your imagination because of M U S H R O O M S and T H E C R I M E O F T H E C E N T U R Y
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This update has really got this ducks Pinnacles Fluids thick and flowing, just bursting out in patriotic fundamentalist excitement
When the OTL Graham realises that his entire life story in an alternate timeline is filled with thin-veiled sexual jokes:
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Graham: (Takes in a deep and heavy breath) Are you sure that we can't send just one thunderbolt?
Who would win?

The Biblical Speaking in Tongues?

- Gives the Apostles the ability to talk to anyone on God's green earth, no matter the language.
- Given to them in the form of literal tongues of fire at Pentecost through the Holy Spirit
- Gave birth to possibly one of the greatest bible passages of all time
- (Acts 2:13-15) "But others sneered and said, "They [The Apostles] are filled with new wine". But Peter, standing with the eleven raised his voice and addressed them: "Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o'clock in the morning!"
(Essentially some people accuse the Apostles of being drunkards, to which Peter rebuffs by saying it is too early to be drunk).


Billy Grahams Wild Ride in Mexico?

- No one can understand him.
- Is actually on drugs.
- Gave birth to some of the worst bible fanfiction of all time, the "Book of Graham."
- So many conveniences its not funny.
That was both extremely well-written and extremely fucked up. I almost felt sorry for Graham for all that he's an insane racist genocidal monster.
Well I'll be good golly goddamned! Words cannot describe the sheer joy reading this gave me. Absolutely incredible. You're truly inspired Napo.

Now, as y'all are aware, there were a couple references to my beloved Cackalacky homeland. In accordance with the unspoken laws of the WMIT community and the Public Defense of the Confederation Act of 1936, I am now obligated to quote them and say something insane.

In fact, he often failed to mention his Cacklacky heritage
Good! We don't want no snake-handlin, drug-abusin, wife-stealin heretic claiming that Gentleman's Christian Republic that Jackson Built! You sir, may go to hell, and I shall be happy to provide you directions there should you need em!

Also, all I'm saying is, none of this would have happened if we had burned his momma at the stake.

Yea, though thou art Cackalack in stock
Ok, I can't with this. Nothing witty. Nothing crazy. Billy Graham unironically believes that an Angel looked at him and said the word "Cackalack." Absolutely in awe of this.