The Amazing Adventures of the Astonishing Greco

I’m sure you’re all aware of the Astonishing Greco and that a long in depth description is needed no more than God needs a hair cut.  So with that said, I won’t bother with any sort of account of his appearance or personality.  If you don’t know Greco, however, you will surely pick up on how truly astonishing he is just by reading about his exploits.  Let us begin with our first tale.

                                                 The Greco and the Cult

Okay, first some little known details about the regal Michael Greco.  Greco moved from Mormonville, Arizona to some small, insignificant, pantywaist town in North Carolina.  There he starting dating a girl, which isn’t entirely odd if you think about it.  I mean, he is a male after all.

No, him dating a girl is certainly not peculiar.  What is peculiar is that she’s a Canadian… who doesn’t like Barenaked Ladies.  Outlandish, you say, I know.  Nevertheless, you will find neither untruths nor exaggerations upon the page your eyes have found, or computer screen as the case may be.  The girl’s name is Rachel or Rachael or maybe even Raquel.  Whatever the name (we will use Rachel for the sake of being simple) she is still a Canadian with a dislike for Barenaked Ladies and she will never hear the end of it… EVER.

So, now that you are aware of Greco’s current position (Shithole, North Carolina) and of his unfortunate encounter with this Canadian (I jest), the story can continue.

It was on a foggy October day (in all fairness to the reader, I actually have no clue when this story transpired) when Greco and his Canadian girlfriend who doesn’t like Barenaked Ladies named Rachel were sitting at a table eating lunch.

“Ick,” said Greco with evident disgust as he pulled his meal from his brown paper bag, “I have a Caribou sandwich.”

“Ick,” said Rachel with a similar disgust illustrated by her boyfriend just a moment before, “I have a bean burrito.”

They looked at each other, eye-to-eye, remembering why they loved each other so.

“Wanna trade?” Michael asked.  Before he had finished his sentence, Rachel had already switched the sandwich with the burrito, which Greco now held in his hand, and was ripping into the sandwich with her teeth in traditional Canadian fashion, whatever the hell that means.  Greco looked longingly at his burrito and followed his beautiful girlfriend’s lead.  Then their gourmet meal, or what seemed gourmet to them, was disrupted.

A short squinty eyed boy sat down at the table next the Rachel and across from Michael.  He was about as tall as Greco, but other than that, he was about as polar to the great Greco as the North Pole is to Antarctica.

“’Ello,” He said in an ersatz Australian accent.

Michael and Rachel paused their ferocious gnawing to stare at the boy is disbelief.  Could he not see they were enjoying a wonderful meal?

“Ah, now dat I got yer attention,” he said as if he were a stage performer who had just calmed his audience, “I’d like ta intruduce myself.  I’m Herbert.”

The hostile stares stayed static.

“And uhhh… I’m Christian?” He said with no more conviction than a wolf trying to convince its next meal that he, too, was a kind, gentle creature who was merely looking for a friend.

Needless to say, the friend starved couple were starting to get lonely and decided that to accept his friendship upon his declaration of Christianity.  Hey, when you’re starving you don’t really think clearly.  Your wits are lost in the bottomless, unquenchable void.  Of course, Michael and Rachel didn’t realize this void was unquenchable.  Otherwise they would have saved themselves a lot of wasted time by falling into an awkward occult situation.

With his new acceptance, Herbert enthusiastically continued with his religious role.  “I moved here a few years ago,” he explained, “and I, like yourselves, had no friends and was quite alone.”  He stopped for a dramatic pause, gave a sigh, and then continued.  “I didn’t even have a girlfriend.”  Another dramatic sigh.  “But then I found the USC and they accepted me for who I am.  I never felt so content in my life.  My purpose was found.  I do hope you’d give us a try.  You can come to one of our meetings.  We’re holding one this Wednesday at seven P.M.”

“So this is a college thing?” asked the ever astute Greco.

“No, no, no.  USC stands for the uh.. United Society of Christians,” Herbert cunningly explained.

“What was that hesitative ‘uh’ for?” Greco suspiciously inquired.

“It was me trying to remember.  I have a horrible memory.”

Well, everything seemed on the up-and-up.  Only one question remained.

“Is this USC accepting of Canadians?” Rachel asked.

“Of course,” Herbert reassured.

“I mean, one’s that don’t, you know… like Barenaked Ladies, and stuff?”

“WOAH!  Back up!  Did you just claim that you don’t like the Barenaked Ladies?”  Herbert’s corny accent was gone and his shock was clear as tried to push his chair back.  Unfortunately for him, these tables didn’t have chairs.  They had benches.  So when Herbert pushed back on the table he fell over onto the floor.  He lay for a moment on his back then crawled back up to the table.

“Yes, you heard me correctly,” Rachel said.

“And you’re Canadian?”

“Uhuh,” she assured.

“Are you sure?  Let me see your ID or birth certificate or something.”

“I’m a Canadian who doesn’t like Barenaked Ladies!  I’m sure of it!”  Rachel said this a little too loud, as peers and students alike who had overheard were now staring at her in disgust, as if she were a leper.  “Damn it,” she whispered to herself.

Well, despite Rachel’s lack of enthusiasm for the great BNL, she was invited to the little Christian shindig.  That Wednesday, Michael and Rachel went to the specified address, which happened to be an abandoned shack in a very secluded area.  The couple didn’t find this all too suspicious, however.   It was the armed guards and massive amounts of ammunition inside that was somewhat disconcerting.

“’Ello,  mates.  Just in time,” Herbert welcomed, clapping Rachel and Michael on the back.  “’Ey, everyone.  These are my new friends.  Make ‘em feel welcome in the ordeh.”

Michael waved at the people, all dressed in red gowns, around the room who turned to scrutinize the newcomers.  After waiting about ten more minutes for a few more people who arrived fashionably late, the main event began.  A man in front of the room garbed in a more elegant red gown than the rest of the company (he had gold embroidered in elegant designs on his) yelled out, “May I have your attention, please.”

All the side chitchat stopped and turned to look at the man who was evidently the leader of the party.

“We’re going out to the chosen spot” the leader continued, “and we are going to start the ceremony.  Will someone please give the newcomers some red gowns?  The forces from beyond won’t like it if everyone is not dressed exactly the same… and in red… and in a gown.”

“Forces from beyond,” Greco wondered.

“Red gowns?” Rachel speculated.

Once Michael and Rachel had their newly acquired attire, the party marched out into the dark woods until they reached a clearing.  In the middle of this clearing lay some sticks and rocks set up in a manner hinting that a fire was to be built.  The leader lit his lighter and the sticks went up in flame.  They were now ready for a camping trip.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the group’s goal.

“Now,” the leader began talking once again, “everyone gather around the flame.  You must be one with the flame.  Concentrate.  Be one with the flame.”

One of the members was so bent on being one with the flame he stumbled right into it.  His terrible screams colored the air with strings of cursing.

“Oh shit,” The leader said.  He took out a gun and shot the flame engulfed individual.  The man went limp and fell into the middle of the flame.  “That should keep the flame going a little longer,” the leader attempted a jest.  A couple nervous laughs emerged from the crowd, but nothing more.  “Fine, forget the being one with the flame.  Just concentrate on the great Dark Angel.”

“The who?” Michael asked.

“Don’t be daft,” said a man nearby.

“Surely you know who the Dark Angel is,” the leader said.  “You know, the Serpent, Accuser of the Brethren, Prince of the Underworld, Ruler of the Underworld formerly known as Prince!  Come now.  Lucifer, Satan, you know.”

At the last couple of names, an expression of fearful understanding crept onto the befuddled Michael’s and the Canadian’s faces.

“Wait… isn’t this supposed to be a Christian club?” Michael asked.

“Haha!  You fools!” Herbert shouted, discarding his fake accent he had used to create a calming mood in order to lure the unsuspecting couple to the current gathering.  “USC stand for the Ultimate Satan Conglomerate.  Bahahaha!”

“I think we’ve been duped,” Michael astutely pointed out.

“No shit,” Rachel appropriately replied.

“Now,” the leader went on, happy to continue business, “You’re all getting a little pamphlet here and on the back you’ll see a passage that you all will recite three times while doing the Macarena.”

“I always knew there was something screwy with that dance,” Michael said.

“Let’s get started!”  The leader clapped his hands together and the conglomerate got to work immediately upon receiving their pamphlets.  Once everyone had the passage memorized and had practiced a little bit, the leader got their attention again.  “Okay, let’s do this together now.  Remember, recite it three times wile doing the Macarena.  Here we go…”

A hum of an odd chant with an awkward rhythm rose from the large group of red garments and muted all sounds from the outside world.  Michael and Rachel merely looked on, dumbfounded and undecided as to what they should do.

“Ishna hemana ickala.  Ganu hishaba husani.  Isch tuvaba casandey.  Ich bin ein Berliner,” the leader chanted with the crowd.

“Did he just say he was a jelly doughnut?” Michael asked.

“I think he did,” Rachel said.

The verse was said a couple more times as the crowd attempted the Macarena but ended up with a travesty.  Then a large red figure formed in the middle of the fire and full, detailed features could be seen when the haze had cleared.  There was no doubt about it; Satan had just appeared in front of his devoted followers.

“Who hath awaketh me from my slumber!” growled the great demonic figure.  “Speaketh, so thou shalt receive thy punishment.”

A common misconception implanted in the minds of the young is that Satan has horns.  He doesn’t, at least he didn’t at this particular “get together.”  I don’t doubt that he very well could have horns if he wished it.  Nevertheless, don’t allow yourself to believe a demon must have horns in order for him to be Satan.  Just thought that was something that needed to be cleared up.  In fact, all that could be seen was his waste and above.  His bottom half was distorted by flame and gave the appearance of half of Satan floating above a fire.

The Ultimate Satan Conglomerate now had their panties in a twist and were frozen in fright.  No one dared move, no one dared the test Satan’s patience.

“Haha,” Satan chuckled.  “I was only joshin’ ya.”

A wave of skeptical relief fell over the group.

“Seriously,” Satan went on,” what y’all want?”

“Oh, Satan,” cried out the leader.  “Our lord, you have come!”

Satan smiled in an “it-was-my-pleasure” fashion and let the man continue.

“We’re so glad to see you.  We can’t wait to see the havoc you will release upon the earth and…”

Before the kiss-ass could finish his joyous rant, Satan interrupted by saying, “Is that a Canadian I smell?”  Satan sniffed a couple of times then looked straight at Rachel.  “Are you a Canadian, girl?” Satan asked Rachel.

“Uh… yes…” Rachel hesitantly replied.

“You don’t say!  I love Canadians,” Satan said sociably.

Rachel blushed and Michael became slightly jealous, which Satan smirked at.

“You know, Canadians are awesome,” Satan went on.  “I must say, the Barenaked Ladies is the greatest band your pathetic race has ever come up with.”

“Uh… Well…”  Rachel didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t you think so?” Satan pressed.

“I don’t, uh, really…”

Satan could see where this was headed.

“You don’t mean to say,” inquired Satan, “that you don’t like the Barenaked Ladies?”

“Um… Well, I don’t really.  Sorry,” Rachel said.  Then realizing she had just apologized to the great demon himself she asked if she could retract that last part.  Satan didn’t mind, despite his disdain for her lack of love for the great BNL.

Then Satan told the group, “I can’t believe you brought me here and expected me to wreak havoc when all you have to show me is a Canadian who doesn’t like Barenaked Ladies.”

“No!” protested the leader.  “We have so much more…”

Satan wouldn’t hear it.  “You are the sorriest excuse for a cult I have ever come across.  I hope you all die… As a matter of fact, I think I’ll kill you all right now.”

In an instant, all the members of the cult fell to the ground; all dead.  Michael and Rachel were left standing.

“I know you two weren’t a part of this.  So go on your merry way.  I’m going back to hell.”  With that, Satan disappeared in the proverbial puff of smoke.

Michael and Rachel stood there a moment, looking at each other.  This had certainly been and unordinary night for both of them.  Even for the Canadian.

Now I shall leave you with your jumbled and befuddled thoughts so you may ponder about what exploit of the astonishing Greco and his abstract Canadian girlfriend will be chronicled next.  It’s a wacky, uncanny world out there and you need only to read about the Astonishing Greco to find out how wacky.

For more on Greco check out his campaigning site at .tk and remember to stick around for more of his amazing adventures.