McGuffin of The Ant Queen (Part II of the Ant Queen Chronicles)

Many a thing needed doing before the final assault could be launched, and more prisoners were taken all the time as my soul-pure brethren wandered into those dark tunnels, seeking only to convert the filthy Christ-killers and God-haters who peopled the palace of The Ant Queen. And there was the matter of a little recon, a bit of looky-see for to show us the path to the victory of the Righteous.

And the McGuffin. There's always a McGuffin.

I tracked into the lair yet again. It is important for a Man to know his mission and to choose the right tools, and for this operation I was packing, in addition to my crucifix, only My Rifle, Old Reliable; my trusty nightscope liberated from the race-mixing oppressors in the U.S. Army; and a few claymores and flash-bangs in a ditty bag in case I ran into serious trouble. Oh, sure, I might've had another ace or two up my sleeve, but that's for me to know and you to find out, savvy?

The insertion was easy; these careless sluts never protect the opening to their precious hideaway, preferring to lure a Man into this den with the overpowering waft of their raging pheromones. Many an innocent lamb of Christ has fallen into their clutches this way.

Even as I slipped into the vile burrow, I could sense the pulsing of the compound's life beat: the rap-hop music; the soccer; the young persons, fuel for Her unholy fire, with their gold chains and their piercings and their exposed midriffs and their illicit drugs; the working women, callously abandoning their children to secular homosexual daycare providers as they waltzed off to deprive Men of Their right to work; hippies and other socialists, chanting and beating on their drums and making dirty bestial partisan love to trees and whales and baby seals; and Her minions, always Her minions, the Jane Fondas and Bella Abzugs and Susan Sarandons and Rachel Carsons and Greer Garsons and Barbara Boxers and Andrea Dworkins, and their captive Leninist boytoys, the Tim Robbinses and Ted Turners and Adam Baldwins. They lolled about the chambers of the compound, gorging themselves on rich Ethiopian food and sodomy, taking breaks from their gluttony only to mince down to the dungeons to sing Alanis Morrissette songs to the martyrs, their hapless captives, condemned to rot in chains listening to Godless propaganda until the day when the Righteous could fulfill their destiny and destroy their heathen oppressors.

All of these seethed and frothed into an unholy stew, whipped into an Atheistic frenzy by Her and Her Ilk, bombarding the Faithful with messages of Peace and Love and Free Will and Temptation, mocking Us with their debauchery, cruelly and rudely rebuking Us at every turn with their facts and their logic and their science. How could We, simple servants of the Baby Jesus and of God's Will, compete with Her in such a complex and distracting world as this? Even by her nature she was not subject to holy assault by the Righteous, for even Satan was created from the same stuff as the Angels. She, my friends, was no fallen Angel. Sterner measures would be required to defeat this villain.

Silently, I plunged into the tunnel, the walls around me throbbing with the Unholy evil that saturated this foul place. Despite the constant draft flowing through this womb of Our Tormentors, I began to sweat, slowly at first, a light sheen covering my towering form, then more profusely as the heathen beat of the Gomorrah-hive intensified, corresponding to my progress through these tubes.

And then, the ambush! Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Holly Hunter, and Mia Hamm reared up and attacked. "Back, foul libertines!" I cried, hosing them down with molten death from Old Reliable, but as they fell, there She appeared, the Ancient Enemy, the Royal America-Hater herself, spewing babies from her female orifice, chanting, "That's mine! That's mine! That's mine!" and fatally squashing every one of them that was of a color lighter than that of cured leather. This was about one in every six, since Her protocol of interbreeding Communists from all over the world was in full swing and She was well on her way to homogenizing Humanity itself into one foul medium-beige slurry. She knocked the rifle and my bag of explosives from my hands, sending them clattering off into a convenient abyss.

"Babykiller!" I screamed, and she flinched, as all leftists do when called names. "Why do you hate America, foul fiend of the matriarchal Underworld? Sheela na gig! Exhibitionist!" She reeled at my assault, croaked "Generalizer!" as if her silly taunts could harm me, and clattered back down the passageway, leaving a trail of babies impure, but living, and pure, but deceased. But in the dim light, I made out something else she left behind--the McGuffin!

As soon as I moved toward the all-important grail, though, her stalwart army rallied, ear plugs fitted to withstand my assaults. I knew that it would be a waste of breath to remind Liv Tyler, Rosie O'Donnell, and Gloria Steinem, that they were Feminazis, and I looked for another plan. But I was in deep trouble, for the smell of their pheromones filled the air, and I knew that this was my worst fear realized; this coven of trollops was ovulating. What was worse, the excitement of combat, combined with the inescapable draw of the pheromones, was having the expected result; I was growing erect, all fifteen inches worth.

Liv Tyler cackled hideously, her sordid laughter ringing in my ears, her giant demonic ovaries calling to Me with their tainted scent. "Come to us now, and help us create stem cells," she chortled. "You cannot escape us now, in your helplessness. Come to me, my pretty Christian, and let me make a man of you even as we kill the embryos you help me create so that we may use their stem cells to research cures for heterosexuality and normality." I shuddered in fear, paralyzed by inaction, by a million options and nonoptions whirling through my purified mind.

And then, He appeared as if in a hologram. "Use the Force, Insuffricubus!" whispered Joey Rats urgently, "your Holy Seed will triumph over their wicked lubriciousness!" The Pope was right. I had one more trick in my book.

I reached down and unzipped myself calmly, drawing out all seventeen inches, stroking once, twice. "Okay, girls, I guess you've got me," I said. "Who's first?" All three of them crowded closer to me, and then I let them have it. Never in my life have I been so happy for that little control problem, as I sprayed the heathen harlots with My Righteous Semen. It was if the infidels had been sprayed with Holy Water, and they melted away before me. I laughed in triumph and picked up the McGuffin, preparing to escape. I was so charged up from My victory that Joey Rats had to come back and remind me of something crucial.

And so I scooped up the embryos that were all that remained of the forces of the Left, scooped them up and into the McGuffin, and flew out of there as fast as I could, preserving myself for the next step in the struggle against Evil, and preserving the precious embryos for adoption into good Christian homes.