Now that it's our land, we have to start killing everyone who lives here. Because as every Bible Freak knows, you ain't livin' Biblically unless you're killin' Biblically. Who to kill? Hah! More like "who not to kill," if we're going by Yahweh's rules. And as far as the Old Testament's concerned, there is no "not" in the "who not to kill?" question. Just kill, for yahweh's sakes, let the rabbis sort out the who's and the what's some other time.
I didn't have much in the way of weaponry. I couldn't use a gun because that would violate the Biblical authenticity. But I did have my iPod headphones. They could be used as a sling, or as a strangling instrument.
I crossed Ocean and headed up Santa Monica, full of religious fervor. There were Chaldeans and Phoenicians all around me. I had to kill them! But to do that, I would need a miracle. Off in the distance, I heard my Prophet screaming "Aagghgha!" It was a sign to begin the attack. I ran up to a Mexican woman who was pushing an old lady's wheelchair, wrapped the iPod headphone wire around her neck, and pulled tightly.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" she asked, looking at me in confusion.
"Thou art trespassing against mine people's land. Yahweh made a covenant with the people of this land, yea it is ours, and ye who are upon it must perish!"
By the time I'd finished my speech, she had long since unwrapped the iPod wire, and was pushing the wheelchair in the opposite direction. She had fled from the merciless Ahhggahhite warriors, and returned to her lands.
Down the street, I heard the Prophet scream again. He had taken a "For Sale" sign, a holy sword which he had been led to by an angel, and he thwacked the sign on the head of a homeless man.
"Slay the Chaldean!" I yelled from across the street.
The homeless man took the sword from the Prophet's hand, cursed him, and hit the Prophet on the head. Suddenly the Prophet was depressed.
"Do not despair, Prophet!" He didn't respond, so I encouraged him by adding, "I'll buy you a bottle of gin, just get off your ass and behave Biblically, goddamnit!"
"Gin?" He turned to the homeless man to seize the For Sale sign, but he got thwacked again on the head, and backed away, depressed.
I was just about to run up and aid him when two Egyptian chariots appeared from the seas. In fear I hid in a Barnes & Noble temple. From the chariots appeared two LAPD warriors who fired a taser gun at The Prophet. He fell to the ground and a large puddle of urine formed beneath him.
Yea, they did smite the Prophet.
"Yahweh is angry with us," I said. "We, the Ahhggahhites, did not fulfill our end of the covenant."
There was only one way out of Yahweh's doghouse, and I knew what I had to do: I'd have to bend the rules a bit, rent a U-Haul truck. A very big U-Haul truck. Then drive it into the two-block area that is our land, and systematically plow down as many pedestrians as possible to cleanse our Holy Land of heathens. Yahweh, after all, is kind of like Freddy Krueger. He needs lots of fresh souls to feel, well, appreciated. It's all there in the Old Testament. Read it, if you don't believe me.