Date: Thu, 19 Apr 2007 03:15:56 -0400
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: The Tribulations of Mr Job

The Tribulations of Mr Job

a story by parrafan

Disclaimer: All supernatural beings mentioned in this story are fictional (just
like in real life, eh?). If any supernatural being feels it has been defamed or
misrepresented by this story, it knows where to take the matter up with me.

Dedication: This story is dedicated with warm affection to Tom and Stevy.

* * *

The Tribulations of Mr Job.

One fine day in rural America, God was walking along in a pleasant, grassy field
admiring His creation. He particularly enjoyed America, of all the countries of
the early 21st century. The people were so childlike (that is, they were
ignorant, violent and selfish).

Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, had also been wandering around - checking up on
developments. Things were coming along nicely. He too liked America: so much
potential! Seeing God a few metres away, he crept up behind Him and leapt onto
His back, covering His eyes with his hands. "Guess whooooo!" he cried, mimicking
a shrill voice.?

"Er, Mohammed?...Jesus? Uh, Joseph Smith Junior?" God hazarded.

"You are so hopeless at this game, I swear to You!", a disgusted Satan spat as
he climbed down off God's back.

"Oh, it's thee", God observed, frowning. "I knew whosoever it wast all along, I
was just yanking thy chain"

"Yeah, right", smirked the devil. "So, anyway, God, how's it hanging?"

God sighed in annoyance. "I do wish thou wouldst not use that vulgar expression,
especially around the Cherubim. They are starting to nag me about what it means,
and being created without genitalia, they won't understand thy satanic humour.
But since thou asked, it is hanging low and loose and full of juice, as the
saying goest."

Satan smiled. "So, been getting any, lately, God? Putting it to the Seraphim?
Getting the Divine leg over every night?"

The Divine patience was being sorely tested. "It may surprise thee to know that
I do not think about sex all the time. There are plenty of other matters that
occupy the Mind of God, I can tell thee. So just shut the fuck up about sex,
wilt thou, it's starting to get on my nerves"

"Oooh, look who got up on the wrong side of the cloud this morning, eh!" Satan
taunted Him.

God just glared at him, then his features softened as his infinite mercy kicked
in. He couldn't stay mad for very long, even at Lucifer. He reached inside His
robes for His purse. "So, how much dost thou need this time?", He asked the
devil.

"Hey, whoa, this isn't a business call old man. I just happened to see You
strolling by, just thought I'd shoot the breeze for a bit. Man, you are so
suspicious"

God nodded. "I suppose it goest with the territory. So much evil around nowadays
- er, no offense intended."

"None taken", the devil replied easily. "But evil's supposed to be my stock-in-
trade. You're the one with the alleged 'good guys' on Your team. Which reminds
me, have You got any outstanding candidates for Sainthood at the moment? Maybe
someone you might need to meet an untimely death and thus be sitting at the foot
of the celestial throne a few decades earlier than he or she expected? A Joan of
Arc, or an M L King Jr, maybe?"

God's divine Brow furrowed for a moment. "Well, now that thou comest to mention
it, there is one person who particularly pleaseth me. As close as I've seen to
perfection for quite a while. Mr Job is his name: he's a clean-living, decent
guy with a steady, worthwhile job. He goest to Church every Sunday, and prayeth
to Me every night before he turneth in. Nice house, nice family, the whole ball
of wax. A pretty wife that he keepeth satisfied in bed four nights a week-"

The devil whistled in appreciation. "Four, eh? Not a bad average"

"Bet thy fiery ass!" God asserted. "He makest sure she reacheth her climax
before him most times, too!"

"A real gentleman", Satan agreed. "What about the kids?"

"All a credit to him. Oldest is a girl, Cynthia, still a virgin at fifteen,
canst thou believe it? Next, a boy, James, he's twelve, wants to become a
clergyman, he's got the cutest bubble butt thou hast ever seen. The youngest,
Stevy, a delightfully innocent child, never touches his dick except to pee"

"Well-behaved kids are a pretty strong sign of good parenting, I'll grant You
that", the devil conceded.

But God was just getting warmed up. "He even goest the extra mile and helpeth
others less fortunate than himself - coacheth Little League, visiteth sick
people in the hospital, volunteereth once a week at a soup kitchen, financially
supporteth a starving waif from some loser country, thou knowest the kind of
thing"

"Mr Job, eh? Well, I don't know him personally, he hasn't come to my attention -
yet. But You know, it doesn't surprise me that he's on Your team. After all, You
shower him with all these earthly advantages: the house, the family, steady
employment; it's no wonder he goes to Church Sundays and prays every night. I
bet You he wouldn't be so holy if he didn't have all those worldly delights to
prop up his belief in You."

God stroked His chin. A little smile played about His lips. "A bet, eh? All
right, thou art on. Thou hast free rein to interfere with his family, his money,
everything, only thou art not to touch a hair on his head. We shall see where
his loyalty lieth".

"Great! Gotta go!" Lucifer grinned as he departed in a puff! of sulphurous smoke.

* * *


'Mr Job to the principal's office please - Mr Job' came the scratchy voice over
the classroom squawk box. Twenty three pairs of sixth grade eyes looked up at
the box, then at their teacher, expectantly.

"It sounds like I'm needed in Mr Jeremiah's office, boys and girls. It shouldn't
take long - please continue with Chapter Three. Now I want no misbehaviour while
I'm gone - I'm putting all of you on your honour to read quietly while I'm away.
I'm trusting you all to do the right thing." Nods all round as their beloved
teacher left the room and walked briskly to the Principal's office.

"Go straight through, he's expecting you", the Principal's PA directed, nodding
towards the door. Entering the inner sanctum, Mr Job noticed that two older
children were also present.

"Please sit down, Mr Job, and listen to what these kids have to say. I'm afraid
it won't be pleasant", Mr Jeremiah stated, as the teacher took a seat.

The two seventh-graders, a boy and a girl, looked at each other, as if to decide
who would speak first. The boy piped up. "That's him. That's the man who pulled
my pants down and put his hand on my...my..." The boy's voice trailled away into
sobs.

"I saw him do it", the girl added. "He did it right in front of me. He had one
hand on this boy's bum and the other on his private parts, and he had this awful
smile on his face while he did it. When he saw me he told me not to say anything,
or he would hurt my parents. And my cat. We ran right here and told you. He's a
pervert."

The Principal nodded towards the two children. "Thank you, Lucy and Damon,
you've both been very brave. You may go back to your classroom." After the two
kids left the room, Mr Jeremiah addressed his staff member. "These are very
serious accusations, Mr Job. Obviously I can't permit any further risk to the
students at this school; as of this moment, you are suspended - without pay -
pending a full investigation. I suggest you return to your home and await a
visit from the police. Of course, if you're innocent, you have nothing to fear.
Now get your evil, perverted ass out of my office, you filthy child-molesting
scum".

Mr Job had remained speechless throughout the brief meeting. His brain was
unable to formulate any words to convey his utter shock and confusion on hearing
the baseless accusations of the two children. He somehow staggered to his car
and drove home, on auto-pilot.

He let himself in the front door, crossed the room and collapsed onto his couch.
How could those kids say those terrible things about him? His mind refused to
function properly - it was like a needle stuck in a record's groove, repeating
the same phrase over and over: how could they? how could they?

When he began to calm down, a sound which had been fluttering at the edge of his
consciousness pushed itself forward. It was emanating from somewhere above him.
But no-one should be home at this time of day - not even him. Mr Job
concentrated for a few moments. It sounded like - no, it couldn't be. He rose
from the couch and walked to the bottom of the stairs. The sound was a little
more distinct here: two sounds, really. A high voice, no words, only noises,
like 'oh, oh, oh, oh', underscored by a deeper voice; no, not exactly a voice,
more like a growl.

He ascended the stairs, the sounds becoming louder with every step. They were
coming from his daughter's bedroom. Without thinking, Mr Job turned the doorknob
and opened his daughter's door - and was struck with his second shock of the day.
His daughter Cynthia was kneeling on her bed on all fours, stark naked. The
family German Shepherd, Lucifer, was on top of her, vigourously humping away,
his red tongue lolling out of his slavering mouth, as he growled and slopped his
spit all over Cynthia's back.

Mr Job slumped to the doorframe. He observed that Cynthia seemed to be enjoying
the dog's exertions, her pert little boobs jiggling back and forth with every
thrust of the dog's hips. Cynthia did not notice her father enter her bedroom,
and began to urge the dog to greater heights of activity, praising his
copulatory efforts and crooning with passion as the family pet drilled his doggy
dick deeper into her desperate ditch.

Never did like that dog, Mr Job thought absently to himself as he stumbled back
down the stairs. He didn't know why he let the two lovers continue - it was that
kind of day. Before he got back to his couch, his cellphone rang. Sitting, he
answered it.

"Is that Mr Job? It's Mr B.L. Zebub, down at the County Surveyors office? I got
some bad news for you. You remember that guy you had survey your boundary when
you bought your land ten years ago? Turns out he was a fool.... So, instead of
building your house in the middle of your block, you built it right over the top
of your neighbour's boundary....Ayup, that's right....half your house is on his
land....you got it- he wants to sell his block, so half your house will have to
come down....Sure, I know you can't demolish half a house....whole thing's gotta
go....no, it won't be covered by the County, the Statute of Limitations ran out
three years ago....You'll have to carry the loss....sorry about that. Gotta go.
You have a nice day, now!"

No more house? Where will we live? What...?

His distressed imaginings were interrupted by the return of his youngest son,
Stevy. Accompanying him was a youth he did not recognise, in his mid-teens.

"Daddy, this is my new friend Tom. I met him at soccer practice this afternoon.
He's great. We had this big adventure! Wait 'til I tell you about it!", the boy
gabbled in his excitement.

Mr Job was in no fit state to hear whatever his youngest son had been up to, and
he couldn't quite understand why the boy had acquired an obviously older friend,
but he had always made time for his kids to talk to him, and he felt his own
troubles might be lightened by hearing about someone else's 'big adventure'. So
he invited his son to tell him everything.

Tom had made himself comfortable in one of the single seats, and Stevy, to Mr
Job's surprise, sat in the teen's lap. More surprisingly, this Tom, whoever he
was, wrapped his arms around Stevy like he owned him! But before Mr Job could
suggest that Tom was getting a little too friendly, Stevy began his story.

"Because it's Sports afternoon, they let us practice for our Soccer game. After
practice, Tom came up to me and smiled at me. I knew right off we would be
friends. We walked back through the park, and I needed to pee. I usually just go
behind a tree, because the toilets in the park smell funny, but Tom took me to a
toilet, and we both went in. Daddy, there were all these men in there! They
grabbed me, and tore off all my clothes, and Tom's too. Then they got me on the
floor, Tom as well, and rubbed their big dicks on me, and licked and kissed me
all over. I was excited and afraid both at the same time, but Tom was there too,
so I wasn't badly afraid. Then one of the men put his big dick near my mouth and
told me to open up, so I did, and he put it in my mouth. Another man was doing
the same to Tom, so it wasn't so bad. But then another man rubbed his dick on my
bottom, and pulled my legs apart like he was looking for my...hole. He stuck his
finger in, and pushed it in and out a few times, then stuck his dick in there.
It hurt really bad, Daddy, but Tom was right next to me, telling me to relax.

"The other men were playing with their dicks, and shooting their stuff on my
back, and on Tom's. After the first couple of men finished with my bottom, it
didn't hurt as much - it started to get exciting. Then when they all finished,
they got dressed and left. But then some bikers roared up on their motorbikes
and they all came in and started doing it all over again. Me and Tom were
covered in their stuff when they finished. Then we went to Tom's house to clean
up. He was sorry the men treated me so roughly, but I told him it was the best
birthday present I ever got. We just came round to tell you I'm going to live
with Tom from now on, so he can fuck my brains out every day". The two boys
grinned at Mr Job, who could only open and close his mouth soundlessly, like a
beached fish. They got out of their seat, Tom carrying Stevy in his arms to the
door.

Just as the two lovers departed, two ambulance officers arrived, bearing a
stretcher between them. Lying on it was his middle child, James. "What...what
happened? Is my boy alright?" Mr Job yelled, distraught. The events of the day
were beginning to overtake his senses.

"Well, it's funny you should call him 'boy', because he's going to have to get
used to that", the first ambulance man remarked. He thought humour can be useful
to soften the blow when bad news loomed. "He was rushed to hospital from his
school, where there was...an incident. It appears that an itinerant preacher
visited your son's Religious Education class today, some guy calling himself
Brother Natas, and gave a talk to you son's class. He took as his text Matthew,
chapter 18, verse 9: 'if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out'. Apparently, young
James here was so inspired by this sermon that he went to the boys' bathroom
with a pair of scissors, and hacked off his own...er, equipment. We got to him
before he lost too much blood, but we were too late to save the, er, parts that
the boy excised".

"It's so I could serve God better, Dad, so I wouldn't be distracted by sex", the
delirious boy murmured dreamily from the stretcher.

Mr Job sank to his knees. What else could go wrong? The question had only formed
in his mind when he received a whack! to the side of the head from his wife's
handbag, which knocked him to the ground. "Bastard!" she screamed. "Filthy pig!"
she shouted. "Diseased vermin!" she yelled.

At first Mr Job thought his wife must have mistaken him for somebody else. Then
he suspected she must have heard about his dismissal from the school, and the
false story about him interfering with that boy. He tried to get up, to reason
with her. "Darling, I..."

"Don't you 'darling' me! Don't you dare! I've just come back from the
pathologist. Doctor Reficul told me the results of my blood tests. He said I've
got gonorrhea, syphilis AND herpes! And since I've only ever had sex with you,
it must be you I got them off! How could you? That big holy joe act, and I fell
for it. I'm taking the kids, and we're leaving. You'll hear from my lawyers. Go
screw yourself to death, for all I care".

Mr Job staggered over to his couch. Every aspect of his world had fallen down
around him. He could hear the distant wail of sirens approaching. "God, this
sucks!" he muttered.

* * *

"See! See! I knew it!" God capered about on a cloud, punching the air and poking
fun at Lucifer for losing their bet. "In spite of all thou didst unto him, he
still prayeth to Me! I win! Ha ha ha! In thy face, Lucifer!"

Satan had never been a very good loser. "If that's a prayer, then I'm an
archangel", he muttered. To God, he said "Well, of course he still talks to You
- he knows that with a snap of Your fingers You can give him all that stuff back,
in spades. These humans, they have a thing called the Stock Exchange - so
they're used to ups and downs. Anyway, You fixed the bet so You'd be certain to
win, with that condition about not touching a hair on his head. I bet if his
health suffered, he'd sing a different tune."

God thought about the devil's comments. "A bet, eh? Okay, thou art on - again.
Thou canst visit any afflictions thou likest upon him, short of actually killing
him. He will still have faith in Me, I'm sure of it".

Satan smiled. "Cool. Gotta fly".

** **

The sirens that Mr Job heard in the distance rapidly increased in volume. Within
a few seconds, he could see flashing blue and red lights through the curtains of
his soon-to-be-demolished front windows. A rap on his front door, followed by
the words "Police! Open up!" stirred him into action. He got up from the couch
to answer his front door. All he had to do was explain things to the police, and
everything would be okay, like it was, he thought.

Unfortunately for Mr Job, the Police are not very good at reading thoughts. Or
listening to excuses from child molesters. Officer Lou and Officer Ed chose to
interpret Mr Job's invitation to sit down as resisting arrest (or at least
delaying it, which amounts to the same thing). Nightsticks flew, followed by
boots, followed by teeth - Mr Job's. After beating him to a bloody pulp in his
own living room, the two brave officers dragged his handcuffed and manacled body
to their car and threw him in the back seat for a trip downtown.

Mr Job was surprised to discover that all those cop shows on television that
feature dank, overcrowded cells full of murderous, unkempt lunatics were
inaccurate. The reality was much worse. After a few hours of being urinated and
defecated on by his cellmates, he was taken for delousing. A jet of ice-cold
water swept the filth from his body, and his new prisoner clothes were not soft
and gentle on his skin, either.

"Hey, you! Kiddy-fiddler! You got visitors. You can see them in this room", the
desk sergeant sneered.

"Who is it? My lawyers? My family?"

"Nah. A coupla kids. I'm putting you on your honour to behave nicely, now", the
sergeant added.

Mr Job stood up when the two children entered the interview room. He was
astounded to see that they were Lucy and Damon, the pair of fibbers who had told
Principal Jeremiah that awful story about him. "You! What...? How.....? Why...?"
he stammered as he sank back onto the rickety prison seat.

Lucy spoke up. "Enough questions, Mr Job. Me and Damon just wanna tell you we're
really, really sorry we got you into trouble. We never thought it would go this
far. We only did it to show you that God doesn't really care about you, after
all you do for Him. You'd think one of his favourites would get a better shake,
but it sure doesn't look like it. Look at you - you're a mass of bruises, welts,
contusions and broken fingernails. Some of your cuts already show signs of
infection - probably some really nasty bugs from the excrement of those crims, I
s'pose."

Damon added his two cents' worth, whispering in Mr Job's ear. "I'm starting to
wish we really had got it on, you know, it woulda been fun, you and me, I bet
you're great in bed, and I got a itch deep inside my ass that needs scratching,
oh yeah, I'd make you ready to fuck me by licking your big cock, you know that
part just under the head that your wife won't lick for you, I'd sure do it, and
suck your balls, maybe even give your bag a hickey-"

Lucy piped up "It's working, Damon, I can feel it starting to get hard. Cut that
out and get down here and help me", she added, jamming her little hand inside Mr
Job's prison trousers.

Mr Job writhed in his seat, torn between protesting and acquiescing. "Hey! You
kids! What're...uh, stop...don't...don't stop...please...what's going on..."

The two imps had his prison pants down to his knees and were gripping his
stiffening member, one little hand each. "It's pretty simple really", Damon
stated. "We want to show you the earthly delights you miss out on by being such
a god-botherer. In fact, we can make everything go back to the way it was, only
much better, if you just devote a little more time to your own pleasure, and a
little less time to you-know-who upstairs"

"You can make it all...go back to how it was?" Mr Job gasped.

"Only better", Lucy confirmed.

"But...how?"

"Leave that to us. All you need to do is..." she leaned in close and whispered
in his ear.

** ** **

Mr Job put his feet up on a cushion. He stretched back on his sofa and glanced
at his new 100-inch plasma TV. An XXX-rated Cable movie was beginning - should
be okay, he thought, sipping a cheeky Australian shiraz.

"Can I rub your feet, Dad", his son James asked, sitting on the floor next to
the cushion. Since his return from hospital, James was a lot more attentive to
his daddy. Mr Job showed his appreciation for James' attentiveness by visiting
him in his bedroom every night. The boy (for it would be quite a few years
before he grew up) certainly had a willing and exquisite ass. Mr Job found the
sounds of Tom and Stevy copulating in the next bedroom very arousing, which was
also to James' benefit, as the recipient of his ardour.

Mr Job's daughter Cynthia popped her head in the doorway. "I've made a new DVD,
daddy - this time with two Dobermans. Want to see it before I send it to the
distributor?"

"Sure thing, sweetie. Just put a copy on the player, I'll put it on and watch it
with Stevy and Tom when they get home from the park". Being his daughter's
video-porn manager sure paid off. Each movie she made generated a six-figure sum
nowadays. Mr Job had never previously realised how much money was to be made in
the adult entertainment industry. What an eye-opener.

"Dinner will be ready in about half-an-hour, darling", his wife called from the
kitchen. Since their little misunderstanding (as she called it) was settled, Mr
Job's wife played the role of model housewife to a T. Perhaps obtaining the
block of land the house was built on had something to do with it. It turns out
that the error about the boundary was in Mr Job's favour, not his neighbour's.
And Mrs Job's pathology tests had somehow gotten mixed up with a drug-addicted
prostitute's, well now, that happens all the time, of course, too common to even
evoke a remark.

Lucy and Damon call around from time to time, just to see how Mr Job is getting
along, and to remind him of his promise. It was such an easy promise to make,
too. But I'm sure you already know what it is, having read this far.

** ** **

God was really pissed. One of the cherubim narrowly avoided a boot up the bum.
This time it was Lucifer's turn to gloat. "It's Your own fault, You know. You
created sex, after all. Did you really think that humans would be able to use it
responsibly? I think you got it right with the animals, by the way; all that
`breeding season' and 'estrus' stuff, works jolly well. Pity you didn't think to
replicate it with humans - especially boys".

"Thou wouldst do well to avoid any further mention of this subject for several
millennia. I'm so fucking annoyed at that Mr Job - some twelve year old boy
suckest his knob for half an hour and his will power just collapseth like Mary
Magdalene's tits", God grumbled.

"Ah well - better luck next time. By the way, who do you like in the race for
the Democrat nomination?", Satan inquired.

"I think Hill's got it in the bag. She'll pisseth all over that darkie -
especially since he's a closet towelhead - er, no offense, Mohammed", God
replied.

"None taken, my lord, may your name be forever blessed, O mighty one", the
Prophet murmured from his virgin-infested couch.

"Fuck, that getteth on my nerves sometimes", God muttered to no-one in
particular.

End

parrafan@ureach.com  ?