The El, The White Smoke and The End of Days.

At 2:07 pm white smoke billowed from the Sistine Chapel. A decision had been made. The wait was finally over.  And I, dearest reader, have not been this excited by a decision since season two of The Bachelor.

Although it was working hours for me, I kindly told my boss I would have to leave the jobsite. He then laid me off. Heathen.

I collected my tools and lunchbox and walked the four blocks to the El. Some of you may not know what this contraption is. It is basically a place for working people, students and the criminally insane to travel to different stops in the city.

As the doors to the train hissed open and I walked inside, my senses were assaulted.

First, smell. There was the aroma of cheese. Not a nice cheddar or an aged provolone, but the kind that resides in the crevice of an obese persons thigh. Also, mold and piss, two things I never imagined together until my nostrils were bombarded. It was like if after three months of not showering someone decided to piss their pants and then dry them off under the heat lamps at the local Arby's.

Next, hearing. I heard a guttural growl followed by the distinct sound of the dislodging of phlegm and unintelligible babbling.

And finally, sight. Thank Jesus my sense of taste was spared. The hocking and mumbling brought me face to face with a nightmare pulled from some evil dreamland. "She" (I cannot be certain this creature was indeed female, but it definitely had tits) had on a tattered jean jacket with a stained white t shirt and black jeans. She opted to go without shoes. Her hair looked as if she had combed it with the shit encrusted sole of a boot. Her bare stomach refused to stay under her shirt. Her chapped and red lips parted wide to reveal four suprisingly white teeth jutting out of gums ravaged by gingivitis and late night dumpster snacking minus the brushing. She hocked loudly and put her thumb to her nostril, pushing with all her might the largest fucking
snot rocket I'd ever seen. It hit the floor with a loud, wet SPLAT.

She fidgeted in her seat and thats when I noticed it wasn't only her stomach I was looking at. Her pants were actually around her knees and her vagina was out for all to see. It looked like a spoiled roast beef sandwich that had somehow sprouted a greasy beard.  I could now narrow down the source of the cheese smell.

Noone seemed to notice this was happening. Kids looked at their phones. People slept. I looked to be the only one who was watching this horror show. When she started to strain I knew what was coming. I'd seen that look many of times in my own eyes, shortly after a McChicken sandwich on a Sunday afternoon. I decided it was in my best interest to exit the train and walk the next few blocks.

Scurrying out of the doors before "her" turd joined the snot rocket on the floor I immediately noticed a man staring at me. It was that quizzical dog look, mouth tightly lipped, head slanted to the side. He was wearing work boots, a short sleeve flannel and the tightest acid wash jeans I'd ever seen. He had on what looked like knock off Rayban sunglasses. He slowly peeled them off his face and continued to stare at me. The train shot by, the wind moving his mullet back and to the right.

"Put these on," he said.

Like I do when most vagrants speak to me, I ignored him and walked away.

The steps led up to a busy street and I knew a shortcut through an alley up ahead. I had already had too many stops and starts. The announcement would be here soon.

Halfway down the alley I heard heavy footsteps behind me. Turning quickly I immediately recognized who it was; the homeless sunglasses guy. Again he held the sunglasses out for me to take.
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Put. These. On." He paused after each word for effect.
"Hey listen pal, I don't wanna wear your glasses. I don't want to contract pink eye or whatever other weird disease you have. So if you'll excuse me, Best Buy is right around the corner and I'd like to see the new pope announced."

As soon as I finished the sentence the rowdy son of a bitch threw a quick right that dropped me to my knees.

"Those people picking that pope, they're not human. A bunch of old men sitting around wearing dresses choosing a new spiritual leader. Does that sound human to you? I don't know how, but these glasses, they let you see the real picture. They let you see whats really going on. They let you see THEM. I can see you're not one of them. So please, just put them on." He extendended the glasses to me. He meant everything he said. He'd fuckin lost it.

I nodded my head and began to get up then swiftly tossed a haymaker directly into his balls. I think I felt one pop. What ensued was the longest fist fight of my life. I hit him as many times as he hit me. Each time he got the upper hand he tried to force those shitty glasses on my face. Finally after smashing his head through a car window, he picked me up and body slammed the shit out of me. He drug me to the Best Buy and plopped me in front of the rows and rows of TVs.

But it seemed my luck had changed. I could barely see through my swollen eyelids, but there on the screen was Pope Francis waving to the crowds.

I had been waiting all week for this. With one hand my mulleted attacker had me by my collar and with the other he slapped the glasses over my eyes.

"Now look at that ugly son of a bitch," he said. I looked to the screen and I knew what I was seeing was real.

"There are more things like this?" I asked him, slackjawed.

 "See for yourself," he replied calmly.

I heard gasps from the people in the store, most likely because of the two beat-to-shit men bleeding in the electronics aisle. When I turned to the sounds I saw more of those ugly fucks mixed in with some regular looking humans. One of them talked into its watch. It knew we couldsee them. Mullet and I decided it might be best to leave.

I'm not trying to scare you all. I'm simply trying to warn you. Mullet head tried to warn me and I got a mashed nose and two black eyes for fighting the truth. His holiness is not of this Earth.These things weren't picking our next Pope. They need someone to lead the attack. They live with us. They work with us. They police our streets and teach our children. They lead the Sunday sermon and serve our food. They know we're ignorant. Distracted, so willing to obey.

The End of Days are upon us. Don't believe me? Here, put these glasses on.

See for yourself.