The Great Hole has claimed its sacrifice
Gesticulating wildly, as his eyebrows twitched and his face contorted, billionaire-playboy-philanthropist Noraa Snivel told me about the Great Hole.
“You just don’t understand MAN!” He stood up on his large, mahogany desk, situated in the middle of his mansion. He jumped up and down, and his $400 Versace slippers click-clacked away, echoing down the marble-lined hallway that stretched out behind us where Picassos and Van Goghs hung, the collectables of the obscenely wealthy. “We started something that just can’t be stopped. The Hole needs a sacrifice, and dammit, it’ll take us all with it if we don’t start coming up with ideas.”
A few months ago, Mr. Snivel mysteriously showed up at a community-led city planning meeting to address the horrible problem of parking that had reached a fever pitch in the city of Davis. He came, dressed in a black coat, not unlike a sith lord, and from the back of the room in the midst of the proceedings, his voice boomed over the masses — “BIG. HOLE…… BIG. HOLE…… BIG. HOLE…..” The whole audience, confused and frightened, swiveled in their seats to look at the man whose words filled up the room. And as silently and mysteriously as he came, he left.
Soon after “The Interjection” (as it became known amongst community members), construction for a “parking garage” began underneath the city of Davis. All day and night, the drilling could be heard. The pounding from below was like a creeping earthquake — a chilling reminder of the man in the cloak that haunted the heart of the citizenry. But most of the city did not mind sounds of construction, as long the construction wasn’t affordable housing for poor people.
It was only after a few months that people began to be afraid, as the Memorial Union had just gone up and disappeared one morning — quite literally disappeared, and along with it, most of the administration, who had been performing their nightly Satanic ritual to try and dispel the UC workers asking for liveable wages and rights and stuff. All that was left of the icon on campus was a giant hole. And it was only to grow bigger.
In press conferences regarding the hole, Noraa Snivel remarked this simple statement: “The hole must be built. The hole must be satiated.”
And not long after this statement, most of UC Davis had been swallowed whole. Entire liberal arts departments disappeared, but most students didn’t really seem to care. One fourth-year computer science major was heard to remark: “They teach books here?”
But then Kemper Hall, with its labs and students with strong earning potential, disappeared. And people began to demand answers from Mr. Snivel, who could say only “BIG. HOLE……!..!!”
So I came to Mr. Snivel for answers at his massive mansion, and this time he could only say this: “THE HOLE NEEDS A SACRIFICE.” And he ran out of the office. I followed closely behind and lost him for a bit. But then I saw him sprinting across the front lawn, wearing only a black Speedo with these words and symbols, written in hot pink letters, stretched across the ass:
“🍑 BIG HOLE 🍑”
He stood on the edge of the hole, which by now had reached his house, and peered down inside. I knew what he was going to do and called out to him. But he wouldn’t listen. The hole needed a sacrifice, and he was going to be it.
He did an incredible swan dive, and it seemed at least for a moment that he floated in the air like a divine feather, hovering in a ray of light, arms stretched out, his body rigid like a cross. Then he disappeared down into the blackness of the hole, falling for God knows how long.
And strangely, the hole stopped growing. But even to this day, no one can sleep, because the words “BIG HOLE” come out of the gaping blackness that sits in the middle of town. And all who hear it can only think about the human sacrifice sitting in the depths of that abyss, screaming out, keeping them only barely from the brink of destruction.
Written by: Aaron Levins — email@example.com
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)