"If you found him, I know I'll be pleased," John said with a cool smile.

They stood in the corral-sized living room of his condominium: cream-colored walls, geometric furniture in pastels, fat pillows. Many places to recline, of course. The design of the place--done by one of John's conquests--was ingenious: it looked like a living room, but was in fact an orgy room.

"Shall I get him?"

"Shortly." Kenny appeared with a tray bearing a frothing milk shake. He knelt at John's feet and held it up like an offering. John took it and stroked the boy's hair. "Thank you, Kenny." Kenny smiled sheepishly and stepped away.

His slaves worked busily around him, cleaning, plumping, picking up. Most wore erotically cut swimsuits. A few were naked. John preferred a little clothing. He liked to have something to remove. Indeed, he had acquiesced to Lamont's repeated suggestion to wear something more than a bathing suit in public. Lamont was right: not showing it all off, holding back a little, made him even more desirable, if that was possible. But at home, he was proudly naked as were his subjects.

Lamont had also come up with the name for them: fuck zombies. John had t-shirts made up for all of them, black with ragged white lettering: Fuck Zombie. He had one made up for himself as well, the only divergent logo allowed in the house: Sex Monster.

Sometimes the orgies would last a week. He would begin with one zombie, only to have another horn in and another and another util he was draped in worshipful flesh, all demanding his magnificent tool. He would fuck them all, his lust increasing with each eruptive orgasm until he frothed at the mouth and his eyes rolled into his head. Then the fun would really begin. He would become a savage wrecking machine, twisting their bodies painfully while he penetrated them, hurling them in a rage against the walls. They would crawl back across the room begging for more. Did his power not extend itself to those he fucked, he would surely have shredded them all into soft gore by now. The overarching intensity of his carnal desires made him fearless. His passion pushed him beyond any inhibitions into a place of no boundaries where limitations did not exist, no limits to his actions, no limits to the pleasure they could evoke. He stood in an empty garden of pleasure that stretched infinitely in all directions, sole decider in a universe of unending delights.

He stood at the door to the balcony, admiring his view of the city, and sipped his shake. Deliciously perfect, as always. He had not fucked the cook, Arnold, in a week or so. He would have to reward him. That is when he found time free from the demands of the endless phalanx of new sex partners his slaves brought him. John would make a go-round of the bars every Saturday, but for the rest of the week he had no need to leave his flat. The sex was constant.

"Let's have a look at him," he said to Lamont.

Lamont kissed John deeply and then hurried out. He returned with a young man, a teenager really. The boy was obviously not out, or not too far from his closet door anyway. He seemed heterosexual, brutish and dimwitted. He had not yet learned how to exude those sly homosexual vibrations that alerted potential tricks to his availability. Perhaps John would teach him. He was clearly an athlete, and clearly vain: his body was lean but fully developed, the muscles not huge but firm and pumped and beautifully defined. John suspected the definition was a gift of nature. The boy was wearing torn sweat shorts and soiled sneakers. He was perspiring, perhaps from a run.

"This is Callen," Lamont announced.

"Callen. Hello."

"You're John."

"Yes, I know."

Callen smiled, a crooked, just-asked-Jenny-to-the-dance-and-she-said-yes smile. "Everybody knows who you are, John."

"Here, taste." He held out the milk shake. Callen dutifully complied.

"Delicious. What is that, cilantro?"

Cilantro, John thought. He's a faggot, all right.

"I don't know what he puts in them. Delicious, though."

Callen read his t-shirt. "Sex monster, huh?"

"Do you doubt it?"

Callen blushed. He looked around at the plush furnishings. "You look pretty comfortable here."

John looked into his eyes. "There is no sensual pleasure I deny myself." There was a pregnant pause, and then he said: "I don't pay for any of this, of course. My slaves do. Jeffrey over there." He pointed to a ravishing blonde dusting in nothing but a frilly apron. "His inheritance finances most of it, him and one other."

At first, John had selected his fuck zombies solely on appearance. The members of the Golden Circle fulfilled his needs. But his tastes developed over time. He now sought out only the cream of the crop, of course, but they had to have more than beauty: they had to be useful. Cook, electrician, secretary, millionaire. They had to serve outside the bedroom as well as in. It was remarkable how many truly stunning men had ability. Or wealth. The Golden Circle kids--useless bartenders and models--protested tearfully when he discarded them for more utilitarian lovers, but that was their problem.

"I have Jeffrey wear that apron because it accentuates his ass. It's his best feature. It's just the kind of ass I like: high-riding, protuberant. It looks like it's begging to be fucked. Which, of course, it is." He turned to Callen. "Your ass is different, but very acceptable. Yours is thick. It sticks straight out. Callipygian. And it's clearly toned and hard."

Callen looked at his feet. "I'm in shape," he said, by way of an offering.

"Callen is a lawyer," Lamont said helpfully.

"A lawyer," John repeated.

Callen shrugged. Aw, shucks. "Law student, actually."

A lawyer could be useful, John thought. Lamont did well.

He didn't take him right away. He stood near him, feeling the electric discharge between their separate skins, the tingle of incipient pleasure. He felt the warmth of the boy's strong body, inhaled the acrid perfume of his sweat. Would the feeling ever die? That first tizzle of desire that skittered across the surface of his body, tingling his nipples and enlivening his cock? He knew it would not. His power would not allow it. Every encounter was scintillating in its newness, its freshness. Every fuck was the first fuck. Every round, voluptuous ass struck his senses as if it was the first ass he had ever seen.

He took Callen into his arms and kissed him long and hard. He would start Callen off with romantic love, the same psychological manipulation he had perfected with Kenny. He would make Callen's emotions rise up and fill the world. He would make Callen cherish him. Then, he would dominate him, crush his independence, twist his love into fawning subservience. Yes, a lawyer could be very useful.

He saw no reason to move. Fucking was not necessarily a bedroom activity in his home. And his superhuman strength enabled him to stand in one place, solid as a concrete pylon, for hours. He made love to Callen on the spot, committing increasingly passionate acts on the boy's ass until Callen was sighing with devotion and pleasure. Callen had never experienced anal sex, a quality John enjoyed more than any other. Virginity. After an hour, Callen's legs were shaking and his energy levels depleted, but John still worked on him. He was preparing to enter the violent phase of their encounter when a voice interrupted him.

"Having fun?" it said.

John turned with some irritation. Who the fuck was foolhardy enough to interrupt him during his pleasures? Someone was going into the bondage room tonight.

Standing calmly in the middle of the living room was Mr. Bel, dapper as ever. He smiled his avuncular smile. His cigarette oozed smoke.

John dropped Callen, who crumpled to the carpet. "Mr. Bel!" John ran to him, his heart overflowing. How he had longed to see Mr. Bel again, to express his gratitude!

Mr. Bel held out his hand and, without thinking about it, John fell to his knees in obeisance. He pressed the proffered hand to his cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered. "My God, thank you. Thank you."

"Thanks are not necessary," Mr. Bel said, withdrawing his hand. "You work for us, that's all. And we're very satisfied with your performance."

John stood, beaming. "What can I get you? Any desire can be satisfied in this room. Kevin, bring Mr. Bel whatever he wants."

Kevin happened to have been walking by with tools in his hand. Carpenters were also useful. He was slowly installing classical moldings in all the rooms. His work was impeded by John's constant interruptions to fuck him. He was perhaps John's most loyal servant after Lamont. He had appeared as expected the day after John raped him, anxious for more. He had not left again.

"I'm fine, thank you," Mr. Bel said to Kevin. "Can you take a moment?" He looked tactfully at Callen's recumbent form.

John looked down at the boy scornfully. "He'll keep."

They stepped out onto the balcony. John inhaled deeply the fresh air and the life it carried. It was springtime and the air was redolent with daffodil, dogwood and lilac. He could identify the flowers because he had briefly enslaved a botanist from the university. "I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Bel."

"And I you. I just wanted to discuss your progress for a moment."

John was immediately panic-stricken. "I haven't displeased you, have I? Let you down?" What if Mr. Bel withdrew his gift? Put him back the way he had been? It would be the death of him. A bullet in he brain. Life would be intolerable without his sweet power. No one could fall from such a height and live. "In no way," Mr. Bel assured him. "The... emotions generated by your activities are very useful to us. And we thank you. We just think it's time for you to... expand your horizons, so to speak."

"Expand. All right. You tell me what to do. I truly hope you're pleased with me. I'll do anything to be worthy of what you've given me."

"Ah, I sense the source of your distress. You fear our largesse might be... discontinued. Yes, that would be crushing, wouldn't it? But there's no reason for you to worry about that, ever. Our gifts, once given, cannot be withdrawn. A risky business, and not without its disappointments. But I knew we had chosen well with you."

John smiled secretively. It cannot be withdrawn. His power belonged to him forever, no matter what this strange and powerful man thought of him.

"You've created a very pleasant situation for yourself here. And we're very pleased by your ethical evolution."

"Ethical evolution?"

"We just think it's time for you to go... global."

Something moved in John's midsection, a shifting of forces. It was a warm feeling he had felt before like a river of pudding moving through him. He felt it whenever he found a new way to exert his power. It was a sexual feeling.

"Global?" he said. "How global?"

Mr. Bel puffed. "Certainly this little kingdom of yours can't satisfy you forever. Oh, the gratification is immense, I know. But surely you feel the power within you, coruscating through your body, surging in your muscles, in your life organ. Do you think it will allow you to contain it? Can you deny yourself greater gratification? Why should you be denied anything?"

John licked his lips. "Tell me what to do."

Mr. Bel chuckled like a jolly old uncle. "Oh, I can never do that, Mr. Avery. Tell you what to do. You must always choose."

John frowned. "Give me a hint."

"A hint. Ah, a hint is permitted. Your friend Carey."

"Carey... ." Carey was the photographer who had done the photoshoot that turned into a sex session months before. "What about Carey?"

"You haven't seen him for a while, no?"

"I've fucked him a thousand times. Why would I want to see him?"

Mr. Bel patted his shoulder. "Just give him a call. Invite him over."

"John... " said another voice. John turned and found Callen leaning languorously against the door sill. "Where did you go?"

John smiled, surveyed his finely-fleshed physique. "I was just talking to my friend Mr. Bel, here."

Callen looked confused. "Mr. Who?"

John turned. Mr. Bel was no longer on the balcony.

"People come and go so quickly here," he smiled.

----

Carey was not slow to respond to John's invitation. No one in John's life was slow to respond any more. He appeared within half-an-hour with his cumbersome black sample case in his hand. John directed a fuck zombie to seat him in the study and serve him whatever he wanted, including ass.

John entered shortly. He had been rewarding a slave for a job well done and he stank of sex. Carey rose up in his seat, his butt contracting, when John appeared. John sat opposite him, his colossal apparatus hanging down off the chair.

"It's been a while, Carey."

"I'm sorry not to be more attentive, John. But I've been... very busy."

"Busy?" John said. Whatever Carey had been busy with, it had not been good for him. He looked worn and etiolated. His voluptuous body had been neglected, allowed to decay. Drug addiction? John was displeased by his appearance, usually an offense punishable by banishment; but Mr. Bel had said to bring him.

"You can't imagine what I've been into, John. I know you think I've been neglecting you, but I haven't. I've been with you every second of every day. You're all I can think about. I don't work, I don't eat. My friends haven't seen me in months."

John's brow furrowed. "Oh, and how is that?" I've been with you every second of every day. Is it possible Carey had been in the condo every day and John had forgotten him? He occasionally misplaced a person here or there, but this would require actual amnesia. No, he was sure Carey had not been around.

"I'll show you," he replied mischievously. He pulled a manila folder out of his leather case. He extracted a pile of photographs from it and handed them to John. "Look, John. Look at yourself."

It was the spread from the shoot John and Kenny had done months ago, the one where Carey had returned from lunch to find them fucking. The rest of the shoot had been utterly pornographic, an explosive sequence of sexual performances. John's eyes fell on the first picture and he instantly became aroused. It depicted him towering over Kenny, his cock in mid-lunge. Kenny's face was rapturous. He flipped through the stack, becoming increasingly excited by each succeeding image. Kenny had never looked more beautiful, his ass arcing high. But John was the star. John was a god.

"I look at them constantly," Carey said. "I... can't stop looking at them. I masturbate seven or eight times a day, John. It's incredible. You're so beautiful, John. I love you. I'll always love you."

John looked up at Carey, at his wizened body and pale, desperate features. The lad had been consumed from the inside out, it was obvious. He looked back down at the photographs and felt his cock rise. He continued to go through them, mesmerized by his own sexuality.

It transfers onto film, he said to himself.

He knew then how he would "go global."

----

"I need a cinematographer," John said to Kevin. "He'll need to be extremely beautiful, of course. But he also needs to be talented. Do you know anybody?"

"I know the perfect person. He's still studying at the college. But he's straight."

John grinned evilly. "So much the better."

----

Best walked Lamont home from the Safeway, carrying one of his bags. Lamont was known throughout the gay community as John Avery's housekeeper. His attendance at parties was sought frantically, though rarely granted. Best had tried a different approach, chatting in passing with him at the market for a period of weeks until they had struck up a provisional friendship. Best knew when Lamont went to the store because he'd had John's apartment staked out for months.

"Fuck zombies?" Best said.

Lamont laughed. "Isn't that a hoot?"

"He actually calls you that? And you let him?"

Lamont looked surprised. "Let him? Honey, you don't let John Avery do anything. He decides. He's like the 800-pound gorilla in the joke."

"I can't imagine tolerating that kind of treatment."

Lamont eyed Best's physique. "I can't believe John hasn't already fucked a little slut like you. He has, right?"

"Well, right."

"Well, then you can imagine tolerating it. I get to be around him all day every day. He fucks me at least once a week. I'll tolerate anything for more of that."

It was as Best suspected. John was controlling a harem of beautiful slaves with his sexual power. He salivated. Best had thought he already possessed that power. But now he knew there was so much more.

They reached John's front door.

"Well, thanks for the assist."

"I'll carry it in," Best said helpfully.

Lamont gave him a knowing look. "Of course you will, sugar."

He led the way to the flat and let Best in. Best quickly surveyed the surroundings. Elegant, obviously a professional job. And big. But his attention was grabbed immediately by the inhabitants, some of the most incredibly beautiful men he had ever seen, all wearing little or nothing, busily doing housework, carpentry, cooking. It was a bustling warren of activity, all with one obvious purpose: keeping John Avery happy.

They put the groceries in the kitchen.

"Busy place."

Lamont smiled. "John keeps us all plenty busy. Satisfying his appetites is a full-time job. Do you know he eats six meals a day?"

"Keep up his strength, huh?"

"He's got lots and lots of strength, let me tell you."

"Lamont... " said a commanding voice.

Best turned and there was John with Kevin at his side . He did not look glad to see Best.

"Yes, John?"

"What is little Besterton doing here?"

"I helped Lamont carry the groceries home," Best cut in.

"Did you. Lamont? I'll expect you in the bondage room tonight. Drawn and quartered."

"Yes, John." Lamont knew he was going to be punished for bringing Best into the house. His thighs quivered with anticipation.

"I'm going out now."

"When will you be back?"

"I have no idea. Just have one of the other zombies strap you down and wait for me."

"Yes, sir."

John and Kevin left. "Who's the little hunk?" Kevin asked. Although no man but John attracted him, he had learned what was considered attractive. Best was unquestionably that.

"That is Besterton Keynes."

"He's beautiful. How come you're not glad to see him?"

"Best is banished."

Kevin pushed the button for the elevator. John no longer pushed buttons, opened doors, carried parcels, drove a car or answered the phone. "He's never been here, how can he be banished?"

"His crimes predate this residence."

They stepped into the elevator.

"He's hot. Maybe you should bring him on board. Can he do anything?"

"Oh, what do you know? You're straight."

Kevin stared into space. "Oh, yeah," he said sadly, "I forgot."

John pulled him close and kissed him.

----

The university campus was a lush landscape of oaks and maples dotting vast green lawns. Hoary edifices reared up like rows of vultures. The students looked fresh and edible, their firm little asses packed into tight jeans and sweatpants.

John strolled through the place like a visitor from another dimension. He had never tried to extend his power over a college campus. It might be an interesting exercise. Certainly, the fuckable flesh was abundant. Kevin took him to an auditorium where a presentation was already underway. Standing at the podium was a young man, perhaps twenty years old, with a rectangular movie-star face, broad shoulders, and almost no hips. He was elegantly dressed in designer sweater and tailored slacks. His shoes were expensive.

"That must be Carson," John whispered.

"That's him. I thought you'd like him."

John liked him very much. Straight, was he? John thought back to his first time with Kevin. What bliss! Why had he not taken more hetero boys?

Carson was finishing his opening remarks before showing a film he had created. His voice was manly and resonant. He sat down and the film rolled. It was excellent. In later days, John was unable to remember the content of it. His mind was aswirl concocting an appropriate sexual scenario for Carson's enslavement. But he could remember that the film showed true genius. Carson had a future, that was unquestionable. He would have been one of the greats, a creator of classics. His gift was evident.

Of course, none of that would happen now. Carson had fallen under the attention of a god and, as all readers of mythology know, catching a god's eye always meant, for a mortal, a change of plans.

----

When they returned home after meeting Carson and making an appointment at the condo to discuss a production deal, John found Lamont dutifully strapped to one of the torture couches, drawn and quartered, which was to say spread-eagled with each limb secured. He was hanging on the wall. John assembled the fuck zombies.

"Our Lamont, usually our tireless and obedient servant, has broken a rule. He has admitted someone unwanted into my domain." Lamont could not possibly have known that Best was "unwanted," but this hardly obtained. "He needs discipline. He needs to be brought back in line, to remember that he exists only to serve my needs. Lamont, you agree with this, don't you?"

"Yes, master," Lamont said sheepishly. He was trembling with sexual excitement.

John took a paddle handed to him by a zombie and slapped Lamont hard on his ample, black man's butt. Lamont sighed. John beat him for a while, inflaming Lamont's desire and his own. Their cocks filled with blood and grew hard. He finally hit Lamont so hard the paddle broke. He then switched to a bull whip that hung on the wall. Lamont cried out with the pleasure of it.

But John had punished his slaves this way so many times. His proximity to Carson early in the evening had stoked his lust. He was anxious to try something new. "Kenny, bring me the box."

Kenny dutifully ran across to a closet and dragged out a weathered wooden crate. It contained a variety of authentic medieval torture tools purchased by John's decorator-slave at auction. He had never had occasion to use them. Kenny pushed them up to John's feet and opened the lid. He looked up expectantly, like a dog expecting a treat. John stroked his hair. Kenny's complete annihilation pleased John enormously. No one was more subservient than Kenny. His limited intelligence had not given him much defense against the onslaught of John's brutal passion. He free will was entirely gone. The fact that John had once loved Kenny added a sparkle of betrayal to his subjugation that excited John whenever he saw the boy.

John took out a pair of cruel-looking pincers. He applied them to Lamont's fingers. Lamont screamed. The pain was obviously substantial. John's grin expanded into a death rictus. He pulled one tool after another out of the chest, subjecting Lamont to excruciating agony. He knew as long as he was in the room, Lamont would not be permanently harmed. Besides, the lad was obviously enjoying it, coming copiously at regular intervals. It was a very diverting half-hour. John put one of the zombies on cock duty, sucking luxuriously while he experimented on Lamont's pain centers.

The doorbell rang, an absurdly cheery bing-bong-bong in such a setting. John remembered his appointment with Carson. He left Lamont strapped down in the presence of the others and went out to the living room. Kevin had answered the door and stood in the foyer with Carson, who had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. His muscles, obviously well-tended, stretched the cheap cotton fabric. Clearly, Kevin had told him that his potential investor was gay and he intended to maximize his personal edge with sex. A foolish choice.

"Carson's here," Kevin said.

"He certainly is," John replied. "I hope you don't mind that I'm naked."

"Not a problem," Carson said in his get-out-of-town-by-sundown voice. John could have walked out with the mutilated corpse of an infant in his hand and Carson would have said "no problem." The nearness of money turned everyone into monsters.

"Nice place," Carson said, appraising the furnishing.

He's wondering how much he can get out of me, John thought with a smile. Wait until Carson found out how much John could get out of him. Carson reminded John of his millionaire slaves; they had beauty, they had wealth, they thought these two things made them kings of the gay world. They thought they had power. But that was because they had never met the true power. John soon showed them how lowly they were. He would teach Carson the same lesson.

"Sit," John ordered.

"Thanks," Carson said, as if he had considered the suggestion and decided to go along with it.

Do you think you have power here, little man? Do you think your beauty makes you strong?

Carson was obviously used to getting his own way. No doubt other straight boys found this an admirable trait. John hated it. He was sick of straight people thinking they owned the world, his world.

They sat. John summoned Kenny to bring them refreshments. Carson ordered a scotch and soda, Kevin a soft drink. Alcohol intake was not allowed among John's slaves. Damaged the muscle tone. Carson clearly had some habits that would need editing.

"Kenny is an excellent bartender, among other things."

"He doesn't say much," Carson observed.

"He doesn't say anything. We were lovers for a time. When I moved in my other sex partners, he complained bitterly. Always whining about how I used to love him, how good it had been. I finally ordered him to stop speaking at all. He hasn't uttered a sound in--" He looked to Kevin. "What? Six months" Kevin nodded.

Carson stared at Kenny with wonderment as he received his cocktail.

They talked of nothing, in the manner of straight men. John had no patience for this, had no patience for anything any more, and raised the subject of the video series. Carson immediately lit up. But as John explained the nature of the work, Carson's brow darkened.

"Let me get this straight. You're talking about porno videos. You think I'm going produce gay porn videos?" His indignation was brilliant.

John took him.

Like Kevin, his born nature rebelled, and like Kevin, he could not resist the pleasure emanating from John's body. A man will fuck a sheep if he gets horny enough. It didn't take long to secure his agreement to the deal. John made Kevin stand and watch.

Their session lasted several hours. Kevin was unable to restrain himself finally and jumped into the fray. John worked on both their asses. Kevin and his good-bud Carson developed a whole new perspective on each other that night.

When John emerged, deeply satisfied, from the bedroom, he found his zombies lingering around the door to the bondage room. They looked as if he had caught them at something. He went inside to see what was up and found Lamont still strapped down. There was a gash in his side oozing blood. One of the medieval devices, a vicious-looking claw thing, lay on the floor next to him, blood-drenched. Kenny was vainly trying to stop the flow. Obviously, a call to 911 was in order. Todd and Gary, two of his millionaires, stood off to one side. They looked simultaneously guilty and luridly pleased. John knew them both to be sado-masochistic assholes. Cruelty seemed to go hand-in-hand with great wealth; John didn't know why. Apparently, when material boundaries were removed, men became savages.

"Explain," John said to them, obviously the perpetrators.

"We picked up where you left off," Todd said with some bravado. "Don't have your technique, I guess."

Of course, with John not present, Lamont lay open to all manner of injury. And the emanations of his power from the next room would have inflamed them uncontrollably.

Gary smiled villainously. "It was so excellent."

John looked from them to Lamont and back again. He smiled. "Clever lads," he said.

After that, things started to go bad even as they got better than they'd ever been.

----

Their first production was a solo work, just John working his gigantic penis. They filmed it in one of the bedrooms of John's condo. All the fuck zombies pushed in to watch until they threatened to force out the camera crew. John gave them all tasks and sent them away, leaving just him and Carson with Kevin as technical assistant and cameraman.

Unlike other porno stars, John did not run out of steam after a few takes. He could go for ever, was more than happy to go forever. Worshipping himself was his favorite pastime, after all. He marveled at his own flawless perfection as he ran his hands over it. After countless sexual encounters, after week-long orgies, after depravities beyond the most perverse imaginings of ordinary people, his body was still youthful and fresh, the skin pliant, the muscles springy. He radiated boyish vitality. His ass was a wonder of nature: voluminous, shapely, powerfully muscled. How he loved himself!

He started off slowly, flexing and posing, letting the viewer relish his magnificence, his unnatural beauty. Then he began to touch himself, very slowly rousing himself to empyrean heights of pulsating, mind-deadening ecstasy. He knew the camera was getting all of it. And he had an hour to fill.

Carson and Kevin were also getting all of it. They had to stop periodically so John could fuck them. Keeping the two of them enslaved was a lot of work requiring constant sexual domination. Their born natures kept rearing up, struggling to be free. Kevin had become somewhat acquiescent over time, but Carson was raw and rebellious. John loved Carson.

They took stills of John for the magazine ads. John insisted they be fuzzy and out of focus. That would be good enough. After Carey's death, John had decided that still photographs were a very bad idea. Carey had starved to death in his apartment surrounded by his photographs of John and Kenny. One of the fuck zombies had managed to retrieve the shots, which John burned in his fireplace. Dangerous things. He didn't really care about Carey, but the attentions of the Little People were to be avoided at all cost. They could become very annoying, as a swarm of gnats was annoying. Actually, when he got word of Carey's death-by-worship he became hugely excited and fucked his zombies all day and all night. John reveled in any evidence of his power.

John allowed Carson and Kevin to handle all the production details. He enslaved a local film producer's assistant to advise them. They decided the title of the piece would be John's Body. The videos were ready for the shelves in six weeks, and the ads were placed. •