"Chug, chug, chug, chug." Tad tossed back the whole can as his friends cheered him on. The taste was bitter, like crushed walnuts sucking the moisture from his mouth. He had to fight the urge to throw it all back up. "MOOOOREE," he screamed. Like a Bo Burnham song, the party was bumping and the music was loud. Strobe lights flashed against the led-painted walls as kids fell with seizures to the cold, wet floors. Tad watched some of them literally die when a bolt of electricity shot from the DJ's stand, sending sparks from puddle to puddle. It was the third day of Lucifer's ball and Tad's head was swelling with booze. "Where the bitches at?" he screamed from the middle of the crowd. Everything got a little quieter when he said it. Some of the people he had been drinking with took a few steps back. But he felt no pain. These bitches were all hoes anyway. And the guys were cucks. With a tip of his fedora, he noped right the fuck out of that mess, stumbling over to a group of bald kids near the door. "Where the bitches at?" he said. But their dark, sunken eyes -- lined with black -- held no interest for Tad. They were much more concerned with the revival; the moment when all who fell would be born again, rebirthed from the darkness. "Fucking cucks!" Tad shrieked. The dark-eyed kids were stupid anyway. They probably supported feminism and Islam and Sharia Law. He started off towards a gaggle of gals who were clearly asking for it with their comfortable tops and well fitting shorts, when one of the dark-eyes grabbed him from behind. "Hey you fucking cuck, let me go!" He screamed and writhed and wriggled and fought, but the dark-eye never faltered. "Forgive him, Lord," one of the others chanted, reaching out to the darkness beyond. "He knows not what he does." As the party bounced around him, Tad felt a tingling sensation creeping through him. It was the cucks, he knew. They were injecting him with their science and facts, corrupting him with equality and true democracy. Soon, every bit of him began to sizzle. He could feel the sparks skipping through his physical being - that round, portly shape with scraggly pubic hair and no chin that was his body. "This is why Trump won, you fucking cucks," he cried, as he slipped through the darkness. Cuck, cuck, cuck, cuck. Tad crashed against the cold stone floor. Five flickering candles surrounded him, the only light in any direction. As his eyes adjusted, so did his other senses. The place smelled of rotten eggs and styrofoam. Sulfur, he thought. Smells like Obama. Through the darkness, a being emerged. He was tall and gaunt, clad in silver robes, patterned with purple spirals and golden stars. "You are the worst!" he said. "I know I should be happy you're here, but for fucks sake. What is wrong with you?"

I'd do the sequel if it was desired.