Episode 3 — Kenny vs. The Influencer Cult
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The Awakening of a Prophet (Sort Of)
Kenny woke up to the sound of cha-chings and fart noises. That wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the number of them. His cursed iPhone, propped on a tripod across the room, was glowing like it was about to hatch. The little chat window at the bottom of his cursed livestream app scrolled faster than his eyes could track. Tens of thousands of viewers were typing nonsense into the void, and all of it was directed at one person: him.
Kenny. A man who hadn't showered in three days, currently drooling into a pillow that smelled like hot dogs, wearing SpongeBob boxers with a hole in the crotch.
"Rise, king," one comment read.
"His aura is pure chaos," wrote another.
"Is that a Dorito stuck to his cheek or is he evolving?" asked a third.
Kenny sat up slowly, blinking like a newborn mole. His phone buzzed.
BANK DEPOSIT: +$4,000.00
Memo: Sleep content.
Kenny rubbed his eyes. "Four grand… for snoring?"
The chat exploded in applause emojis.
Then his blanket slipped. The hole in his SpongeBob boxers revealed a flash of pale thigh. The chat combusted.
"LEAKED 🍆," someone typed.
"Prophet bless us with your cringe," another said.
The cursed card in Kenny's pocket buzzed angrily.
Cha-ching. (+$200).
Fart decline sound. (–$2,500).
"NOOOO!" Kenny shouted, clutching his crotch like a man under sniper fire. "I can't keep losing money every time the internet sees my ass!"
But the comments wouldn't stop. One viewer typed, "This is divine. He's our prophet."
And that's how Kenny, the dumbest man alive, accidentally became the leader of a religion.
⸻
Linda's MLM Gospel
The kitchen was a battlefield of smells: coffee, demon musk, and Linda's keto "angel-friendly" muffins, which hissed softly like live grenades. Linda stood at the counter in a silk robe, filming herself on a ring light.
"Hey girlies," she said to her audience. "Today we're baking muffins that will open your chakras, cleanse your aura, and maybe, if you're lucky, get you laid."
Kenny stumbled in, hair pointing in six different directions. Kayla, eyeliner smeared and wearing a hoodie that said Summon or Die Trying, scrolled TikTok with murder in her eyes. Frank sat at the table, pouring beer into a cereal bowl.
"Morning, Prophet," Kayla said without looking up.
Kenny blinked. "What did you just call me?"
Kayla spun her phone around. On the screen, a livestream showed a dozen demons in a basement lit by neon lights. They wore hoodies with Kenny's blurry face ironed on the front. They chanted in unison: "KEN-NY! KEN-NY! KEN-NY!"
Kenny nearly choked on his own spit. "What the—hell—what the actual hell is that?!"
"Your fan club," Kayla said. "They call themselves Kenny's Krusaders. Apparently, you farting during that exorcism last week was considered a holy sign."
Frank slurped his beer-cereal. "Son, you're famous. Fame means money. Money means I can finally buy name-brand beer instead of this off-brand Possession Ale."
Linda turned, eyes gleaming. "Sweetheart, don't knock it till you monetize it. You could be the first influencer-prophet. You could lead a movement and do sponsorships."
Kenny waved his arms. "No, no, no! I'm not a prophet. I'm a guy who once set his hoodie on fire trying to microwave pizza rolls."
The cursed card in his pocket buzzed.
Cha-ching. (+$500).
Kayla smirked. "Yeah. And they loved it."
⸻
The Park of Worship
It started small. Kenny went outside to get some air. He made it about three steps into the neighborhood park before he realized he wasn't alone.
Twenty demons surrounded him. They looked like a Hot Topic clearance sale had been dumped into human form: ripped hoodies, neon eyes, too many piercings in questionable places.
"Prophet Kenny!" one screamed, dropping to his knees.
"Oh god—" Kenny muttered.
Another demon held out a glittery staff topped with a dollar-store printout of Kenny's face. "Please bless my OnlyFans so I can reach 10,000 subs."
"What? No! Go to college or something!" Kenny shouted.
The card buzzed.
Cha-ching. (+$2,000).
The demon gasped. "He rejected me! That means it's true! He's real!"
The whole group wailed like they were at a boy band concert.
Kayla, recording the whole thing, cackled. "Dude. You're literally their Jesus now."
Kenny waved his hands frantically. "Stop worshipping me! I don't do miracles!"
Right then, a vending machine across the park rattled, shook, and spat out thirty sodas.
The demons screamed. "A MIRACLE!"
Cha-ching. (+$5,000).
Kenny's jaw dropped. "Okay… that was kinda sick."
⸻
The Living Room Church
By that evening, the Krusaders had moved into the family living room. Candles burned on every surface. Banners with Kenny's face draped over the TV. An altar of Hot Pockets sat in the middle of the floor, steaming faintly.
Kenny sat on the couch like a hostage. Demons knelt before him.
Linda paced in front of them, handing out glossy MLM cards. "Welcome, everyone, to Prophet Kenny's Monetize Your Chaos seminar. Step one: believe in stupidity. Step two: Venmo me $200."
Frank held up a beer. "And don't forget the beer tithe!"
Kayla sat on the stairs, glaring. "You're all idiots. Worshipping my brother is like worshipping a clogged toilet."
From the bathroom came a muffled voice. "HEY!" shouted the possessed toilet.
Kenny buried his face in his hands. "This is my nightmare."
Cha-ching. (+$700).
⸻
Heavenly Concerns
Meanwhile, in Heaven, Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel sat around a glowing cloud conference table, holding a Zoom call.
"This is unacceptable," Gabriel declared, wings fluttering angrily. "Demons worshipping Kenny throws off the balance of faith."
Michael pointed at a screen playing Kenny's viral clips. "Our churches are empty while his TikTok is thriving. People pray less, and instead they send him Hot Pocket fan mail."
Uriel raised a hand sheepishly. "Confession time… I subscribed. His chaos speaks to me."
The other two angels gasped.
"You're suspended," Gabriel snapped.
⸻
Hellish Reactions
In Hell, Satan sat at a flaming boardroom table while demons in suits flipped through charts.
"Sir," one demon exec said, "Kenny's cult is cutting into our soul subscription numbers. People are pledging loyalty to him instead of eternal damnation."
"Of course they are," Satan muttered, popping a nacho into his mouth. "Idiots sell better than damnation. He's the walking definition of 'engagement metrics.'"
Another demon cleared his throat. "Should we… kill him?"
Satan waved a hand. "No. He's too profitable. We'll sue him for trademark infringement."
⸻
The Ceremony of Cringe
The Krusaders rented an abandoned church for their first official ceremony. They brought smoke machines, ring lights, neon crosses, and more candles than was legally safe.
Kenny stood on stage, terrified, Burger King crown crooked on his head. Hundreds of demons cheered, holding signs like "KENNY SAVES" and "PROPHET OF CRINGE."
"Uh…" Kenny mumbled into the mic. "Thanks for coming, I guess. Remember to like, share, and—"
The cursed card buzzed violently.
Fart decline noise. (–$7,000).
Kenny clutched his chest. "Shit. It hates this. I'm TRYING too hard."
The Hot Pocket altar shook. The vending machine Kenny had blessed earlier burst open. From inside rose a glowing, carbonated figure: the Soda Demon, a god of fizz and high fructose corn syrup.
"Prophet Kenny!" it bellowed. "Lead us to infinite carbonation!"
The crowd screamed with joy.
At that moment, chaos arrived. The angels stormed in from one side, wings blazing. Satan strolled in from the other, nachos in hand. Linda livestreamed the whole thing. Kayla screamed that this was ruining her aesthetic. Frank burped so loudly that three demons were accidentally exorcised.
It was war:
• Angels threw pottery wheels like ninja stars.
• Demons live-streamed the fight, begging for follows.
• The Soda Demon sprayed Mountain Dew across the crowd like holy water.
• Kenny stood in the middle, screaming.
"STOP! I'm not your prophet! I'm just an idiot with SpongeBob boxers!"
The crowd gasped.
Then they cheered louder. "TRUE HUMILITY!"
The card buzzed so hard it nearly exploded.
MONSTER CHA-CHING. (+$50,000).
The cult collapsed in joy. The Soda Demon melted into a puddle of sticky green soda. Kenny fainted face-first into the Hot Pocket altar.
⸻
The Tag
The next morning, Kenny sat on the couch, hair stiff with dried soda, eating cereal. His cursed iPhone streamed him automatically.
Chat comments scrolled by:
• "He saved us from thirst."
• "Kenny 4 Pope."
• "Hot Pocket altar tutorial plz."
From the bathroom, the possessed toilet shouted: "SUBSCRIBE!"
Cha-ching. (+$200).
Kenny sighed, slamming his face into the cereal bowl.
"I f***ing hate my life."