Report From Hell: Satan’s Manhood

Heyo!  Here with another report from the underworld buried deep beneath an immensely popular theme park nestled in Southern California.  So here’s the deal, after a humiliating visit from his mother-in-law, there’s only one course of action left for the one time Morning Star…

Reaffirm his manhood… er… um… Dark Lord-hood.

Step one was Uncle Harry.  Unfortunately for poor Harry, he didn’t realize he was coming on the heels of a visit from Glady and was welcomed at our door by a swift kick in the testes.  Strangely enough, this is a good thing.

See, while everyone in the Universe has a mother-in-law to put them in their place, even Satan, so too do they have an favored aunt or uncle whose soul purpose it is to make you feel just a little bit better about your role in the world.  So while having his gonads smashed at high velocity by a cloven hoof probably was not particularly pleasant at the time, I’m sure good ol’ Uncle Harry is right now congratulating himself on a job well done.

Unfortunately, kicking Harry in the Jimmer wasn’t going to be enough this time.  I’m not sure what it was, maybe it was the hug (Satan started developing a rash almost immediately after), or perhaps it was the whole “Tom Tancredo is a good Christian” thing, but something about dinner with Gladys had Satan really itching to redefine his place in the grander scheme of things.

At first, he started off with kicking my ass on a few Wii games, but alas, he almost always wins anyway, and took out his frustration by happily removing my spine for me.  Even now, while a couple of lesser demons play jump rope with my back bone, this post is being produced via dictation.

Reestablishing his video game prowess proving fruitless, Satan moved on to the Hitler room, which has never failed in the past.  Only Satan can get Adolf Hitler to sustain a high C note for fifteen minutes straight, and this week he actually broke the record, Hitler’s uninterrupted scream lasting for sixteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds.

Satan read him NRO articles nonstop until he cracked.  Personally, I think he could get the guy up to seventeen minutes if he switched to the Opinion Journal, but then, that’s why he’s the record holder and I just pop off to the bar everytime I get a crack at him.

Still, despite beating his own record, Satan still wasn’t back up to snuff.  It was time for drastic measures.

Grabbing his hat and coat, he looked at me and said, “C’mon, we’re going topside.”

“Um… Lord of Darkness, sir…  I can’t,” I said shakily.  Though it was in no way my fault I was immobile, that didn’t mean he still wouldn’t punish me for obeying his orders.

“For fuck’s sake, why not?” he demanded, I could see the fire burning in his eyes, his veins pulsing thick black blood.  He advanced on me, his breath like smoke trickling from his nostrils, his dirty, yellow fangs dripping with venome (real venom… this isn’t a metaphor).

“Uh…” I faltered.  “You kinda removed my spine, Lord.  Twiddle, Nix, and Seymore are using it to play jump rope.  I really can’t move very much until I get it back.”

Satan cast his cruel glare towards the lesser demons off in the other room singing songs as they hopped over my swinging vertebrae before delivering a somewhat satisfied grunt.  “Oh,” he said.  “Right then, I’ll go it alone.”

And, thankfully, he departed without removing any more bones from my body.

So there I lay, for nearly a full week, like a throw rug on Hell’s floor.  The cat shat on me twice (her name’s Mittens and she’s never quite taken a liking to me), and the trio of lesser demons took a long enough break from their rope jumping to use me as a soccer ball until they realized that the rest of my body still attached to my head made the game rather cumbersome.

Finally Meph came along.  Meph, also known as Mephistopheles, is typically Satan’s emissary to the world above, but vacations down here in the Pit when Satan goes topside himself.

He poured some brandy down my throat and told me his tales.  It should be explained exactly who and what Meph is.  Meph is not exactly any one demon.  In fact, the title passes on from time to time, kinda like the Dread Pirate Roberts in that movie Princess Bride.

The current Meph is not even a demon at all, but instead a minion like me who’s just been around for a very very long time and has gotten particularly good at the often times very violent game of Underworld Politics.  He had to personally kill twenty-seven demons, have another six assassinated, debated two, and bribed three more with advance copies of the final Harry Potter book to get where he is today.

While it’s unprecidented for an actual human soul to play the role of Meph, what’s even more unprecidented is the style he’s brought to the role; dark silk suits from france, leather shoes from Italy, his hair stylings cost three times that of John Edwards, and he regularly goes to a dayspa to get everything from a facial to a massage (with the happy ending).

He worked very hard to get where he is, and now that he’s there he enjoys every single minute of it.

“Been working the celeb circuit lately,” he said with mild disdain as he swirled his brandy in his snifter.  “All those wayward souls, you know one of them will be itching for a deal sooner or later.  Not that they all won’t be heading down here anyway, but still that’s the best deal to make.  Who wants to convert a priest these days?  I could convert the Pope and still wouldn’t get as many collateral souls as if I got to Beyonce, or Kelly Clarkson.”

I chuckled.  “Can you work on Nickelback?  I know I’m not the torturing type, but they have to pay for the crap they put on the radio.”

Meph smiled.  “Ah, my friend, consider it done…  A favor from me to you.”

Oops.  The last thing you want in Hell is to owe Meph a favor, and I had to blow it on Nickelback…

Quickly trying to change the subject and hopefully erase the favor owed from Meph’s memory, I asked, “So any progress on the celeb front?”

Again, he issued that sly, knowing smile.  “I think I got Paris Hilton on the path towards going green,” he smirked.

“How’s that progress, exactly?” I asked.

“Think about it,” he said leaning forward, his dark eyes alight with excitement.  “That girl is catastrophically stupid.  Chances are, if I have her intentionally trying to save the environment, the whole planet will blow up within the decade.  You’ve been out of touch, mate, this woman is nuclear winter dumb.”

He laughed, but I felt a slight pit in my stomach (of course, that could have just been the effect of going much of the week without a spine).  I may be in league with the Lord of Flies, but I still like Earth, for the most part.

“Also,” he added after taking a quick sip from his snifter.  “Boston’s screwed.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I wrangled a concert there; Justin Timberlake and Good Charlotte.”

“Dear God.”

Meph gushed a mouthful of brandy out of his nose.  “Don’t let Lucifer hear you say that, you know how he gets when you say… The Other Guy’s name.”

“He took my spine out, come one what else can he do?”

“Plenty, my friend.  Plenty.  He may show favor upon you, but you’re still new, you haven’t seen just how bad it can get.”  Then he leaned in closely, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.  “He’s a lot nicer than he used to be.  Back in the bad ol’ days, one of the demons crossed him, and as punishment, Satan turned his daughter into Lindsay Lohan.”

“Poor demon,” I uttered in an awed whisper as Meph tossed me a knowing nod.

“But don’t worry, we’ll keep this between me and you.  I promise I won’t tell.”

Shit, now I was into Meph for two favors, things were going downhill fast.

Thankfully, before my naive mouth could get me into more debt than I was willing to settle, the door opened, and in walked Satan.  I had never been so happy to see the Dark Lord in my unlife.

“SATAN!” I said cheerily.  “How was topside?”

Satan’s red face cracked into a brilliant smile.  “Just great.  Hey Meph, how’re things?”

“Good, Lord.  I’m pleased to hear your sojourn went well.”

“Thank you.”

The two stared at each other, the Prince of Darkness in his full majestically demonic height, his horns almost scraping the ceiling, Meph in his fine imported suit.  Interesting nugget of information; they don’t actually like each other very much.

“So, this would mean you should be getting back to work, doesn’t it?” Satan said, his voice only just belying a hint of danger.

Coldly, Meph met Lucifer’s eyes without the slightest hint of fear.  “Clearly,” he said curtly, and after tossing me a knowing nod, headed out the door and back to the world of coked out starlets and musicians with no souls (well, okay, very easily corrupted souls).

I tried to push myself up onto my elbows, but my head kept slipping to the floor with no actual neck to support it,so I just continued to lay there.  “So, Satan, get anything good done?”

“Did I?” he said, sitting down on the couch, but taking particular care not to sit in the same spot Meph had been sitting just moments ago.  “Well I stopped by the Ames straw poll.”


“Blah, who cares, their all running for Vice President at this point anyway.  We all know Rudy’s going to take it.”

At this he gave a chuckle.

“What?” I asked.

“Did you know…” the chuckle turned into outright hysterics.  “Did you know he turned his emergency response bunker into a penthouse?  One he often took his little sex toy to?

“No way!”

Satan nodded emphatically.

“I knew he was bad, but that bad?”

“Oh yeah.  That bad, and the best thing is… IT’S NOT GONNA MATTER!  After his abortion stances, his three divorces, his crappy relationship with his kids, his embracing of the gay community, REPUBLICANS JUST DON’T CARE!  They’re gonna pick this guy anyway because they think he’s the only one that can beat Hillary!

“Man, I hope he takes the White House,” I said.

“It’ll be good times,” Satan agreed.

“Er… I do get to stay down here in case of a national emergency though right?  Won’t be quite as fun of a presidency if not.”

Satan cast a wary eye in my direction before finally relenting.  “Sure, why not?”

Seeing the bottle of brandy on the coffee table, he picked it up and took a quick slug.  He flashed a grimace and then continued.  “But here’s the big news.  Dumbassery is on the rise.”

“Oh really?”

“Yup.  For one, get this, a church has opted not to hold a memorial service for a Navy vet because he’s… gay.”

“Ah, they’re still on the whole God hates fags kick, huh?”

He nodded.

“That’s because of the chapter you made sure didn’t get into the official bible.  Boy, there’re gonna be a crapload of Christians surprised when they find out the real score on homosexuality, aren’t there?” 

Satan laughed uproariously, but I couldn’t join in.  It may have been one of his more clever tricks to remove the bit in the bible that said that Homosexuals are God’s children too, and that they too are blessed, but I, knowing a few gay people, could never get behind the joke.  Particularly when the punchline happened to be a guy who served honorably in the armed forces.

“Also, things are going GREAT on the fear front.  There’s a very good network of so called newspapers that go to red alert any time there’s even the slightest whiff of al Qaeda,” he said with glee.

“Yeah, my countrymen used to have a spine, but since the wingnuts took over, they have mastered the art of talking tough, and acting like cowards,” I agreed.

“Oh no!  The boogeymen are coming!  Ooooh!” Satan laughed.  “Speaking of which, the hate front’s coming along just fine, too.  Just recently one conservative columnist said what America really needs is another 9/11 to wake up.”


“I know!  You’d think I had a hand in all of this, wouldn’t you?” he said innocently.

“Satan,” I said, giving him that look.  “You did didn’t you?”

He turned away, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Satan,” I insisted.

“Well maybe just a little,” he admittedly, his face brimming with guilty pleasure.

“And did this make you feel better about yourself?”

“Immensely,” he nodded, his great black horns nearly impaling a passing bat as he did.

I smiled and said I was glad.

“Well, I’m tired, think I’ll go head on up to bed.  Goodnight, Kyle,” he said, and then with a yawn and a magestic stretching of the arms, he hoisted himself up off the couch, and plodded his way up the stairs to his room.

It was only after I heard the door close that I remembered something.  “Uh! SATAN SIR!  CAN I HAVE MY SPINE BACK?”

But by the rhythmic rumbling that trilled throughout all of Hell, I could tell the Prince of Darkness had fallen asleep, and was snoozing happily.

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