I got a call on Teams from Satan the other day. We used to Zoom, before Hell became an all-Microsoft workplace, just to make it more Hellish.
When Satan calls, I’m always tempted to answer “What’s up, Bub?” with Bub being short for Beelzebub, but I don’t, because he always assures me that I’ll be spending an eternity’s worth of quality time with him soon enough, and jokes, especially inside jokes, can wear thin after a couple centuries.
But the POD (Prince of Darkness) did not have humor on his mind. “Any word on whether Mitch McConnell is dead or not?” he asked.
“I would think you would be the first to know.”
“Not necessarily. They just invented this brain-dead bullshit relatively recently, you know. I supported it at first, just so egomaniacal physicians could rip organs out of people before they were 100% dead, which assured those guys of their future here in Hell, but lately it just makes things confusing.”
“It’s tough for anybody to tell. McConnell might just be lying there surrounded by beeping machines, but some people claimed to have talked to him. Why worry? I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”
“That’s the problem. Got an email from Himself the other day, and he says get ready, because He’s going to pull the plug on Trump any day. It’s my worst nightmare that him and McConnell arrive here at the same time. It really puts a strain on my workforce when people who really deserve to be here show up. We have to pull out all the stops. It’s a massive overtime bill, ever since my imps voted for the union, and it really puts a strain on my idea demons, since they have to think of unique ways to torture them. My most creative fiend quit after coming up with covering Epstein in suppurating boils and dipping him in rubbing alcohol every five minutes. Said that was the top of his game. Now all he’ll do is stick a pitchfork in a random adulterer once in a while. And he’s pretty indifferent about that. And we feel the loss. Charlie Kirk just gets a full fireworks show in his rectum every day, and he deserves far worse.”
“It sounds like you’re saying the devils of Hell are getting burnt out?
“Please don’t put it that way. Most days they show up for work and do their jobs fine. But when someone like Trump or McConnell gets to the gates, it really creates anxiety for my imps. Despite being eternal creatures especially created to enjoy inflicting endless pain, they look at the dead soul’s career, rife with every possible kind of sin, and the way they lived their lives with monstrous indifference to anything but their own lust and greed, and my succubae start thinking to themselves Do I really belong here in Hell as much as this guy?
“Oh, wow.”
“Yes. It’s so sad to see an immortal demon succumb to imposter syndrome. Some of them have become completely useless. All they do is sit by the Lake o’ Lava, drinking chalice after chalice of unbaptized baby blood. And I have to pick up their bar tabs. It’s going to be grim for me, if Trump and McConnell show up at the same time.”
“Will Hell bust out all over?”
“NO! It’s better designed than that. But some of the side tortures may have to be paused. Maybe Rush Limbaugh and OJ Simpson will get a break from their eternal sumo match, and Herman Cain may be able to sneak off that facemask made of tiny scorpions for a few minutes. Because it’s going to be all demons to the gates if that happens.”
“I feel you, Evil One. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Just keep getting those regular checkups, lose some weight, and slow down on the drinking, ok?”
When Satan calls, I’m always tempted to answer “What’s up, Bub?” with Bub being short for Beelzebub, but I don’t, because he always assures me that I’ll be spending an eternity’s worth of quality time with him soon enough, and jokes, especially inside jokes, can wear thin after a couple centuries.
But the POD (Prince of Darkness) did not have humor on his mind. “Any word on whether Mitch McConnell is dead or not?” he asked.
“I would think you would be the first to know.”
“Not necessarily. They just invented this brain-dead bullshit relatively recently, you know. I supported it at first, just so egomaniacal physicians could rip organs out of people before they were 100% dead, which assured those guys of their future here in Hell, but lately it just makes things confusing.”
“It’s tough for anybody to tell. McConnell might just be lying there surrounded by beeping machines, but some people claimed to have talked to him. Why worry? I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”
“That’s the problem. Got an email from Himself the other day, and he says get ready, because He’s going to pull the plug on Trump any day. It’s my worst nightmare that him and McConnell arrive here at the same time. It really puts a strain on my workforce when people who really deserve to be here show up. We have to pull out all the stops. It’s a massive overtime bill, ever since my imps voted for the union, and it really puts a strain on my idea demons, since they have to think of unique ways to torture them. My most creative fiend quit after coming up with covering Epstein in suppurating boils and dipping him in rubbing alcohol every five minutes. Said that was the top of his game. Now all he’ll do is stick a pitchfork in a random adulterer once in a while. And he’s pretty indifferent about that. And we feel the loss. Charlie Kirk just gets a full fireworks show in his rectum every day, and he deserves far worse.”
“It sounds like you’re saying the devils of Hell are getting burnt out?
“Please don’t put it that way. Most days they show up for work and do their jobs fine. But when someone like Trump or McConnell gets to the gates, it really creates anxiety for my imps. Despite being eternal creatures especially created to enjoy inflicting endless pain, they look at the dead soul’s career, rife with every possible kind of sin, and the way they lived their lives with monstrous indifference to anything but their own lust and greed, and my succubae start thinking to themselves Do I really belong here in Hell as much as this guy?
“Oh, wow.”
“Yes. It’s so sad to see an immortal demon succumb to imposter syndrome. Some of them have become completely useless. All they do is sit by the Lake o’ Lava, drinking chalice after chalice of unbaptized baby blood. And I have to pick up their bar tabs. It’s going to be grim for me, if Trump and McConnell show up at the same time.”
“Will Hell bust out all over?”
“NO! It’s better designed than that. But some of the side tortures may have to be paused. Maybe Rush Limbaugh and OJ Simpson will get a break from their eternal sumo match, and Herman Cain may be able to sneak off that facemask made of tiny scorpions for a few minutes. Because it’s going to be all demons to the gates if that happens.”
“I feel you, Evil One. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Just keep getting those regular checkups, lose some weight, and slow down on the drinking, ok?”
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