Satan Explains the Complexities of Being The Devil to His Shrink, Larry
Satan Explains the Complexities of Being The Devil to His Shrink, Larry
I think I’m going to quit. No, really. I mean it this time. I’ve had it up to here with the whole “Prince of Darkness” thing. I mean, yeah, it’s a cool title. Very badass. But that’s pretty much the only perk at this point. My name sounds cool. Who the hell cares if my name sounds cool? I’m not going to do something that I hate just because it sounds cool. Elvis Presley was the King of Rock N’ Roll, but by the end of his career he was just this sad shadow of what he’d once been. Better for me to quit now before I end up dead and bloated on a toilet somewhere.
It’s just - I’m tired of the people, you know? Everybody’s always asking for something. It’s always, “Satan, man, I wanna play like Hendrix. I’ll sell my soul to play like Hendrix”. Everyone wants to be able to shred some killer riffs, but nobody wants to put any work into it. Everyone’s just so apathetic. Sometimes you just want to say, “Why don’t you try practicing? You’ll feel a whole lot better about yourself if you do this on your own.” But that’s not what my job is - as much as I love a good motivational speech, the whole Beelzebub gig is kind of based on malevolence and evil and stuff. So I always do it. I always give people exactly what they want. They don’t have to do anything; they’ve just got to sign a contract. I’m the guy who does all the work. You know how much work goes into playing like Hendrix? I’ve got to study major scales, minor scales, pentatonic scales, picking techniques, the evolution of popular music; they just sit back and reap the benefits. And what do I get from it? I mean, sure, I get their souls. But I don’t get any respect.
And is there anyone out there for me to turn to? Is there anyone I can conveniently sell my soul to when times get rough? There are a few things I’d like to become great at - I’m a terrible bowler, for example - but is there anything I can do about it? No. I’m too busy fixing other people’s problems to even think about focusing on my own. I’m like an omnipotent Dr. Phil, except I bet even he gets laid. (Here's a fun exercise: try bedding a girl when your cock is engulfed in an ever-burning flame.) Everybody’s too self-centered to even notice the demon who’s sacrificing his life to improve theirs.
And I deserve to be noticed. I’ve done some pretty incredible things. You know that knowledge thing you have? Yeah, you can thank me for that one. It’s pretty tough to tempt God’s number one lady, but I was able to do it. I did it with an apple, for Chrissakes. An apple. I had to make a common piece of fruit embody everything worth living for: passion, drama, the unknown. You know how fucking boring an apple is? You want to try to convince someone an apple is better than Paradise? A kiwi fruit, sure. They’re delicious. But an apple? That takes skill.
And yet, when you hear my name these days, there’s this immediate connotation to something terrible. Corruption in Politics? Must be Satan. Crisis in the Middle East? Probably that Satan guy. Genocide in Darfur? Satan, Satan, Satan. It’s like, hey, God did some shitty stuff too. I mean, what kind of asshole creates leprosy? The ebola virus, anyone? But when you hear people mention Him it’s a little bit different: “Oh, thank God we have TiVo! Now I can watch Grey’s and C.S.I. at the same time! God, that’s so great!”
Why don’t you sit down with the Guy for an hour and then try to tell me how great He is. Suuuuch a Dick. You can be talking to Him about anything - anything! - and He’ll just randomly bring up his role in the Genesis. Just try to slide it into the conversation real casually. “Good job pitching the company softball game, Luce. Reminds me of the time that I created the Universe. Only took Seven days.” Well bra-fucking-vo, O Mighty One. Go shave your eternally flowing beard.
I guess what’s really been bothering lately is the knowledge that whatever I do is going to be perceived as evil. I’m the devil - I define evil. Everything I’ve ever done, regardless of my intention, epitomizes wickedness and malice. I hook a hungry lady up with some (extremely healthy!) fruit; that’s not a random act of kindness, it’s evil. I offer that Jesus boy fame and wealth; I’m not an agent looking out for the kid’s interests, I’m a demon to be endured. My jersey number in high school ball is 666; suddenly, it’s the number of the beast. God kills His son and everybody thinks He’s the greatest divine being ever, but when I toss around the ol’ pigskin my jersey suddenly I'm the badguy.
I just don’t know where else I could find a job. I’m really good with administrative policies in the afterlife realms, but I had a falling out with Heaven a couple of years back and Purgatory just kind of bores me. That really only leaves me jobs within the secular sphere, but my position has brought me a certain level of infamy and most places just aren’t going to want to hire the Emperor of Evil. I’d love to do some acting or something; I know the ’biz is hard to break into these days, but I have a pretty commanding presence and would love to give it a shot. I could even be a pop-culture commentator on one of those hilarious VH1 shows. (Picture this: Satan talks about The Exorcist on I Love the ‘70s, then reviews an album by Styx. I’m laughing already!)
The question ultimately boils down to this: am I willing to show people that I can change? Sure, it’ll be tough. I have a terrible reputation, and it’s going to take people a while before they’re able to see the real Lucifer. But someday - not too far in the future - I dream that I’ll be able to hear a person say, “That Satan dude? Sure, he defines evil. But he’s not that bad a guy.”
I think I’m going to quit. No, really. I mean it this time. I’ve had it up to here with the whole “Prince of Darkness” thing. I mean, yeah, it’s a cool title. Very badass. But that’s pretty much the only perk at this point. My name sounds cool. Who the hell cares if my name sounds cool? I’m not going to do something that I hate just because it sounds cool. Elvis Presley was the King of Rock N’ Roll, but by the end of his career he was just this sad shadow of what he’d once been. Better for me to quit now before I end up dead and bloated on a toilet somewhere.
It’s just - I’m tired of the people, you know? Everybody’s always asking for something. It’s always, “Satan, man, I wanna play like Hendrix. I’ll sell my soul to play like Hendrix”. Everyone wants to be able to shred some killer riffs, but nobody wants to put any work into it. Everyone’s just so apathetic. Sometimes you just want to say, “Why don’t you try practicing? You’ll feel a whole lot better about yourself if you do this on your own.” But that’s not what my job is - as much as I love a good motivational speech, the whole Beelzebub gig is kind of based on malevolence and evil and stuff. So I always do it. I always give people exactly what they want. They don’t have to do anything; they’ve just got to sign a contract. I’m the guy who does all the work. You know how much work goes into playing like Hendrix? I’ve got to study major scales, minor scales, pentatonic scales, picking techniques, the evolution of popular music; they just sit back and reap the benefits. And what do I get from it? I mean, sure, I get their souls. But I don’t get any respect.
And is there anyone out there for me to turn to? Is there anyone I can conveniently sell my soul to when times get rough? There are a few things I’d like to become great at - I’m a terrible bowler, for example - but is there anything I can do about it? No. I’m too busy fixing other people’s problems to even think about focusing on my own. I’m like an omnipotent Dr. Phil, except I bet even he gets laid. (Here's a fun exercise: try bedding a girl when your cock is engulfed in an ever-burning flame.) Everybody’s too self-centered to even notice the demon who’s sacrificing his life to improve theirs.
And I deserve to be noticed. I’ve done some pretty incredible things. You know that knowledge thing you have? Yeah, you can thank me for that one. It’s pretty tough to tempt God’s number one lady, but I was able to do it. I did it with an apple, for Chrissakes. An apple. I had to make a common piece of fruit embody everything worth living for: passion, drama, the unknown. You know how fucking boring an apple is? You want to try to convince someone an apple is better than Paradise? A kiwi fruit, sure. They’re delicious. But an apple? That takes skill.
And yet, when you hear my name these days, there’s this immediate connotation to something terrible. Corruption in Politics? Must be Satan. Crisis in the Middle East? Probably that Satan guy. Genocide in Darfur? Satan, Satan, Satan. It’s like, hey, God did some shitty stuff too. I mean, what kind of asshole creates leprosy? The ebola virus, anyone? But when you hear people mention Him it’s a little bit different: “Oh, thank God we have TiVo! Now I can watch Grey’s and C.S.I. at the same time! God, that’s so great!”
Why don’t you sit down with the Guy for an hour and then try to tell me how great He is. Suuuuch a Dick. You can be talking to Him about anything - anything! - and He’ll just randomly bring up his role in the Genesis. Just try to slide it into the conversation real casually. “Good job pitching the company softball game, Luce. Reminds me of the time that I created the Universe. Only took Seven days.” Well bra-fucking-vo, O Mighty One. Go shave your eternally flowing beard.
I guess what’s really been bothering lately is the knowledge that whatever I do is going to be perceived as evil. I’m the devil - I define evil. Everything I’ve ever done, regardless of my intention, epitomizes wickedness and malice. I hook a hungry lady up with some (extremely healthy!) fruit; that’s not a random act of kindness, it’s evil. I offer that Jesus boy fame and wealth; I’m not an agent looking out for the kid’s interests, I’m a demon to be endured. My jersey number in high school ball is 666; suddenly, it’s the number of the beast. God kills His son and everybody thinks He’s the greatest divine being ever, but when I toss around the ol’ pigskin my jersey suddenly I'm the badguy.
I just don’t know where else I could find a job. I’m really good with administrative policies in the afterlife realms, but I had a falling out with Heaven a couple of years back and Purgatory just kind of bores me. That really only leaves me jobs within the secular sphere, but my position has brought me a certain level of infamy and most places just aren’t going to want to hire the Emperor of Evil. I’d love to do some acting or something; I know the ’biz is hard to break into these days, but I have a pretty commanding presence and would love to give it a shot. I could even be a pop-culture commentator on one of those hilarious VH1 shows. (Picture this: Satan talks about The Exorcist on I Love the ‘70s, then reviews an album by Styx. I’m laughing already!)
The question ultimately boils down to this: am I willing to show people that I can change? Sure, it’ll be tough. I have a terrible reputation, and it’s going to take people a while before they’re able to see the real Lucifer. But someday - not too far in the future - I dream that I’ll be able to hear a person say, “That Satan dude? Sure, he defines evil. But he’s not that bad a guy.”