(no subject)
Roughly 2000 years ago I tried to save the Son of God from being crucified. The irony of this never fails to make me want to flay someone and then pour lemon juice and vinegar all over them.
Of course, it wasn't because I wanted to help Him. Don't bother entertaining the thought. I never liked the Son. Sanctimonious little bastard if ever there was one. There's no one more I would've enjoyed seeing torn apart and killed by the people He'd come to save. Just not for the reasons He had planned.
I worked everyone involved. Entrusted some grunt work to some of the lesser demons, Thammuz, Gabreel, Astaroth. But I spared no energy on it. I tried to tell Judas to stop. For days before hand, I tried to talk to him, tried to convince him not to do it. 30 pieces of silver for the life of Jesus. Not like I don't think that's a fair trade, but He didn't hear me, didn't even see me. God's hand at work. Never believe anyone if they tell you He plays fair.
Once I realised it was inevitable, I sat back and laughed. Watched them beat Him, whip Him, rip Him to shreds. The crown of thorns really was a nice touch. Let me tell you, I was laughing hysterically by the time they started hammering Sonny Jim up. I sat on one of the arms of the cross He was nailed to and I talked to Him while He died. And He died so slowly. I think that was when I really admired humans and their capacity for cruelty. Crucifiction is really very glorious to behold.
After that, business in Hell began to slow, of course. Sins were being forgiven, we had to work harder for the borderline souls. Jesus died for your sins, ladies and gentlemen. But He orchestrated the whole fiasco because He couldn't stand losing to me.
It was always going to happen. No one could stop it. Not even me. And He has the gall to try and make you humans feel guilty about it. Honestly, I could just scream. How does anyone love Him? How?
I'm going to convince some priests that He doesn't exist. Happy Easter.
Of course, it wasn't because I wanted to help Him. Don't bother entertaining the thought. I never liked the Son. Sanctimonious little bastard if ever there was one. There's no one more I would've enjoyed seeing torn apart and killed by the people He'd come to save. Just not for the reasons He had planned.
I worked everyone involved. Entrusted some grunt work to some of the lesser demons, Thammuz, Gabreel, Astaroth. But I spared no energy on it. I tried to tell Judas to stop. For days before hand, I tried to talk to him, tried to convince him not to do it. 30 pieces of silver for the life of Jesus. Not like I don't think that's a fair trade, but He didn't hear me, didn't even see me. God's hand at work. Never believe anyone if they tell you He plays fair.
Once I realised it was inevitable, I sat back and laughed. Watched them beat Him, whip Him, rip Him to shreds. The crown of thorns really was a nice touch. Let me tell you, I was laughing hysterically by the time they started hammering Sonny Jim up. I sat on one of the arms of the cross He was nailed to and I talked to Him while He died. And He died so slowly. I think that was when I really admired humans and their capacity for cruelty. Crucifiction is really very glorious to behold.
After that, business in Hell began to slow, of course. Sins were being forgiven, we had to work harder for the borderline souls. Jesus died for your sins, ladies and gentlemen. But He orchestrated the whole fiasco because He couldn't stand losing to me.
It was always going to happen. No one could stop it. Not even me. And He has the gall to try and make you humans feel guilty about it. Honestly, I could just scream. How does anyone love Him? How?
I'm going to convince some priests that He doesn't exist. Happy Easter.