2006-06-06 - 9:30 a.m.
Sell my soul? Who, me?
Welcome to the Tuesday of SATAN! It has been 6 days since my last entry, too. Spoooooky. I've always been a great believer in Satan and his minions. When I was young, I always imagined Hell as a rather unpleasant place where one got stuck in rooms heated by boiling hot iron radiators with broken regulators. Of course, that's before I visited Florida. Now, I imagine it as being stuck in a room with boiling hot radiators, a broken thermostat, and every time you try to open a window, an alligator bites your ass. That, and the stinging insects the size of Prius Hybrids with much more efficient fuel consumption. (mmm, blood.) I've noticed a lot of people waffle back and forth about whether there is a God, and what he/she/it/they look(s) like, but there's a remarkably large number of people who seem to have no problem believing that not only does Old Scratch exist, he's around us all the time. It's amazing when you watch the 700 Club or some such religious dreck - they know what he looks like, they know what he's thinking, and they're all absolutely certain he's already marked me as one of his own. It's very unfair; just because the numbers on my scalp itch a bit and I have to use anti-dandruff shampoo doesn't mean I've made my choice yet. It's a skin condition, perfectly normal, and I'm a bit sensitive about it actually, so I'd prefer you didn't bring it up. Hmph. Anyway, just because I have eaten his food and garnered a few minions of my own, people seem to think I'm in league with the Devil. It's not like that at all - we don't even have a contract, just a gentleman's agreement and a handshake. After all, if you can't trust the Prince of Lies, who can you trust? It's not like they're very big minions, either. When I was a child, heaven was a nebulous concept, but hell was quite real, made more so by whispered tales of horrors passed throughout the student population of my primary school. Even then, people must have known I'd end up in interesting company, because I was told I was going to Hell many, many times. In the end, I did, on a business trip, and it's not as bad as everyone says. The hotel beds are comfy, and if you leave a puddle of milk on the floor before midnight, the bedbugs will mostly leave you alone. Try not to get placed in room 665, as the people next door have *really* loud sex all night long - she must have screamed "you beast!" a hundred times - and I didn't really get much sleep, since my earplugs grew legs and refused to come down from the ceiling. Don't buy a timeshare, though - they really sting you on the annual fees, and they won't accept a pound of someone else's flesh. Even so, Old Nick is very generous in his business arrangements. I got weight loss, sewing skills and a fabulous husband for a very low bargain, and even though I *did* have to buy a teeny-tiny timeshare, he pointed out that the annual fees really help with the weight loss. Besides, once you sign up with Satan *Inc., the severed appendages grow back. Overall, it's a pretty good deal. You don't want to go back on your agreement, though - late payments can get you into real trouble. Have you ever looked into the eyes of those greeters you see at many stores? Payments to Beelzebub in arrears, every one of them. You can tell because once you look past the fake cheery greeting, you can see the silent scream behind the empty smile. C'mon, admit it, you knew all along, right? I mean, who *chooses* to be a greeter? It's a good deal for the store, too - in fact, don't tell anyone, but I overheard that a certain large discount*store is going to go exclusively with Satan*Inc.'s damned employees, as they're even cheaper than illegal immigrants. Remember, you didn't hear it from me. There are other benefits to working with the PoD - he's given me lustrous hair and made sure that the local store will stock my favourite hair colour for all eternity. I also get to choose one person each year to be thrown into the Stygian Woods, so if you haven't seen a couple of people around lately, that might be why. It's that, or they moved away, your choice. And the best thing about business with Satan? You know absolutely, for sure, that God exists. Happy 999.
Dorsal - Ventral
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all words copyright Laura Mellin 2000-2005
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