What the Hell?

 

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A Short Story

    I get asked the same question all the time: “What’s it like being a demon?” 

    It’s not an easy question to answer, believe it or not. The best example that I can give is to think of Roma Downey in Touched by an Angel, but at the hand of Satan. Still, like every job, it has its challenges. 

    Take for instance my latest charge, Julie. She’s tall, blonde, beautiful, and she has an ass like a peach. 

    But I hate her. 

    At least, I’m supposed to. She hasn’t really done anything to me. 

    “Let her get into a head on collision,” Lucy tells me. That’s what we call Satan. Yes, his name is technically Lucifer, but he headlines a popular I Love Lucy-themed drag show in Vegas on the weekends and prefers to be called by his stage name. 

    So, what do I do? I get into the front seat of another driver’s car, jump into his body, and run right into her. 

    What happens, you ask? 

    The bitch makes it out without a scratch. Oh, and because she switched to Geico just the week before, she got a brand new car. A Fiat. Lucy can’t even afford a Fiat, and he works two jobs. 

    “Give her ebola,” the boss says. 

    Yeah, that was me. I brought ebola back. JT gets a good rep for bring sexy back, and me? I get to bring ebola back. 

    Ain’t that some shit?    

    Do you know how hard it is to give someone ebola without contracting ebola?

    It’s fucking difficult. 

    Yes, demons can get sick. We're people, too. We have rights, and a union. Ironically, no health insurance. Thanks, Obama. 

    She lived, by the way. Oh, and she won a Nobel Prize. I didn’t even know that was a category. The Nobel Prize for Ebola Survivor?

    “Make her go bald."

    That one was pretty easy. I just shaved her head while she was sleeping. Except, I only got one side before she woke up. Apparently that’s a hairstyle now. Who started that trend? Julie. Fucking Julie. Oh, and screw you, Demi Lovato. Thanks for bringing that to public attention.

    “Make her--“ 

    “I’m gonna stop you right there, Lucifer,” I interrupt.

    “Lucy!” he snaps.

    “No, it’s Lucifer. Get ahold of yourself. You’re not going to be the next Caitlyn Jenner. She's fabulous. You’re a hot mess. I’m not going out of my way to get Julie into more shit. Everything just gets better for her, all the time. I’m done. Assign her to someone else. Give her to Hitler, or Castro, or I don’t know . . . Joan Rivers. I’m done. I quit. I’m going to work upstairs."

    So, you see, that’s why everyone always asks me what it’s like to be a demon. 

    None of my new coworkers have ever been one.

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