The Devil You Say!

A lot of people have talked about Lucifer lately, so I decided to talk TO Lucifer

© Bryan Zepp Jamieson
9/24/06
http://zeppscommentaries.com/Humor/lucifer.htm

Tracking down Lucifer turned out to be surprisingly easy. He has a summer home in Fresno, California, conspicuous only by the lack of air conditioning.

Lucifer opened the door on the third ring. “Yes, may I help you?”

“I just came to ask you a few questions...”

“You’re not one of those Jehovah Witnesses, are you?”

“No, I’m Zepp Jamieson. I just wanted to get your take on the political situation.”

“Good. Jehovah’s Witnesses always give me a rash. [peering] Zepp Jamieson, you say? Sure! I know you.”

“Because I’m a friend of Paulie Five Fingers, maybe?”

“Um, no.” He snapped his fingers, causing sparks to ensue. “I remember. You wanted a deal. Make some extravagant promises in return for a ten inch penis. Listen, I’m sorry I never got back to you on that, it’s just that 1968 was a very busy year for me...”

“Ah, no, I’m not here about that. Besides, she dumped me after graduation and married a football player. Things worked out.”

Lucifer peered at me again. “What exactly is it you want?”

“Well, you probably heard that Hugo Chávez, the leader of Venezuela, recently compared George W. Bush to you. Complained about the smell of sulphur that George supposedly left behind.”

Lucifer chuckled fondly. “Ah, that Hugo. You know, with the right guidance, I have strong hopes for that boy. But I must say I wasn’t too chuffed about being compared to George W. Bush. Or as you call him, ‘Putsch’”.

“You’ve read me?” I asked, surprised.

“Read you?” Lucifer chortled. “You’re required reading in Hell. But I didn’t like being compared to George. For one thing, I EARNED my position of Prince of Darkness. I plotted and formed a campaign to overthrow old I-am-that-I-am, and damned near succeeded. Jehovah banished me because he didn’t have the chops to defeat me outright. And we’ve had a standoff going for the past three billion years. I worked hard for my turf, and I use intelligence and thought in how I run it. About all I have in common with that little weasel Bush is that we both think Jeff Gannon is kinda cute.”

No accounting for taste. “OK, and then Jerry Falwell compared you to someone else.”

Lucifer clapped his hands, clearly delighted. “Oh, I love it when Jerry says things. What did he say this time?” I asked him to repeat himself. When Lucifer claps his hands, it gets noisy.

“He said that Christians fear Hilary Clinton more than they fear you. That she would energize their base more than you could.”

“Wow. I mean, wow! He really said that?”

“With all due respect, I hear that a lot in response to Falwell quotes.”

“I can imagine. So. I’m not as scary as Hilary, eh?” Lucifer looked thoughtful. “You know, he might be right. She is kinda . . . strident. And those religious dupes really, really fear assertive women.”

“Dupes?”

“Don’t quote me on that, OK? They’re really valuable to my cause. Um, let me think. Tell your readers that I was appalled to be compared to Hillary, that I think I have much nicer legs.”

I pretended to write that down. “That brings us to the last question.”

Surprised, Lucifer looked at his watch. “You don’t put much into these essays, do you?”

I ignored that. “Saddam Hussein.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, laughed. “I knew you were going to ask about Saddam!” he chortled.

“Then you know that while incarcerated by the Americans, he was supposedly made to watch episodes of ‘South Park,’ in particular the episodes which depict you and Saddam Hussein in a, um, domestic relationship. Are you familiar with those?”

“Sure. I’ve got the DVD.”

“What did you think of them showing Saddam that. Was that meant to be torture?”

“I’m sure it was, but I doubt it succeeded. Even with a good translation, I doubt Saddam would have been able to make head or tails of it. There just aren’t any cultural referents for Saddam’s culture to accommodate something like South Park. I would guess it would have left him perplexed, and at most only vaguely insulted. And that’s with a good translation. Idiom doesn’t translate well. In fact, don’t get the French language version of Boondocks on DVD. It sounds like the Queen of England trying to speak jive without cussing. Just horrible. I ordered several thousand copies for when Aaron MacGruder dies.”

“You speak French?”

“I speak all languages, but French above all. Do you have enough now?”

“I’m on page three. That should do it. Thank you for taking the time, and I’ll make sure you get a copy.”

“I thank you.” Lucifer glanced out to the street, lowered his voice. “Oh, and if you see Paulie Five Fingers...”

“Yes?”

“Tell him I’ll have his money by Wednesday and in cash, just like we agreed.”