What I like most about writing out on the front porch of The House on the Hill is the absolutely peace and quiet. There’s virtually no traffic on my street, my neighbors never make any sort of ruckus, and…
“Tell me a joke, Writer Boy!” The Devil demanded as he stormed out of the house to interrupt my afternoon of placid reflection and creativity.
He handed me an ice cold Snapple, and then stood over me so that his shadow fell across the screen of my laptop.
“I’m not going to tell you a joke,” I replied coldly, hoping that he’d take my icy response as the hint to leave me the Hell alone that it was meant to be.
“Isn’t your job to make the audience laugh?” Lucifer queried as he took a sip of his Snapple. “I’m a typical audience member, so amuse me.”
I looked up at The Prince of Darkness, who stood there in an impeccably tailored suit that probably cost more than the average Mainer made in a month. He was not a typical audience member no matter how much he insisted upon it.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” I told him as I closed my laptop since it was obvious no more writing was going to get done as long as the ruler of the underworld was bored and demanded my attention. “I write the jokes and send them to Danny to read. Then he decides which ones make it onto the air.”
“I know that makes perfect sense to you, but we have a process,” I explained even though I was out of patience and just wanted my silence back. “It’s Danny’s show, so he reads them before anyone else.”
The Devil shrugged and took a little stroll across the front porch. Having him pace behind me and further interrupt my writing process was really pissing me off.
But that wasn’t the sort of thing one told my constant Sunday guest.
“Well, I think that’s stupid, but I’m happy to see you writing again,” Lucifer admitted when he finally stopped pacing. “You’ve been working too much at that other job and spending too much time brooding. Writing always brings you out of your funk and reminds you that you are more than just a broken hearted desk jockey.”
“The ladies are impressed by hard working writers with an offbeat sense of humor,” The Prince of Darkness advised. “Perhaps if you keep writing, you’ll catch someone’s eye, and get to ride something other than a desk.”
He winked and I could feel my cheeks grow flushed.
Oh Hell. I didn’t have time for all this chit chat.
“Go back inside and let me finish writing these monologue jokes please,” I requested politely, but firmly.
Satan respects it when you stand your ground. Just as long as you maintain the respect.
“I’ll leave you to your mysterious Writer Boy ways,” The Devil said with a wave. “Just remember that you have me to thank for all the Trump jokes you’re writing.”
I guess he had a point even though he could be a totally disruptive pain in the…
Follow me on Pinterest, and then leave me alone for a little while so I can finish writing these monologue jokes…