If you’re ever going to ask a favor of me, doing so as you bribe me with my favorite drink is a wonderful strategy.
“I wasn’t going to watch it,” I replied, “but feel free. I’m just planning to write.”
When he didn’t reply, I looked up from my laptop to find Lucifer staring at me intensely from his end of the couch.
“Why are you staring?” I asked weakly because being on the receiving end of such a glare from The Prince of Darkness was extremely unsettling.
His pitchfork leaned up against the wall in the corner, but I knew he could have that deadly weapon in his grasp with just the snap of his well manicured fingers.
What the Hell had I done to upset him like this?
“How can you not watch?” Satan asked incredulously. “Don’t you care about your nation’s political feature? Even more importantly, it’s guaranteed to be bursting with potential writing ideas. You could harvest blog posts, monologue jokes, and probably a novel about the ridiculousness of the entire election just from this one debate.”
I waved it off and took a huge sip of my Snapple.
“This election pisses me off,” I explained. “I hate both candidates, I have no interest in listening to them bicker for two hours, and I don’t want the nightmares that would surely ensue if I watched those knuckleheads go at it tonight. I’ll just play catch up via Colbert’s monologue and SNL’s cold open.”
I live in the golden age of technology. When I wake up tomorrow, my computer and phone will be flooded with more information about the debate than my brain could ever absorb.
At least second hand stupidity, pettiness, and obnoxiousness isn’t as painful to handle.
“I’ve been busy all week making deals and collecting souls, so I haven’t been home in a while,” The Devil informed me. “When I get a little homesick like this, watching Trump and Clinton scream at each other makes me feel like I’m back in Hell.”
“I try to avoid Hell at all costs, which is another reason I’ll be passing on the debates,” I pointed out to my guest in the impeccably tailored suit. “Maybe you could pull some strings and see if they’ll let you moderate the next one.”
“I’m afraid America would accuse me of bias,” Lucifer countered and then took a sip of his Snapple as he opened the Sunday paper.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Trump has already commissioned a tower to be built in Hell,” The Prince of Darkness shared in a whisper. “Of course, the joke’s on him because I’m only allowing illegal immigrants to work on it, and the construction is being overseen by companies that Trump has stiffed over the years. Additionally, I’m allowing only non-Americans to reside in it until he arrives to occupy the penthouse. It will be a living Hell for him, and I cannot wait to torture him with that for all eternity.”
“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” I complimented him as I tapped his bottle with mine. “Enjoy the debate.”
“I intend to,” Satan assured me as a Devilish smile formed on his handsome face.
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