Other than Danny Elfman’s delightful holiday music, there was absolute silence.
And it was heavenly.
I knew it wouldn’t last, however, given the presence of my guest in the impeccably tailored suit, but I was savoring every silent second in the meantime.
Sunday should also be a day of rest for my ears.
“I had my Demons conduct a poll over the last week,” The Devil finally broke the silence after he’d hung the last string of Jack Skellington lights above the living room windows.
Nothing lasts forever.
“Were you checking your popularity again?” I quipped light a total wise ass.
Lucifer chuckled as he reached into the box of decorations for the giant ghosts that we normally hung from the ceiling in the foyer.
“For your information, my popularity in Hell is at an all time low, and I couldn’t be more delighted!” The Prince of Darkness bragged. “This poll, however, was about the upcoming Presidential Election.”
“I had no idea there would be any interest in American politics in Hell,” I remarked as I taped a cardboard haunted house to the dining room wall.
That comment intrigued me enough to take a break from decorating, and walk over to the living room cooler to grab a Snapple.
I handed one to The Devil, and then took a seat on the couch to enjoy an ice cold bottle of my own.
“So you really consider Donald Trump to be a resident of Hell?” I asked and then took a long, refreshing sip of the best stuff on Earth.
“Is there anyone on this planet who doesn’t think Trump is going straight to Hell the second he leaves the mortal coil?” Lucifer responded as he strolled over on thousand dollar shoes to join me on a couch worth far less than his footwear.
“I suppose not,” I answered with a shrug. “I do remember your telling me last week that Trump has already had a tower built in Hell in which he can spend all eternity. Of course, I wasn’t quite sure if you were telling the truth.”
“Would I ever lie to you?” The Prince of Darkness asked sarcastically and then flashed a Devilish grin. “I’ve been thinking lately that I’m going to make Trump spend eternity working as a porter in his tower, while I allow about three dozen Mexicans to cram into the penthouse in which he plans to live out his existence.”
“So what were the results of your polling?” I asked when I finally remembered what had drawn me over to the couch in the first place.
“Trump in a landslide, of course,” Satan set me straight. “Hillary has her supporters in some of the outer rings, but Hell is definitely a red state.”
“Sounds about right,” I admitted.
I had a feeling that among the living, Hillary Clinton was going to win in a landslide.
That had better be true because if somehow the results of the election are different, life in America was going to be indistinguishable from life in Hell…
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