He could’ve asked me anything while handing me a plate of those wings, and I probably would have just drooled, but since he was talking about the hated Patriots, I decided to keep my bodily fluids to myself.
At least for the time being.
“First of all, I don’t agree that they’re the hometown team,” I grumbled like a typical New Yorker who hates all Boston area teams. “They can say they represent all of New England if they want, but they’re really just another bunch of bums from Boston.”
Lucifer checked his impeccably tailored suit for any sign of Hell Fire sauce as he flashed a Devilish smile.
“Is someone jealous that his beloved Jets won’t be playing in the Super Bowl again? If you really want them to make it during your lifetime, I can arrange it,” he taunted.
I bit so hard into my chicken wing that I snapped the bone. Why did the Jets have to suck so badly? And why did the Patriots have to be so good?
“While I’d love to see the Jets in the Super Bowl, I’m not spending eternity in Hell for the privilege,” I calmly rejected his offer. “Besides, I’ve already borrowed Doc’s DeLorean several times to go back to watch Super Bowl III in person.”
“I didn’t realize Doc Brown was stealing souls from me now,” he replied with mock anger in his voice. “First Trump is supplanting me as the most evil being in the universe, and now Bernie Sander’s doppelganger is soul blocking me!”
“Next thing you know, Hillary Clinton will be stealing your style,” I teased with a sinister smile made even scarier by all the Hell Fire sauce around my mouth.
“Don’t you even joke about that!” Satan commanded. “The day Hillary and I start dressing alike is the day that I give up and resort to sweatpants and togas like a common hooligan.”
“Lots of hooligans wearing togas,” I quipped as I took a long sip of my Snapple.
“So, as a Jets fan, does it bother you when the Patriots win the Super Bowl?” The Devil asked as he grabbed a Snapple out of the cooler.
“Not nearly as much as the idea of Hillary’s swiping your look upset you,” I answered with a wink. “Honestly, though, I’ve excepted that the Jets are horrible and the Patriots are destined to win because cheaters always prosper.”
“Meow,” Lucifer purred. “How catty of you.”
“What bothers me is when the Red Sox win the World Series,” I confessed as I wiped Hell Fire sauce from my face. “The Jets aren’t supposed to be better than the Pats, but the Yankees should always be superior to the Sox. When those #$%^&* win the World Series, it’s like the End of Days.”
“So you’d take a World Series ring over a Super Bowl ring any day of the week?” The Prince of Darkness queried.
“Hell, yeah!” I exclaimed. “My favorite thing about Super Bowl Sunday is that once the game is over, it’s basically baseball season. Go Yankees!”
Satan just rolled his eyes and reached for another wing. Try as he might, he was never going to fully understand how my mind worked.
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