No Pitchforks!

The Devil glared at me defiantly from the doorway to the living room.

As always, he was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, but today, he also wore a frown and had his arms crossed over his chest.

He looked like a spoiled child who’d just had his favorite toy taken away from him.

“I don’t understand why I have to leave my pitchfork out on the front porch,” Lucifer whined like that very same spoiled child.

Then he sighed.

“Because I’m on vacation,” I answered with a devilish grin.  “That means no work for me, or anyone who visits The House on the Hill.  So all tools of the trade must remain outside so this can remain a work free zone.”

“Seems like a ridiculous rule,” The Prince of Darkness grumbled.

“Were you planning to use your pitchfork on me during your visit?” I asked after taking a long, refreshing sip of my Snapple.

“Not until you told me I couldn’t bring it into the house,” he snapped back as he strode over to the couch on his long legs.

“Case closed then,” I replied smugly because I was on vacation and I felt damn good.

“I just feel naked without it,” Satan admitted as he took a seat on his end of the couch.

“Says the Otherworldly Being in the thousand dollar suit,” I quipped as I handed my pouting guest a Snapple.

“More like two thousand dollars,” The Devil corrected me.  “And now you can’t even tell that the pinstripe is a perfect match for my pitchfork.  You’re depriving yourself of that pleasure, my friend.”

“But I’m enjoying so many other pleasures now that I’m on vacation, that I don’t even feel a hole in my heart for missing out on that,” I informed him as obnoxiously as possible.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at my response and took a long sip of his iced tea.

“So what are your plans for your vacation?” he asked more to make small talk than to find out the actual answer.

“My plan is to do as little as possible,” I eagerly replied because even though my guest was in a pissy mood, I was feeling downright fantastic.  “I’m going to sleep in, not go to work, run a little, write a little, watch the Yankees, and not have a care in the world.”

“But you do care,” The Prince of Darkness corrected me.  “You are abnormally concerned about house guests bringing pitchforks into your home.”

“You need to let it go,” I advised the Negative Nancy in the designer suit on the other end of the couch.  “I’m on vacation.  Don’t bring in your dark clouds to block out my sun.  I’m working on my mental tan.”

Satan gave me a long, hard look.  “Perhaps you need this vacation more than I realized.”

“My sentiments exactly,” I agreed with a beaming, vacation smile.  “Are you with me?”

The Devil pondered my question for a moment.  Then he put his Snapple on the table and loosened his tie.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without a perfectly knotted tie around his neck.

“Fine.  I’m in.  I’ve got Bannon to cover for me now, and I’m long overdue a vacation.”

Thus began one Hell of a vacation…