Chapter 6 (66) – Hello, My Name is The Devil

Drip

Drip

Drip

I awoke to cold dirty water dripping on my face. It trickled down my eyelids and I swatted it away. I looked up to see that it was leaking from a broken bus air conditioner above my head. "What the hell? This wasn't leaking on me before? Why do things change?"

"Hey man you finally awake?" you said from your seat across the aisle. "I accidentally broke the air conditioner. For some reason it kept getting hotter and hotter and I kept having to turn it up more and more. Then it went to the last setting, but it wasn't good enough so I tried to turn it more and then it just broke."

"Man, if you were just satisfied with it and left it at the super high setting instead of denying reality by spinning past the clearly marked red line that represents the limit, then this wouldn't have happened. Instead we've gotta sit here and get like really sweaty."

"Wait, we're not sweating," you observed.

"Whatever it's really hot. Plus, sweat's that kind of thing that just sneaks up on you. You don't feel it."

"Well if I only had my spinnies then I could have made my own fan, but noooo. We can't have nice things because of you. When we moved out of the house you literally brought NOTHING. You made me throw out literally everything we owned. You didn't even let me bring my void with me. It takes up nooo space because it's a void!"

"Wait, I don't think we moved out. I don't think that's how it went."

"Yeah it is. Everything I own is still in the shitty apartment. That guy with the clown stuff is probably still in there breaking all my shit with his ax."

I thought about the situation you described for a moment. "Hehe. Ax. Axel. Ax. Get it?"

Though my witty pun to me represented the height of hilarity, you were unimpressed. "Dipshit," you said.

"Hey, I'm ax-ing you a question!"

"Well, I'm gonna kick you in the ax if you don't shut the fuck up. Like. Right now."

Before I could appreciate you finally participating, the bus driver made an announcement on the intercom. Luckily we were sitting near the front of the bus so despite the intercom being static-y and completely ineffectual we could hear what he was saying. "Last stop, everybody off," he said. The bus pulled to a stop and the doors slowly swung open. You made no move to get up, instead you just sank further into your seat and sniffed loudly. A weird creaking sound that was audible in all other parts of the bus, you know that squeak that comes out of your face when you're congested that's like for no reason that just goes creeeeeeak and like pops and stuff and everybody in the room knows it's happening but most people don't say anything cause they're too polite? It must have lasted for like ten seconds, but you thought it was cool so you did it again.

"What in the hell is that?" the demon asked.

"I thought you knew everything 'cause you're a demon," you taunted.

The demon wasn't happy with that smart ass answer. He turned around to face you and pointed violently at the window. "You see what's going on outside? You see those flames and screaming people? That's about to be you. Now get off my fuckin' bus."

You looked out of the window as if you hadn't done so at all throughout the entire two hour ride. "Oh shit, there's demons and shit."

"Yeah, it ain't that funny now, is it?" The bus driver mocked you as he walked to the back of the bus to where the only other passenger was hidden. He was curled up in a ball underneath one of the blue benches, shaking and crying and trying to be as quiet as possible. The demon went up to him and leaned over to look at him. "I said before, you gotta get off the bus. Don't be inconsiderate, other people gotta ride the bus besides you."

"How did you know I was here?" the man wailed.

"None of you are listening. I'm a demon, I know everything."

"No," you said.

The demon was even a little surprised. "Wow, even though I know everything, you are so stupid that it actually surprises me," the demon said. He took off his bus driver's cap, which indicated how mad he was. When people take their hats off it means they are really mad.

"You don't know how to do this," you said to the demon as you sniffed deeply so that your nasal passage made another creaking noise.

"Wow that is not impressive. I hope you thought doing that was worth going to a deeper level of Hell, 'cause you was only gonna' go to the place where regular dead people go, but now you're going to go to the super torture chamber level."

"Fuck that. I don't give a shit," you said as you stuck your middle finger up to the demon.

"Wow, just fucking wow. Now you're going even further."

You stuck up your second middle finger.

"Uhhp. That's the next level down now."

In the background I could observe the terrified anonymous passenger crawling along the floor to sneak out. I did absolutely nothing during all of this. I thought about trying to stop you, but then I was like…nah. Then I wondered if they had Xbox in Hell. Oh, no, they probably only have bad games cause this is Hell, like thinking games like Spyro the Dragon.

You started winding your arms in windmill fashion with your middle fingers still protruding. You started to say almost melodiously, "fuck the law. Fuck the law and then fuck the law."

"Wow, pssh ugh wooooooow," the demon said, so angry that he didn't even know what to do. "I am SO impressed by your attitude. I hope you enjoy it this much when you're in the super duper duper lower level."

"Fuck that bullshit."

"Oh no, it's not bullshit. It's pretty real. It's about as real as the screaming outside that window."

"Tell me, is this a law? Tell me if this is a law. Is this a law?"

"Yeah pretty much."

"Then fuck it. Cause I'm Axel and I fuck the law."

"No, the law's gonna' fuck you right now all the way down to the next level of Hell. I'm gonna' have to make a new level of Hell for you at this rate."

"Fuck the law."

"Next level down."

"Fuck the law."

"Next level down."

"Fuck the law."

"Next level down."

For the first time in a long time I almost smiled, because you were getting what you finally deserved. Your stupidity was finally going to have consequences. It would be awesome to see you actually distressed for once.

The normally deadpan demon finally screamed, "alright, YOU and your BFF over there are going to the lowest level of Hell possible. If you have any complaint, you're gonna' speak right to the devil! I'm not paid to deal with this!"

The demon shot a lightning bolt at us, which knocked us off the bus, and he drove away angrily. I looked at you and realized that you were now just responsible for condemning me to an eternity of torment in the lowest level of Hell, and to add icing to the watercake you would be the only one there with me. I was so angry that I felt nothing. I was totally devoid. I just stared at you. Yep.

I saw the man from the bus standing on the street, on fire. He was running around trying multiple doors that didn't open, searching for an exit. "He he he" a short man with black slicked back hair, a wandering eye, and a cigar, sat on a perch watching him, chuckled, and said, "there is no exit."

"This is really absurd." I said.

"Hey, this is just like a video game!" you shouted. "Look at that dumb fuck," you said as you pointed to a man screaming in agony. I ignored you.

"This is bullshit!" you yelled. "I'm gonna' go talk to Satan. Where is he?" I looked around. Extremely confusing and contradictory signs were on the wall. The kind that come out of posts and point in certain directions were plastered everywhere. I saw a sign pointed left that said "to Satan's office" right next to a sign that pointed right that said "to Satan's office (if you walk long enough)." Signs hung from cords that went up forever into the infinitely high ceiling. Although they pointed in specific directions, they rotated as things on strings do.

"Eh, it's probably over there," you said pointing to an oak door with a flashy metal plaque that said "Satan, CEO" in a corporate font. For some reason there were barnacles surrounding the door frame and a decorative anchor under the plaque. A faint jaunty sea shanty could be heard. You opened the door first without bothering to knock. Satan dressed in sea captain's attire bounded jubilantly around an expensive mahogany desk, swinging his arms and singing this:

"A sailors life is the life for me

Diddly woah dee dee in the boundless sea

And I never ever ever give a damn about the weather

'cause the weather never happens down here anyway"

"Excuse me?" I said.

Satan stopped in his tracks and just stared. "Oh, a jolly hello to you!" He spoke in a somewhat loud voice, but not in a shouting kinda' way, but in a really outgoing guy kinda' way, and I knew he was going to crush my hand in a handshake. "Ah, come right in!" So we like did. He extended his hand out which was red, like the rest of his skin. He looked like a decently attractive seafaring man except that his skin was blood red and he had black horns on his head which sat promptly on either side of a naval officer's hat.

"How did you find my office?" He asked, gesturing for us to sit in two chairs that I don't quite remember being there before in front of his desk. He was one of those kind of people that makes you just like them 'cause they appear to really like you and they are so damn comfortable with everything.

"What's CEO stand for on your door? Do you run a company?" you asked bluntly with no finesse.

Satan responded to your awkward rudeness and unnecessary question with a warm laugh that indicated he was at ease nonetheless. "You could say that," he said. He smiled. "It stands for Central Evil Overlord. The acronym is just a coincidence" he explained with a wave of his hand as he reached for a cigar and lit it by snapping his fingers under it to make a flame. "Cuba, 1947," he said. He drew in a long relaxing puff and slumped a bit in his chair, but was still attentive.

"So what brings you to my office?" he asked.

I looked around the room. It was a bizarre conglomerate of anachronistic material assembled from all over the world. The original writings of Lao Tzu lay next to the latest edition of Cosmopolitan. A Victorian watch was on the wrist of an ancient Egyptian ka statue as well as 3D disposable movie glasses. His movie collection ranged from Mission Impossible to a scientology introductory video to a national geographic documentary to wartime propaganda from the Soviet Union. On his wall were various mounted fish, a mammoth head, fossilized starfish, and seaweed hanging from the ceiling. There were layers of sand on the floor. Seafaring memorabilia were scattered throughout the room, including tacky statues of fisherman, harpoons, and refrigerator magnets with naval puns. The walls were lined all around with naval stars and the front side of his mahogany desk had a steering wheel attached to it. Ships in bottles sat atop every book shelf in the room. The clock struck the next hour and it made the sound of a boat.

He gave out a hearty laugh, slapped his knee and said "oh that makes me laugh every time!"

"Care for some bourbon to wet your whistle?" he chirped. A bottle of bourbon suddenly appeared on his desk without question next to some little glasses. Somewhere back on Earth, someone said "hey, where's my bourbon?"

"So what can I do you for?" Satan wondered.

"How many DAMN introductions are you gonna' give?!" you yelled impatiently.

"Wow, no respect for authority, no understanding of the intensity of the situation, constantly angry. You remind me of me when I was young!" Satan said reminiscently.

"Let me start off by introducing myself. I'm the devil. And you are in Hell."