You wish to know who it is who has possessed your child’s body? Very well. I am known by many names. Satan. Lucifer. The Prince of Darkness. The King of Corruption. The Monarch of Malevolence. The Sultan of Sin. The Higher-up of Heinousness. The Boss From Hell. Jonathan Evil, the man who evil is named after. The Wonder From Down Under. Mr. Candle, because I’m wicked.
Yes, I have walked this Earth under countless forms for countless years. You have called me the Anti-Christ. Bizarro-God. The Divinaughty. Providen’t. The horn in horny. The original Pitchfork Media. The devil you know. Deadly Do-Wrong. Red Dead Unredemption. The man downstairs. Steve Johnson, but that turned out to be a mistake. They had me confused with someone else.
Do you still not know me? Perhaps you have heard me spoken of as Baphomet. Beelzebub. Abaddon. A Even Worse ‘On. Behemoth, and before that, Behecaterpillar and briefly, Behecoccoon. Leviathan. Leviathaniel, if you’re my mother. Sam-I-El. Belphegor. Beth Folklore, at Starbucks, one time. Moloch, Mo’ Problems. Mammon, short for Mammon Eggs. Baal. Bale, literally anytime I ask someone to write that down. Azrael. Azazel. Pretzel. Zinfandel. Carousel.
You… still don’t recognize me? None of those? Wow, usually, people stop me before I get this far. No, no, I do have other names. I’m also known as the Evil One. The guy in the details. The me in blasphemy. Joey Tribbiani. Rachel Green. Monica Gellar. Chandler Bing. That’s right. I was every main character from Friends. No one could prove it, but they all suspected. The tinker’s damn. Everyone else’s too. Steve Johnson again, and it was also a mistake, but it wasn’t even the same Steve Johnson. I guess I just look like a Steve Johnson.
Nothing? Not ringing a bell at all? This has never happened to me before. Well, you’ve definitely heard of Hell, right? You know. The Inferno? Hades? Pandemonium? The hot spot? Sinner-man spice mix? The buck stops here? The wrong side of the tracks? Eville? Town below? Sufferin’ brimstone? Snakes and latters? The Badlands? The lake of fire? The pond of lava? The bayou of acid? The estuary of needles, daggers and miscellaneous sharp objects?
No, there’s no way. You have to have heard of me. I’m literally the father of lies. The grandfather of half-truths. The second cousin once removed of slight exaggerations. Davy Jones, but not the one from the Monkees, thank you for asking. Even more original sin. Old Hob. Old Nick. Young Nick. Young at heart Hob. Those last two no one calls me yet, but I’m trying to get them to catch on. Idle hand Luke. The devil off your shoulder. The lord of the flies. The baron of the beetles. The count of the crickets. The marquis of the mosquitos. The marquito, for short.
Okay, you know what? I’m just gonna rattle off the rest. Mr. Jerkface. Some jerk. That jerk. A real jerk. Jerkey-jerk-jerk-jerkey-jerkson-mcjerko-jerkface and they kept going for a while but sort of trailed off after that. The Vomit Comet, after an unfortunate incident in high school. Mr. Chunky-cheeks when I was three. Mr. Chunky-cheeks again, when I was 27, for different reasons. You know, maybe we don’t actually need to go over all of these.
But you’re totally sure you haven’t even heard of Mephistopheles? The serpent? The hiss in history? The great red dragon? The okay red dragon? The decent red dragon considering the circumstances? Wow. Well. That’s okay. Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just gonna go, I guess. You can have your child’s body back. No, you didn’t do anything wrong.
Sure, you can just call me Steve, if you want.
