God · Goddess · John Bonham · just for fun · Led Zeppelin · Moby Dick · Satan · short story

Date with the Devil

God sat in his chair at the helm of his spaceship. In front of him, through the window, not too far away, sat Earth. But he took no notice of the planet, for he was immersed in a game of Scrabble on his phone. His friend Ganesh was kicking his ass once again.

“Where’s Satan?” Ganesh texted.

“No idea,” God texted back. “Probably having a way more exotic evening than we are.”

Just then, the door to his office opened. God began to shuffle from his slouched position deep in his chair, but his old bones slowed the process. Besides, his visitor was already upon him.

The Goddess bent over next to him, her lean and attractive body brushing against his just a little. Her long black curly hair fell in a gorgeous drape as she cocked her head to look at him sideways as he slumped in his chair.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” she said back.

He sat up and looked at what she was doing to his control board.

“What are you…” he began, but her perfect black-polished fingertip was already on the “Winter Off” button for the northern hemisphere.

She clicked it “On”. Then she stood back up.

He twisted in his chair and took a good look at his gorgeous wife. She was all dolled up, wearing a denim miniskirt, black platform boots and a cut up Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

“I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing up here,” she said. “but if I have to take one more call from Ohio about how damn cold it is there for May, I’m going to flip my shit.”

She was so pretty, and she was so irritated.

He was guilty. He knew it.

“I’m sorry, babe.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot like she was still mad.

“You look gorgeous,” he told his girl. “Why are you all done up? What are you getting into?”

“John Bonham is playing in town tonight. I told you this. Satan bought us tickets months ago.”

Ohhhh. Now he remembered. His best friend and his wife had bonded over a love for Zeppelin way back when the band first exploded on the scene on Earth. Of course…that show was tonight.

“Ganesh and I were wondering where Satan was.”

“Ha”, she said, smiling slightly. “Well, that man actually likes to get out of his chair and off his phone every now and then. You know…live a little.”

Just then they heard the giant roar of an engine and the song Moby Dick blasting at a million decibels outside.

God looked out the window.

Satan was standing there, next to his bad-ass shiny black 1977 Corvette Stingray with the fire lick painted detail on the car’s sides. He was dragging on a cigarette with one hand and flipping his old buddy the bird with the other.

God laughed.

“Your date is here.”

The Goddess gave her husband a quick peck on the lips then went for the door.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she called out.

“All right, baby,” he said. “Tell Bonzo I said hi. Love you!”

God looked out his giant window again and watched as his wife and Satan stood with their arms around each other posing for a selfie. Then she climbed into the passenger seat and he shut the door. The Dark Lord turned back to God one more time, threw up devil horns to his buddy, got in his car, then they flew off like two bats out of hell.

God sighed and slumped back into his chair.

Ganesh had texted, “Where’d you go?”

The creator of the universe looked down at his tiles. He couldn’t believe what he saw.

He clicked them up and laid them down, one by one.

D O U C H E

Ganesh texted, “LOL. Good one.”

The End 🙂




Boz Skaggs · bratty kids · cliffhangers · down on your luck · heat wave · romance · Satan · suburban living · writing

Soap Opera Satan

Satan walked out of his garage and sidled up next to the car sitting in his driveway.

Running an evil red fingertip along the shiny red hood of his 1983 Pontiac Fiero, the horned lord of the underworld felt a tingle run down his spine, through his tail and shoot out the pointy arrow at his end.

“You gorgeous bitch,” he whispered to the car as he settled his hefty red ass in the leather seat. Pulling his tail in next to him and tucking it around himself, he cursed the entire auto industry for never creating proper tail accommodations for demons.

He started the engine and glanced back to pull out of his driveway.

Oh…here came his neighbors Glen and Judy Clarkson and their grandson Connecticut walking down the sidewalk. That Connecticut kid was a hoot. He frequently came to spend time with his grandparents and drove those poor people to the brinks of their sanity. Also, Satan thought it was hilarious the kid’s name was Connecticut. What kind of name was that anyway? Plus, he had no nickname. It was like the longest weirdest name ever, especially for a kid who lived in Illinois.

“Hey buddy,” Glen called out. “Time to get the old Devilmobile out and about, huh?”

Satan smiled and nodded and waved the trio along so he could get going.

It was then he saw that little kid stick his tongue out and flip him the bird.

“Kids got some cojones on him,” he muttered appreciatively before shifting into reverse and backing the scarlet vehicular Jezebel out of the driveway.

As he tore down his tree-lined street totally ignoring the “Drive Like Your Children Live Here” signs, he turned up the band KISS on his tape deck.

“Knights in Satan’s Service, my ass”, he thought to himself. Those guys had lost all their power when they took off the makeup in ’83. And that Simmons guy was a real douche-canoe, flying around attached to cables and spitting “blood” that came from Halloween store capsules.

Poser.

Still, Animalize was a tuff album. There was no question about that.

Traveling full-speed with the tires burning rubber and the sound of leopard spandex rock-n-roll filling his head, Satan pointed a crooked calloused finger to the button on the dash of his hot rod. He pressed the “Hotter Than Hell” button in and a wave of bone-crushing heat suffocated a large portion of the lower 48.

“AH-hahahahaha!!!!” the demented one laughed maniacally, his evil deed fulfilled as he drove on with the knowledge that humans would be suffering even more than usual today.

Then he came to a stop at a red light. Suddenly, the air conditioner in his vintage sportster fizzled out. He pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow and banged on the dashboard.

Nothing.

Great.

There was yet another expensive repair to take care of. You know, when he bought the Fiero he knew it might be high maintenance, but at the time the sleek hot chick magnetism of the car was all he cared about.

Did he have enough money in his checking account to call Leo at the repair shop?

Then he thought–Wait a minute. I’m Lucifer, ruler of the Lake of Fire and Eternal Damnation. What the hell do I care if my air doesn’t work?

Then he shifted his gaze to the right where he spied a beacon of delicious hope.

He guided the Fiero into the Dairy Queen parking lot like a Great White shifting quietly through the salt water of an ocean full of digestive possibilities.

“Diet be damned,” he told himself. “A twisty cone sure sounds yummy right about now.”

It was Monday, though. Not a “cheat” day. He pursed his lips again.

“Oh, what the hell,” he concluded as he parked the car, jumped out and ran into the ice cream store.

“I’d like a twisty cone, s’il vous plait,” he said to the kid behind the counter.

“The soft serve machine is down,” the kid said looking at the weird red man in front of him.

Satan sighed and figured it was a sign that he really shouldn’t cheat on his diet. Smirking at the kid, the Devil turned on his hoof and left the ice cream store.

As he went to get back in his toasty Fiero, he heard an uproar of laughter coming from a bar across the way. Twirling his keys around his fingers, Satan gave a moment’s consideration to his 6 years of sobriety. It hadn’t been easy, but after the intervention his minions held all those year back and by the grace of God and the help he got at the Betty Ford Clinic, he hadn’t touched the stuff in years and really hadn’t missed it until…well, just now.

As he walked up to the open doors of the place, he heard a tune playing on the jukebox that turned his blood ice cold.

What the hell kind of day was this, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and took in the words to the beautiful love song “Look What You’ve Done to Me” by Boz Skaggs.

It had been “their song” all those years ago…

Satan walked in the place and all the patrons turned to see the return of their old friend.

And behind the bar, he couldn’t believe it, but there she was…

 

Anita.

 

The love of his life. The one who had broken up with him, crushed his heart, and left him a broken incubus.

Their eyes met across the 4000-degree room.

 

<cue organ music>

 

Tune in next week when we find out the answers to these questions:

 

Will Satan’s car’s air conditioning get fixed?

 

Will he fall off the sobriety wagon?

 

Will the flames of lust between the Dark Prince and Anita rise once again?

 

Will Connecticut’s grandparents tell their kids they aren’t going to babysit him anymore?

 

Will the soft serve ice cream machine at the local Dairy Queen get fixed?

 

And finally, will the heatwave over the eastern half of the US ever come to an end??

Next week on

SATAN OF SUBURBIA