Do we Walk the Walk we Talk? Those who are not in the habit of thinking in spiritual terms find themselves entangled with more questions that they have answers.

There’s one called the Prince of the Power of the Air who wrote me a letter complaing that it’s not fair that people hate him… I share some of his concerns with you, who as “Caliente Boricuas”, are not in the habit of being suckered into unprofitable dogma. He goes…

“Don Jibaro… I've tried, I really have, but nothing ever goes right for me. Everywhere I go, it's the same thing: people talking about me like I'm not even there, saying how terrible I am. Telling other people not to walk in my path. Urging that I be shunned and reviled, and commanding me in the name of all that is holy to get myself behind them. I swear, sometimes it seems like everybody thinks I'm the worst entity in creation.

Now at Christmas, people don’t even care to notice me. This baby Jesus being celebrated hogs all the attention. Me? Like I don’t even exist.

I'm not that bad a guy, okay? I have my flaws, but I'll have you know I used to be considered quite the golden boy back in my day. Do you even know what the name Lucifer means? Depending on how it's translated, it can be "Bright And Shining One" or "Bringer Of Light," or all kinds of pretty names. I'm telling you, I was the fairest star in the firmament once. The only reason I even got kicked out Heaven in the first place is because I said I was more beautiful than God.

Yeah, right, now look at me. I can't even possess a lousy 10-year-old girl without some geezer in a white collar screaming "The power of Christ compels you!" in my face and insisting that I leave immediately. Look, I just want to connect with a human being for a little while! Levitate a few beds, spin a couple necks around, have some deep, throaty laughs, maybe crash a fre sleighs or so. Is that so wrong? Everybody treats me like some kind of lowlife just because I'm the symbolic embodiment of all the evil in the universe. Nonsense! Some of those humans are just as bad as a gasoline cocktail, I tell you. They they whine… “So and so made me do it.”

Have you heard the things they call me? I can take a good-natured ribbing as much as the next guy, but some of these names are just so mean. Do you have any idea how it feels to be called the "Lord Of Lies"? Ouch. Look, I may be mankind's greatest fears and weaknesses made flesh, but my feelings can get hurt just like anybody else's. "Prince Of Darkness"? How would you feel if everybody called you "The Defiler," or "The Despoiler," or "The Unclean One"? It's not my fault that my terrifying visage erupts into suppurating boils when exposed to the holy light of truth and righteousness. It's hideous enough without people always needing to rub it in.

I'll bet I'm the most despised and hated being in the whole wide world. I even wrote a poem about it once in my creative-writing class, but when I read it out loud, everybody just laughed at me. I only took that class to make friends, but even the biggest dorks there reacted to my very presence with visceral repulsion. I'm telling you, I felt like the lowest of the low. The only way I could get anyone to talk to me was by promising this one guy I'd make his stupid legal thrillers into bestsellers in exchange for his immortal soul. Now he's had a string of hit movie adaptations and I'll bet I don't even hear word one from him until he shows up mewling and begging at the gateway to the underworld.

Oh sure, there are the occasional few who want to be my acolytes... wearing tight leather with chains and dark make-up and spiky hair and so on, but come on. I mean, have you seen these people? They're plain weird. Sure, they say that the reason they're into me is because they're rejecting society's small-minded notions of petty morality and embracing a world where "do as thou wilt" shall be the whole of the law, but it's pretty obvious that they're really just mad that nobody else in the corporeal realm wants anything to do with them. Morons. My associates wera three piece Armani suits, I’ll have you know. Where do those belly-pierced idiots get the idea that I am into that!

I was sort of excited by the ones from the Norwegian Gothic black metal scene at first, though. I thought, "Finally, some fans who, if nothing else, at least have the guts to burn down a 900-year-old church." Some of them even had girlfriends. But that wore off pretty quick after I caught a few shows. For people who've supposedly sold their souls to the devil, these guys couldn't put together a tune for pooh. I mean, I sure as hell didn't trade them any guitar skills down at the crossroads—or whatever the hell the Norwegian Gothic folklore equivalent would be—and from the sound of their records, nobody else did either. Let's just admit it—that imitation black metal is lame.

I’ve been lurking in your land, Puerto Rico lately… wishing I could meet a nice virgin half-goat Puerto Rican woman who totally gets me. But every time I get involved with a receptacle for my seed, it always ends badly

Well, I want you to know that I do feel bad... but, hell, my die is cast.

Sincerely yours
Satan

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Dear Satan, Devil, Mephistoteles, et al::

 

You certainly made your bed. So now it’s time to lay on it, with or without you “she-goat”. Don’t you remember that your time of grandieur was to be only for a season? Now you stand at the Freeway of ramps with a sign on your chest that reads: “Will work for a Soul”. C’mon, man! You’re pathetic! Don’t you have any decency left, man? Sheesh! Get a grip, and face the music like a man.. er… or demon, or whatever the hell you are nowadays.

It’s time to move the stereo to the basement and polish you whip…

St