Lurking? I was there, but I don’t “lurk.” Besides, I’m frequently there. Is this what passes for news in the Web 2.0 era?
You’re frequently there?
Sure. I like the scones. The nuns use just the right amount of orange zest. Very tasty.
What are you doing there?
What do you think I’m doing there?
Spreading unspeakable evil?
How dramatic. I prefer to call it checking on my investments.
So was the Vatican’s exorcist right, are you responsible for the epidemic of sexual abuse in the church?
Oh, this is rich. Let me get this right. Take thousands of repressed pedophiles, give them unfettered access to and authority over children, and you need to blame the results on me?
You’re saying that there isn’t a larger power behind the horrific actions of priests who abuse children?
Do you really think I have the time or inclination to manipulate the actions of every pervert walking around this mud ball? I have more interesting things to do than incentivize the depraved.
But you have minions—don’t you just have your minions do it?
Minions? You were a literature major, right? Shall we conduct the rest of this interview in Middle English? Wherefore art thouest minions, my lord? Do not thouest minions carry forth thouest evil bidding? Ha! Or is it thine? I always forget…thy, thine, thouest, whatever. Anyway, no, I don’t need minions.
So how do you accomplish your evil master plan?
Oh, you mean like how will I destroy the powers of ultimate good so that I can claim dominion over heaven and earth?
I’m starting to feel sorry for you, really. Look around, buddy. Do you not see what humans are doing to humans every second of every day? Why in the multi-verse would I need an “evil master plan”? That base was covered a long time ago, namely when the first organism poked its ugly little head out of the muck.
So, just to clarify, you’re saying that humans have no need of your, um, services?
Now you’re getting there, pal. I was starting to think you were retarded. Exactly, no need.
Then why do you exist?
Why do you exist?
I don’t know, I guess it depends on your perspective. Western religions tell us that we’re part of God’s plan.
Again with the plan. What is it with humans and their obsessions with grand plans? I hate to tell you this—well, check that, I actually enjoy it—but you’re not part of anyone’s plan.
What then, just no personal connection to higher powers at all?
See, here’s the thing. Humans are convinced that they must have an ultimate purpose, and that everyone is getting special attention as part of some plan. But if you dropped the self-righteous pretense for even a minute and looked around, you’d see how incredibly moronic that is. How, for example, do you explain why some fat, rich asshole with a beachside mansion in Miami, and nothing to do but count his money and decide which cocktail party he’ll go to every night, gets to live it up while 5 year old girls are raped, brutalized and murdered in the Congo nearly every day and have been for years? Make whatever comparisons you like: line up boy bands against genocide. Baseball player salaries against rampant starvation. Whatever. You people already know this shit is true but you rationalize it all as part of a “plan.” What sort of fucked up plan is that? I’m Satan and even I’ll admit that’s insane.
Well, just to play your advocate, what if the plan is simply beyond our comprehension and all of it actually makes sense, somehow?
Right. Adam and Eve ate an apple off of a tree, you see, and because of that the world is cursed, and man—poor, blind, stupid man–just can’t make sense of it, but in time all will be made clear. Oh, and don’t forget I was a talking snake who single handedly undermined God’s original plan, which was so incredibly well conceived. Put a tree in the middle of a garden and tell your two naked Barbie and Ken dolls not to eat the juicy fruit from it or several millennia of hell will break loose. Brilliant! And now, see, because God came down and bought the farm for his juicy-fruit-cursed creation, because I guess just drowning it all again was too boring, you’ve got the chance to save yourselves by believing that he, they, whatever suffered for you. If you believe it, then you’re “chosen” and if you don’t you’re damned. Pity for those kids who get butchered before they ever hear a word about this, huh? To sum up: naked Barbie dolls are persuaded by talking snake to eat juicy fruit, followed by a universal curse on all mankind, followed by centuries of begats, followed by God coming down and taking it on the chin for the whole thing, followed by salvation or damnation, followed by it all making sense in the end. Got it?
That’s what some people, well a lot of people, believe, yeah.
I rest my case. You have to have a reason, and even something so blatantly ridiculous, as long as it’s old—because for some reason “old” makes things more true for you people—it’ll work. You’ll suspend every last shred of logic to believe it. You’ll withhold the scrutiny you give everything else in your lives so as to not shake your faith in an amalgamation of redacted stories that have been conveniently sewn up with the best punchline ever invented—that you’re special and can live forever.
But, you know, they say that your greatest achievement was convincing mankind that you don’t exist.
I know, I love that one. But if I could, I’d edit it thusly: My greatest achievement was playing the role that makes self-delusion such a potent addiction. Can’t have the light without the dark. Without me, or “ultimate evil,” whatever term you’d prefer, then there wouldn’t be a need for salvation, because if not from evil, then what are you being saved from?
And bingo was his name-o. Magnificent, isn’t it? It’s the gift that keeps on giving, and I don’t have to do a damn thing. Humans are so spun up in their delirium of purpose and plans and rationalization, the whole thing just waters itself, like a terrarium.
That you are, but I’m afraid I have to cut this short. I have to make it across the galaxy before lunch and check on things on…well you couldn’t pronounce it anyway…let’s just say on another mud ball.
Wait, are you saying that there’s life out there besides us?
Oh, no pal, you’re the most special critters in all of time and space. How could there possibly be other life out there?
That’s sarcasm, right?
Another prize for our contestant! Listen, pal, I like you—really I just feel sorry for you–so I’m going to give you some parting advice: don’t print any of this. All it’s going to do is make you the target of more insults and nastiness than you’ll care to stomach. People believe what they want to believe. That’s how it has always been and that’s how it’ll always be. I mean, do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Thanks, I think.
I’m off. Oh, by the way, your tires are flat.
No they’re not.
You sure about that? Muhahaahahhahaahahahaha!