Posts Tagged ‘demons

09
May
11

A Joke For Mondays

When Mondays roll around, I think of this crusty old joke our science teacher told us back in prep school.

This guy dies and goes to hell and when he gets there, Satan’s waiting for the dude, dressed in a slick suit with a big, shit eating grin on his face.

 

 

He says to the guy, “The way it works down here is you got three choices how you want to spend the rest of eternity.”

“Um, ok,” says the guy nervously.

“So choose carefully,” Satan says and winks at the guy.

Satan opens the first door they come to and the guy looks inside and sees all manner of fucked up shit. Demons running amok, torturing people with knives and spears and swords and iron maidens, flaying people alive, impaling them, people screaming, blood and guts everywhere, pretty intense stuff.

 

 

Door number two is also full of demons torturing people, only this time around they’re burning the people alive, literally roasting their flesh, tossing them into pools of molten lava, stabbing them with white-hot pokers, the smell of burning flesh everywhere and of course, twice as much screaming as the room before.

 

 

“Ready for door number three?” Satan says, grinning.

The man gulps and nods his head.

Satan opens door number three and inside it are literally millions and millions of people standing chest-deep in shit, drinking tea.

“What? Is that it?” says the man. “Damn! I’ll take door number three thanks Satan!”

“Here’s your tea,” says Satan. “Enjoy”.

So off the guy goes, tea in hand, wading through the shit to find a spot where he can drink it when all of a sudden this loud, demonic voice comes over the loudspeaker and says.

“Right you wretched fuckers! Tea break’s over, back on your heads!”

 

Da dum. Tssshhh.

That’s what Monday to Friday is. Doing handstands in shit waiting for the sweet release of the weekend where you can finally come up for some air and a cup of nice, warm tea before going back down again.

Best part of it is we’re all in this together. So drink up and let’s dive back in shall we?

On three.

One. Two. Three.

Splat.

-ST

29
Jan
10

Conversation With Beelzebub

A few weeks back I got up on my high horse and pranced around the place (one of my favourite pastimes) because the Chairlady of our Body Corporate is Satan.

 

 

You can read all about it in this post right here, but basically Beelzebub and her Minions Of Darkness were pissing on my battery because they issued this snotty letter telling us we weren’t allowed to use the pool in the complex without filling in this whole roster thing because someone kept pulling the creepy out the pool and leaving it in the sun to shrivel up and die.

I was really keen to take drastic action and fill the pool with cement and made a list of actions of all this crazy stuff and asked you, my friends, what you thought I should do.

“Kidnap the creepy!” you all shouted, pitchforks raised, “that’ll teach her! The power of Christ COMPELS you! The power of Christ COMPELS you!”

In the end I elected to do nothing though. Passive resistance is still resistance right? Yeah, I showed her.

Then on Wednesday we arrive home and the minute I drive into our complex, I notice that something is wrong, but I just can’t quite put my finger on it…

“Something is wrong…” I muttered to J-Rab as we drove in, “but… I just can’t quite-”

“Are you blind?”

“Eh?”

“Half the trees in the complex have been cut down!”

“Holy fucking hell! I think you just may be onto something there…”

“Wonderful. It looks like we live in Brixton now.”

 

 

What’s worse is the Syringa tree in our garden courtyard has been butchered by the chainsaw-wielding maniacs who pass as ‘landscape architects’ these days. All they left was the centre trunk, which means the neighbours across the courtyard now have a clear view directly into our bedroom and because of this there are now 3 videos of us on Redtube that I sure as hell didn’t put there!

Ok, maybe the one… but definitely NOT the other two!

And so, last night I came home after gym, showered, put on my best wife beater, crossed the River Styx and walked right into the jaws of hell.

It’s exactly like they describe it in this long and convoluted novel I read once called The Bibel (or something similar). It hones of sulphur, there are creepy demon-things everywhere with red leathery skin jabbing these wretched-looking motherfuckers with spears and pitchforks and flames! Fuck me running, there’s flames EVERYWHERE!

And there, sitting on a throne of skulls, was Beelzebub…

 

 

“Hullo,” I said.

“Hi. How are you?” she replied.

“I’m well and yourself?” I shot back, confident and ready to attack.

“I’ve been better actually. I’m not happy with the job the garden service did.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m here to give you a piece of my m- wait, what?”

“This garden service we hired, they cut back far too much in a lot of areas around the complex, but what can you do? We got three different quotes from garden services, the cheapest one coming in at R10,000 and for that amount of money, we told them to make sure that we aren’t going to have to call them back in six months time to do it all again, because we just can’t afford it. I’ve already had to raise the levy to cover the costs of hiring them, not to mention the costs of the creepy, which has been destroyed thanks to the kids in this complex, who go to the pool area unsupervised by their parents and run riot all over the place! I just don’t know. I’m leaving here soon so it won’t be my problem anymore, I’m tired of dealing with all the issues this place has. I’m tired of being the dragon.”

“Just back the fuck up there for a second, what is this bullshit?” (I didn’t actually say this, but let’s just go with it for the sake of making me badass. Remember, I WAS wearing a wife beater and I HAD just come from gym) “You’re not allowed to be human! You’re the evil lady who shits us out when we pack the flat like a sardine tin with all my buddies and proceed to drink our body weight with music blaring until the sun rises! Which reminds me, we’re having another party on Saturday, so yeah, um, can we use the pool area?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got the R250 you need for a deposit…”

“Oh, that’s more of a formality than anything else, just please leave the pool area like you found it.”

“No! You WILL take my R250!”

“Well, if you insist.”

“There!”

“Thank you.”

“Pleasure!”

“I won’t be here because I’m flying to London on Saturday night, but you can collect the deposit from iplqpo3is1n74m3 (don’t remember the dude’s name) at no. 19 on Sunday.”

Flying… to London… Saturday night… These words echoed like a death row pardon in my head.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking B1?

I sure as FUCK am B2!

Let’s get fucking wizasted!

RARRARAARARGHARARAGAHAHAAHGHGHGHHGHHH!

 

 

I stayed for another 15 minutes talking to ol’ Beelz and came away with a different point of view. In this life, you gotta give people their 15 minutes, I’m usually pretty good at this, but my encounter with Beelz last night reminded me that I do still slip up from time to time.

The woman lives by herself in that flat, she lost her husband a few years back. She told me he was a fit guy, kept himself in shape, exercised at least twice a week, played golf regularly, played squash every week, but he was diagnosed with cancer and 6 weeks later, he died.

So I’m writing this post to take back the shitty things I said about her and set the record straight. She’s not some demon, she’s not the devil incarnate, she’s just a lonely old woman who’s fed up with always having to be the bad guy.

Food for thought right there. C’mere. Hold my hand. Let’s sing Kum Ba Ya…

Tune in tomorrow for a rushed and largely incoherent post because tomorrow it’s FUCKING PARTAY TIME MUTHUFUKKAHS! In case you don’t already know, we’re blowing this grey and rainy city and heading down to Cape Town to start a new life, me and J-Rab, living on a wine farm and raising Cheetah Cubs, but more about that later 🙂

In the meantime you look after your sexy selves and have a killer weekend.

Your buddy ol’ pal

-ST




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