Asking Satan

Some people think I'm mean. That I'm a bitch. That my heart is lukewarm at best.

They are gravely mistaken.

I am the devil.

That's right. Pointy tail. Maroon skin. You can find my pitchfork moonlighting in a fat man's hand at the Olive Garden. My body is always a balmy 666 degrees.

Look. I refuse to smile and fake it. I refuse to pack my bags for guilt trips. I refuse to betray my integrity to spare someone's feelings. Does that make me flat-top, flat-face, flat-out, cut you, pinch you, poke-your-eyes-out mean?

Let's ask the real devil.

Hey, Satan? When someone gets flowers at work and I don't ooh and aah because I think they smell like cat piss, does that make me mean?

Satan: Unfortunately, no. It makes you a dog lover.

Hey, Satan? If smokers must keep their addiction - by law - away from others, is it mean that I think fat people shouldn't be allowed to eat at buffets?

Satan: Yes, but I see your point. You wouldn't believe how fast a refrigerator clears out down here after a tornado rips through the Heartland.

Hey, Satan? Is it mean when I ignore someone because they annoy the hell out of me?

Satan: Absolutely not. Once I see it's God calling I find the nearest gay to tell Him I'm out! 

Hey, Satan? Is it mean to comment on people's childish emotions and strange behaviors?

Satan: Not if you're talking about Rush Limbaugh.

Hey, Satan? Do you think we'll meet one day?

Satan: Um...this is always so awkward...yes, I do.

It's the gay thing, huh?

Satan: It certainly helps, but no. Remember when you called Newt Gingrich an ignorant motherfucker?

I do, and I stand by it.

Satan: Well, he called me last night and said he wanted yesterday's post removed (I knew it wasn't Blogger!) and asked if I could get my hands on you. I gotta do him this solid. He's great at spreading fear and hate, and my recruiting numbers are through the roof!

Satan? Do you think I'm mean?

Satan: It's weird to say, but no, I don't. Any lesbian who carries her grandmother's purse when they're at the mall together is A-okay in my book.

Thanks, Satan.

Satan: Don't sweat it. Not yet, anyway.