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For the Love of Satan

I work for Satan � and he has an unnatural love of me.

You see, the owner of my company is this big burley Satan-type person who likes to feed on the blood of vestal virgins. OK, forget the vestal virgins bit, I was lying to try and be more convincing. But, still, he�s evil. Trust me. Just look at the picture he chose for the employee directory:

He runs his office like a nagging Jewish mother gone horribly awry. He can dole out the guilt with the best of the ladies at the bagel shop, but he does it as loud as he can and always in a public way. He screams at his employees, and tells them in the middle of the office exactly how stupid they are.

Everyone from the janitor to the senior executive vice president is deathly afraid of his wrath.

Everyone, but me. When I started this job, I was young, fresh out of college, in a horrible relationship, and living in a strange state all the way across the country from everyone I loved. So, what did I care if I pissed off Satan and was fired? I figured I�d tell him basically whatever comes to mind, and if I was thrown into the fiery pits of hell for my words, so be it.

People have loudly gasped after hearing some of the things I�ve said to Satan. I once told Satan that he was ignorant and out-of-touch. I�ve told him he needed to change his behavior. I told him that he fired the most competent of employees and promoted those even more evil than he himself could ever hope to become. And who the hell am I? Just a peon, a nothing, a wad of gum on the marble floor of our empire � or so I thought.

After he received a memo from me describing his managerial impotence to himself, my supervisor was called into his office, and he screamed at her for what I�d said. She had nothing to do with it, but he needed a warm body to humiliate, and she usually ends up crying, so it�s even more satisfying for him. During this evil session, however, she said to him, �So what are you yelling at me for? Go yell at [GayFraud].� He froze, and she saw his expression change into that of a helpless and innocent sheep as he mentally played out how such a meeting might go with me. He knew full well that if he yelled at me in his usual style, I�d quit before he finished his first sentence. It was then that she realized that HE was afraid of ME.

Don�t get me wrong, his fear is not based on my daunting personality or physical presence. His fear lies entirely on the fact that I�m his most productive and profitable employee, and he stands to lose a great deal of money if I quit. Satan is entirely motivated by money, go figure.

I never fully believed until this week that I might have such a power over him. Satan has never been heard to utter a kind word about anyone � ever. But one day this week I was away from my desk and training someone. I had left a big yellow note on my computer screen, saying, �If you need me, I�m over there�� with a big arrow pointing towards where I could be found. Satan came rumbling out of his den looking for me, but all he found was my empty chair and a desk cluttered with paper. He immediately bypassed the note I�d left for just such an occasion, and yelled, �WHERE�S [GAYFRAUD]? HAS ANYONE SEEN [GAYFRAUD]?� He�s far too important to read a note by himself, someone needs to read it to him.

My friend Slick sits right across from me and he started to shake as he watched this unfold, fearing that he may have to converse with Satan. He ignored him, as did the rest of the office, and Satan eventually wandered back to his lair, only to return a few minutes later to yell, �FEE FIE FOE FUM, WHERE THE FUCK IS [GAYFRAUD]?� Slick stuck out his shaking arm and pointed towards my monitor and whispered, �He left a note.�

�OH� was Satan�s only response. �OH�.

When he found me, he entered the office holding his hands in front of him with a file under his arms, and he asked me if he could interrupt. HE. ASKED. ME. He then stepped back out of the office and into the hallway where he could be heard by all and he began to proclaim that the project I had just done was the best he�d ever seen. It was so thorough and well put together. �We made a ton of money,� he said, and you can imagine how happy that made him.

For the rest of the week, my co-workers had been pausing at my cubicle as they passed by, dropping to their knees and bowing towards me as their new lord and master. �Oh stop it,� I said, my cheeks glowing with embarrassment. But they couldn�t help but acknowledge it. I managed to tame Satan, and I did it not by kissing his butt, but by being rude and honest and by threatening him every time he got out of hand. My co-workers have seen, and they have learned of its goodness. They now have the power to topple evil.

Poor Satan is in for a world of trouble.