Breakfast with Satan

Saturday mornings Frank has breakfast with Satan.
As he prepares the small glass-top dining table, a large shadow swoops along the floor and up the wall. Yep, that’s him alright. Ain’t no birds big enough to make that kind of shadow. Frank finishes setting the table and walks over to the sliding glass door just in time to watch Satan make his landing on his patio. As usual, he rips the screen out as he makes his landing and Frank curses himself for forgetting to remove the screen earlier in the morning.
“Satan, what’s up!”
After dusting himself off and standing erect at a mesmerizing 8ft tall, he greets his host, “Same old squirrel nuts.”
“Damn, what’s that stuck to your left horn?”
Satan reaches and removes what looks like a chard piece of aluminum.
“On the way here I was flying a bit to high and I ended up playing chicken with a 757. I guess I snagged a souvenir.”
“No shit! Is everybody dead?”
With a cocky smirk he replies, “Of course, you know how I roll.”
Suddenly, his nostrils flare up, “Something smells good. Shall we eat?”
Frank opens the sliding glass door and Satan walks inside. Following behind and closing the door, Frank notices all the plants near where Satan was standing are all dead. He curses himself again for forgetting to move those too.
Walking to the dining room table, Satan’s horns scratch the ceiling leaving a small trail of white flakes and dust.
“So how do you want your eggs this morning Satan?”
“I don’t care, just hurry up. I got a 9:30 appointment with Hitler that I can’t miss.”
“Hitler? What kind of appointment?”
“It’s more of a debate than anything. He argues that his work with the holocaust makes him more of a ‘Satan’ than me and he tries to point out things that I do wrong. His ridiculous insight always amuses me." After he slight pause he says, "These pictures on your wall are boring. I’ll spice them up for you a little bit.”
Frank brings the bacon and eggs over to the dining table as Satan draws on a picture.
“Vwalla! What do you think?” says Satan
Frank looks at the picture and almost vomits. “Oh, that’s fucking gross!”
“What?” This is good stuff. In fact, I gotta say this is one my better pieces. Look right here,” Satan points at a terrified man’s face on the picture, “look at this man’s face. That’s true suffering right there. I can almost hear those screams as I’m ripping his limbs off and. . .”
“Please stop! Can we eat now?”
“Ah yes, how rude of me.”
Once seated, Satan immediately starts grabbing bacon and tossing it on his plate. As Frank dishes out the eggs, Satan grabs a bottle of hot sauce and starts dumping it all over his plate. Before Frank can even pick up his fork, Satan already has his plate tilted at his mouth shoveling the food in with one swipe. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he belches loudly, leans sideways, slightly lifts one of his legs, and unleashes a roaring flatulent that causes everything on the table to vibrate.
“You know, in China that’s actually considered a compliment. It’s a polite way of saying you enjoyed the meal and you’re full,” Satan explains.
Frank shakes his head and reaches for the empty hot sauce bottle. “Great, you used all the hot sauce again.” Getting up from the table he says, “Oh, and it’s not China, it’s Japan that uses that custom. And they don’t fart either; they just belch.”
Frank goes into the kitchen to get another bottle of hot sauce. Upon returning to the table he says, “Hey, I got one for you. Is it true what they say about the Taliban’s religion: Do they really get like seventeen virgins if they die trying to kill Americans?”
Satan laughs momentarily and crosses his arms over his chest. “Hell no. That’s the recruiting propaganda they use to get more soldiers. But it is funny to see the looks on their faces when they come strolling into hell for the first time. Ya know, I erected the fiery gates to send an immediate impression of eternal suffering, but these guys come waltzing in thinking that seventeen virgins are just waiting for them."
After picking up the new bottle of hot sauce and dabbing it all over his tongue, he continues. “Like this one Al Qaeda jack-off, he comes strutting through the gates with this fucking grin on his face and I greet him with my usual fiery display and he has the audacity to ask about the seventeen virgins he thinks he is entitled to. There were a couple of other Al Qaeda members behind him in line and when I stuck that fucking pitchfork through his ass, man, you should’ve seen those pussies scatter.”
Frank smiles in agreement and says “Awesome. That’s fucking awesome.”
Satan dismisses himself from the table and walks over to the living room. Frank continues eating while Satan shuffles through a book of compact disks.
“Well, I gotta say, I don’t think you’re all that bad. I mean, I know you get a bad rap because of what you stand for and all that, but that’s just what you were destined to do. You were destined to rule the kingdom of hell. Shit, somebody’s gotta do it.” says Frank.
“Careful with the ass kissing there Frank. Trying to get brownie points with me is like waiting for Jesus to come save the world; a waste of fucking time.”
"Ouch. Maybe next Saturday I can magically get you some air time on the radio so you can terrorize a few Christians with that kind of talk."
Satan perks up and slams the compact disk book shut. "You're a genius Frank. I could use somebody like you on my staff."
"I appreciate the offer there Satan, but I think I'll pass."
As Satan walks over and turns the radio on he says, "Perhaps a demonstration of my awe inspiring power to persuade you otherwise."
The static on the radio morphs into the voice of a talk show host debating with a guest on the United States' involvement in Iraq. Satan begins to shake as laughter starts to consume him.
"Listen to this shit."
Instantly, the talk show host shifts his rambling from war politics to outright religion bashing banter. The host accuses God of "taking vacations from worldly issues" and refers to him as a "twisted little kid that uses a magnifying glass to refract sunlight and burn us down." The guest immediately becomes offended and the ranting voice is replaced with muffled sounds of tussling and microphone feedback.
At this point Satan is rolling on the ground hysterically.
Frank finally interrupts, "Uh, don't you think that's enough?"
After Satan gathers himself and the radio brawl turns to static again he says, "Oh man, that was a good one. That guy is going to end up like Imus."
"Yea, that sure beats the shit out of 'nappy headed hoes' for sure."
Satan nods in agreement as he walks over to Frank and says, "Well, it's been real Frank, but I gotta run. So many souls to terrorize; so little time."
"Yea, you definitely don't want to keep Hitler waiting."
"Fuck'em. He can wait." Satan groans momentarily and jerks upright clenching his sphincter. "Whoa! I got a crap on deck that could choke a donkey. You mind if I drop a deuce real quick?"
Frank immediately shakes his head in defiance. "That's a big negative Satan. Last time you left a log that turned into a shitty little imp. It was fucked up. I chased that little bastard all over the apartment. It hopped all over the place leaving little shit marks everywhere."
Satan scratches his head as he recalls the incident. "Yea, I remember that one. You made that awful quiche and we watched that South Park episode with that little shit character. What was his name?"
"Mr Hankie."
"Ah yes, Mr Hankie. So how did you get rid of him; I mean IT?"
"I opened the front door and it hopped out and all over the hallway. The next day people from the apartment staff came by knocking on everybody's door wanting to know who slung shit all over the place."
Tears rolled out of Satan's eyes and onto his quivering puffed-up cheeks as he tried to suppress his laughter. "That my friend is creativity gone awry."
Frank just looks at Satan and shakes his head. "Whatever. It took a lot of work to get rid of that damn smell."
"I guess I'll have to work on that one. That is bit much; even to my standards."
The cloud cover has gradually increased and darkened over the course of Satan's visit. As Frank opens the sliding glass door for Satan's departure, little rain drops begin to collect on the section of screen that wasn't ruined earlier. As Satan steps to the edge of the patio he turns and gives his usual half-ass salute.
"I bid thee farewell Frank." says Satan.
"Adios Satan. May the wind be at your back."
Just before take off, Satan squats down and glances over his shoulder with a smile, "I'm sorry; in advance."
A split second before he pushes off his asshole erupts dropping muddy shit on the edge of the patio. Disappearing into the now torrential down pour, Frank can barely make out pieces of shit still dropping from Satan's ass.
Mr. Hankie now has an army.