Chapter Three You Can’t Keep A Good Daemon Closeted

Chapter Three

You Can’t Keep A Good Daemon Closeted

Dear Reader, you might have incorrectly assumed that Heaven is a well-oiled, smooth-running machine. You would be wrong. It is a bureaucracy with a department to cover every facet of Heaven with a department to cover those departments and so forth ad nauseam. In human terms, it feels like one has landed in the absolute Hellish Bureau of Motor Vehicles with an all-white décor and winged white-suited customer service representatives. 1Hell isn’t run any better than Heaven. It’s like the Bureau of Motor Vehicles on acid with a psychedelic 1960’s décor and miniature misshaped large-eared imps for customer service representatives. Who, Dear Reader, are contemplating the meaning of their belly buttons while smoking from a hookah filled with angel dust. Angel dust was at one time outlawed in Hell before The Devil decided it was a stupid law and any self-respecting Angel who tripped into Hell and got themselves ground into dust deserved to be smoked in hookahs by malignant imps.

The how-to move the Daemons was a sticking point between God and the Devil for many years.2A well-known fact is that the Devil prefers the moniker “Satan” because of his real name. Lucifer Morningstar does nothing to evoke fear or spontaneous wetting of pants. God, who enjoys poking the Devil as much as anyone, will call the Devil, “LucyFur Morningstar Pants” emphasized with a display of jazz hands. It is common knowledge on the Heavenet that when The Devil and God are having a meeting that bets will be made on how long will it take for the Devil to lose his temper and begin to spew smoke and fire out of his nose.In the meantime, the Devil agreed to keep them contained (imprisoned) within the confines of Hell. The talks resumed and unfortunately, while they were pointing fingers and talons at one another, a new problem was brewing. Once again Dear Reader, powerful entities who should know better did not factor in the cleverness, and in this case devilishness of their creations.

The Devil formed a super top-secret team of fiends called Hellions to round up all the rogue Daemons and deposit them into the designated area now known as The Closet. As mentioned earlier, the rogue daemons weren’t hard to find within the confines of Hell with all the shenanigans they liked to pull. Angels were patrolling Earth to capture rogue Daemons prancing about there. Bless their gray hearts, Dear Reader, those rogue Daemons tried to disguise themselves as cute itty bitty puppy dogs that middle-class white ladies like to carry in their pocketbooks while shopping. It makes one wonder if those nice ladies knew what they were really carrying around inside their pocketbooks or why they couldn’t find their lipstick or sometimes their spare change.

Once every single rogue Daemon was caught and placed in The Closet, the Devil closed the proverbial door and threw away the key with great flourish.3This was not good news for the resident Key Maker. He was a poor soul whose only sin was to pick his nose with the keys he made for his fellow humans prior to handing them off. He is doomed to an eternity of one extra-large booger tightly lodged inside of his left nostril no matter how many attempts he makes to mine for gold, as they say. To keep him on his toes, the regular Daemon folk like to do a bit of black magic which allows him to dislodge the booger only to have it reappear in the opposite nostril or for kicks stick tight to his upper lip. Once they were in the closet, the Devil resumed talks with God about how to move this now-massive congregation of rogue Daemons from Hell to the Bermuda Triangle.

The Closet where the rogue Daemons now found themselves in a 12X12X12 room furnished with an array of materials to play with. However. You knew there would be a however and one has to wonder why the Devil didn’t think of this. However, they grew quite bored and it wasn’t exactly the roomiest of closets for hundreds upon thousands of Daemons to reside in. Plus, there were no doomed human souls to entertain. Pocketbooks were strictly forbidden along with changing into itty-bitty puppy dogs. When Daemons get bored, especially ones influenced by the curious nature of human beings, you are asking for trouble. There was no belly button fuzz or large hairy toes to collect. There were no humans to influence with hooeyishness. No one remembers or is willing to name who came up with the idea. It started as a whisper, grew into a low rumble, and then a fevered pitch of shouting “Huzzah!” “That’s a GREAT idea!” and copious “Woo Hoos!”. The racket coming from behind the closet door made the two Hellions guarding it a wee concerned. This cacophony was louder than the normal cacophony one finds from a closet chuck-a-buck stuffed full of daemons.

“What’s all that noise and hubbub from behind the door, George?” asked an overly hairy and stocky Hellion named Fred.

“Dunno,” answered Fred, who was bald all over and quite lanky for a fiend.

“You don’t think those silly Daemons are up to something, do you?” asked George pointing a brown dirty fingernail at the door.

“Oh, I sure as Heaven’s Pearly Gates, hope not,” replied Fred who placed his tiny ear upon the door to get a better listen.

“George. They’ve quieted down now. I don’t think there’s any reason to report this to you-know-who.”

“Are you sure Fred,” asked George with one eyebrow cocked? I should mention here, that George’s one eyebrow was permanently in a cocked position.

“Yeah. We don’t want to cause any trouble. Things have been nice and peaceful as far as Hell goes. They can’t get out.”, Fred replied.

George answered, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right Fred. They’ve quieted down now.”

Once the cheering settled down, a few Daemons sat down to hatch their plan. Oh, what a grand idea it was! They decided it was high time a few of them sneak away to check out Heaven. They wanted to see what all the fuss was about.4They read the brochures, the pamphlets, and all the advertising upon Earth. Their human counterparts were quite enamored by this Heaven. It proves, Dear Reader, that Heaven’s marketing team of Angels was doing a bang-up job and the waiting list for those desiring admittances had grown longer than Santa Claus’s Naughty or Nice list. As I’m sure you are well aware by this time Dear Reader, any sort of Daemon hobnobbing about Heaven is certain to cause a stir and a shake.