Today we forego my usual blog-ban on topics of religion in order to bring you (drum roll) my exclusive INTERVIEW WITH SATAN!

Background: I reside in the lovely hamlet of Conyers, Georgia, where I bought my first house after quitting the bucolic climes of my hometown (Cowshit, Georgia: "Where our cars are on blocks but our houses are on wheels!"). Conyers enjoyed fame (well, semi-fame) because a resident of our rural burg sees and converses with the Virgin Mary. I'm not joking about that part, see?

I wonder how, with an entire hierarchy of clerics, bishops, nuns and monks to choose from, including an entire monastery of Trappist brethren right down the road a piece, the Virgin Mary happened to pick this particular lady, and how out of everywhere on earth, she chose Conyers. Maybe she figured there wasn't much point in trying to converse with Trappists and she couldn't get through security at the Vatican. I've noticed that God, too, is reputed to talk to quite a number of people, notably televangelists and psychopaths (assuming that these are two separate categories). This led me to ask myself why The Devil never talks to anyone. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know: he's always whispering to us, suggesting that we sin, leading us unto temptation and inciting wickedness. But why doesn't the Devil ever just pop in and chat with folks, give us a status report and deliver his Message to Society the way the Lord and assorted saints do? I think that it would be noticeably more effective if, instead of God or a saint sighing lamentably over the sordid state of the world and issuing a cryptic cautionary word or two, we had Satan himself saying, "Way to go! Keep up the good work! Kudos to all you atheists!"

Plus, it would seem that the Devil would be a lot easier to get in touch with, since no one is bugging him to answer prayers and bless food and grant forgiveness all the time. Let's face it, the depravity of modern times notwithstanding, the Devil still remains fairly unpopular. I imagine that the majority of calls he gets these days turn out to be false alarms from Hollywood schlock movie sets. I am very curious to learn, what with the abundance of sin, the pervasiveness of evil and so many villains to choose from, just who Satan would single out for special recognition. Exactly which ones of us get a fire and brimstone high-five? Obviously, televangelists have yet again overlooked a prime opportunity. Imagine if, instead of reporting that God had commanded him to beef up the collection basket, Jimmy Swaggart roared from the pulpit, "Ah have spoke with Be-EL-zebub! And he DID say unto me, you tell Brother Falwell to KEEP up the good WORK!"

As usual, any tradition-breaking, peer-defying act of bravery is left up to me, so I set out to consult the Prince of Darkness myself for the answers to a few eternal questions. Among other things, I was betting that he didn't even like heavy metal. He's a Muzak man if I've ever seen one. After considerable trouble extracting the appropriate incantations from recalcitrant mystics, the drawing of many pentagrams, the burning of many strange philtres and a poof of sulfurous smoke, sure enough, Satan himself appeared in answer to my summons.

"Hell-lo," he said, congenially enough. "Glad to see you're not making the Exorcist Part XVI or anything. Well, well, well. What can I do for you? S-a-a-a-y, that's a nice soul you've got there. Low mileage and ooh! so well-maintained! Can I make you an offer on that?"

"Um, no, actually, I....I mean, I wasn't....you aren't real busy right now, are you? I, um, am I interrupting?"

"Busy, busy, busy! So busy I can barely keep up. But don't you worry about that. Like an apple?"

"Thank you, no. I just wanted...kind of an interview. If you don't mind."

"Oh, ho! Jealous of the old party down the road who has audiences with the Virgin, eh? Cardinal sin, envy."

"Not exactly. I was more curious than anything else. And especially so now that I've met you. You know, you aren't at all what I expected, if I may say so. I mean, I'd heard that you were a man of wealth and taste, but you seem awfully genial for an archfiend."

"Go on with you! Trying to turn my head with compliments! Okay, you got your interview. Fire away! So to speak."

"To begin with, what should I call you? Lucifer? Satan? Belial? Your names are legion."

"Oh, Lucifer's fine. You may not, however, call me Luci for short. What's your name?"

"Helly."

"How delightful!" he snickered.

"I'm not kidding."

"Oh - sorry."

"No offense taken. First of all, how are things in the inferno? Getting pretty crowded?"

"Great burning horny toads, yes! Oh, you've no idea. I had a developer in last week; we may have to go co-op. I don't know how I'll accommodate everyone otherwise."

"How's the old pit holding up? Any snowballs yet?"

"Not a one. I said it's crowded, not crumbling."

"Pat Robertson: one of yours?"

"Please! What in blazes do you think I am?" He looked offended.

"Clogs?"

"Yeah, okay, I did do that one."

"Canceling the original Star Trek?"

"Guilty."

"Jesse Helms?"

"Plead the fifth."

"Talking of numbers, that reminds me! What's the deal with this whole '666' thing?"

"My lucky numbers for playing the lottery. I would have won the jackpot, too, but one of J.C.'s sneaky little apostles - seems to me it was Ralph - filched my ticket."

"There's not an Apostle Ralph."

"Hmpf! Like you were there."

"Too bad about your lottery ticket, anyhow. Now, let's talk cuisine. It seems to me that folks in line for eternal suffering would have to eat something a lot more disgusting than Devil's Food Cake. What's that about?"

"I have no idea who got that one started, but just between you and me, there's a chef somewhere who owes me one hell of a lot of royalties. My food cake isn't even on our dessert menu."

"What is?"

"Fat-free cheesecake, fruit compote made from all those stupid fruits nobody really wants to eat anyway, like kumquats and papayas and Freddie Mercury. Oh, yeah, and we've had low-carb cookies ever since I nabbed one of those Keebler elves."

"A Keebler elf? What's he in for?"

"Gluttony, mainly. Plus a bad case of Willy Wonka envy."

"While we're on the subject of food: did you invent tofu?"

"Hee-hee! One of my finer inspirations. I'm actually quite proud of that one!"

"Proud? As in 'pride'? Watch it - cardinal sin alert! Or don't you have to worry about that anymore?"

"Between you and me....I'm still not supposed to, making bad matters worse and all that, but we have an unofficial understanding since by now both of us have lost count."

"What's the beverage of choice in hell? Pepsi?"

"Used to be. Now it's Zima."

"Okay, next burning question: what kind of music do you like? The rumour hereabouts is that Heavy Metal is one of your inventions."

"Holy shit, no! Nice, light jazz or a little soothing Muzak. And polkas! I'm very fond of polkas."

"I kinda had a feeling. Another musical mystery: is Jim Morrison dead?"

"Well...he is now. Not that I have him."

"He's up there? The Lizard King of debauchery? You're kidding!"

"Um, well, no, not exactly. That is, you see, the Big Guy and I, we're both big Doors fans. My personal favorite is 'Light my Fire'. Anyway, when Mr. Mojo Risin' finally bought it, we decided to grant him a boon. So we dissipated him."

"You mean--"

"Yep. Canceled his subscription to the resurrection."

"Wow...on another topical issue, how's the recruiting going?"

"Foul. Fetid. People just aren't as wicked as they used to be. Paganism is on the rise again, and you know how disgustingly considerate they are. Practice random kindness, indeed!"

"That's a shame. It's odd, though: according to the media, Satanist cults are on the rise. Running rampant. Stalking pregnant women in Modesto. Spreading like wildfire!"

"Hmpf! Don't bet on it. Pure show. Grandstanding. Damn show-off kids and their foolishness. Don't know a thing about the real me and none of them are what you could call devoted. How I miss dear Adolph. Now that's devil worship for you...say, who's that? What a fine wee beastie!"

"This is my kitty cat, Finnovar. He's named after the Irish king of the elves, who according to Celtic mythology was also the ruler of the underworld. At present, however, no coup is planned, so you can relax. Do you have any pets?"

"Just the odd minon. A demon or two. Couple hundred head of incubi and succubi. And of course the Scarlet Beast."

"I thought he belonged to the Whore of Babylon."

"Naw, she just feeds and exercises him when I go on vacation."

"Vacation? You take vacations?"

"Of course I take vacations. You've gotta take time to stop and smell the sulpher. Went to Haiti a few years ago - wonderful beaches. I highly recommend it."

"Oh. Well, this year my vacation has already been planned. I'm going to Scotland. I'd never want to abuse our friendship, but while I'm there I've been invited to a sho-nuff foxhunt and I was wondering...can I borrow a hellhound? I really need one."

"Hmmm. Possibly. That could be arranged. You wanna go out with me sometime?"

"Thank you, but...I think we should just stick to the interview."

"I'll buy you a really nice dinner. We can go to Dante's - ever been there? Down on Peachtree, world famous fondue."

"No, thanks. I just don't think I should."

"I drive a Viper."

"Not impressed. I've got a Vette."

"I'll still respect you in the morning."

"Really, I'm flattered, but you're just not my type."

"It's that whole Catholic thing, isn't it? Reject me, reject my glamour, reject my lies, blah blah blah..."

"I can't help it. I'm not exactly Catholic anymore, at least I haven't been to confession since before I lost my virginity, but somehow that parochial crap always comes back to haunt you."

"Oooh, promiscuous, are we? I'll have to make a note of that."

"Hey, what's that noise?"

"Customized ring-tone. I invented those, you know. Sorry, love, must dash. I'm due to put in an appearance at a Baptist tent revival. Any final questions?"

"Well, actually...um, could you...I was just sort of wondering if...you know..."

"Oh, no problem. I'll look you up. What's your last name again?" He leafed rapidly through his ledger, found an entry and looked up, appalled. "Great balls of fire! You!"

"I'm gonna...I'm...I'm in your book, then?"

"Well, they certainly wouldn't let you in up there! Not that I'm going to keep you, either! Not in the place five minutes and already you're trying to alphabetize everyone, putting renegade popes and bishops in chronological order, sorting everyone according to deadly sin, arguing points of theology with me, bitching about eating meat on Friday not being just cause anymore, always adjusting the thermostat behind my back....horrible. Simply horrible!"

"So, what happens to me, then?"

"Heh-heh! Now that's interesting. Tell you what: I've really got to run. I'll stop by next month, make a few prophesies, maybe send a few evil omens. We can discuss it then. Ta!"

"Happy trails."

I hope he hurries back (yeah, I know, patience is a virtue). I can't wait to ask him: what do you say in hell when somebody sneezes?

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!