It is I, Satan, the great deceiver. Maker of mischief, ruler of darkness. Master of evil. Various other satanic titles, in other words, your worst fucking nightmare.
I have returned to the world of flesh in order to wreak further havoc amongst you wretched humans. Well, that was my plan, it’s looking like it’s going to be a bit harder than usual this time around.
You see, I was in hell (where I live), and I was just chilling with a couple of my boys (demons), and my main man (Hitler) was like, “Yo Satan, I bet you couldn’t do shit to humans nowadays.”
And I don’t take kindly to smack talk, so I was like, “Shut up cracker,” (because at the time I was in blackface) (because I am evil).
But I guess Hitler doesn’t take too kindly to smack talk either because he said, “The world is way too complicated for you to have any real impact.”
And then Hitler’s best friend, Jeffrey Epstein, was like, “Yeah, Adolf’s right. You would probably be way out of your depth with all the computers and such.”
That piqued my interest, and since I am never one to back down from a challenge, I said, “I could do twice as much damage now as I have throughout all time, in fact.”
And then the two challenged me to try.
But since I am Satan, I did not want to give them the satisfaction.
“It would be too easy,” I said, “give me a bigger challenge.”
They chafed at that remark but then whispered amongst themselves. Finally, Jeffrey spoke once more, “This time, you could not let yourself shape-shift.”
That was a fascinating idea.
“That is a fascinating idea,” I said, “but still not challenging enough.”
“What if the physical embodiment was something really hard to influence people with?”
Hmmm, I thought; “what would it be?’
They whispered amongst themselves yet again. This time it was Hitler who stood.
“An egg.”
So here I egg.
To be more exact, I am a human, who happens to look a great deal like an egg. All in all, I would not say it is my most flattering persona.
I would also not say people find it particularly gripping.
I have tried on various occasions to gain entrance to the heads of different governments. No success.
They just look me up and down and send me off due to “lack of clearance.” Whatever that is.
Also, turns out this body needs a lot of fuel to sustain. I have come to learn these pesky humans call this fuel “food.”
I devour copious quantities of food. Mainly from an establishment titled “Burger King.” I had initially entered the restaurant in order to enrapture the mind of the beef monarch, but instead became enraptured by the delicious (and surprisingly affordable) food.
Sourgourning to the Burger King has hence become a daily habit. In fact, I am such a large fan I have become known to the staff. They call me Eggmund, which I assume is on account of my egg-shape.
Regardless, my love of Burger King necessitated another kind of food, cash. In other words, I needed to get a job.
At first, I worried this would stop me from accomplishing my goal (spreading worldwide chaos and destruction), however, I decided that I had to build a foundation for my glorious purpose, and that foundation needed a bankroll.
So I got a job at a call center. It was incredibly easy due to the fact that call centers are actually run by lower-level demons. The guy in charge of this one didn’t know exactly who I was, but he caught my vibe enough to hire me.
My first few months at the call center had gone by monotonously. In fact, it seems that many of these people lived such depraved and boring lives they scarcely seemed to have noticed my attempts at causing mischief.
I ruined the credit score of my cubicle partner, Rachel, and she didn’t even notice. In fact, I’d say her spending habits became even more careless. Then I spiked all of the office supplies with growth hormones, in order to wreak havoc on my coworker’s moods. Again; no change whatsoever. I now believe that may be due to the fact that pretty much all the food was loaded with hormones as it is, so mine may have even worked to counterbalance some that were already in there.
In fact, I even grew a little disheartened. But that was only the beginning of my worries. One day as I was sitting in the breakroom snooping, obviously, I overheard two of my coworkers talking.
It was boring at first, just about their stupid lives and worthless goals, but eventually, I heard something that shook me to my core. One of the voices, which I recognized to be my cubicle partner, said something.
“Yeah, it smells like eggs in my cubicle.”
At first, I was shocked she would say that, since it is both of our office, not just her’s. But then the other voice asked her another question.
“That’s so gross; what kind of eggs?”
I listened harder, because I know my resemblance to eggs, and wanted to see if the conversation would then shift to me. I love it when people talk about me.
My cubicle-mate giggled maliciously for a moment before continuing, “Deviled eggs.”
A cold sweat overtook me. I sat there in my plastic chair like a statue, waiting for them to leave so I could collect myself.
That was three hours ago, now I hide in the multi-gender bathroom.
They are on to me I am sure. I just do not know how much they know. I knew that cross in her cubicle wasn’t just for show.
I think I’m looking at a full-blown exorcism on my hands here, and there’s only one thing I can do.
Orgy.
It’s been my get-out-of-jail-free card since the dawn of time, the one thing I can always count on. In fact, it was not even the apple that got Adam and Eve kicked out of the Garden of Eden.
In fact, there wasn’t an apple at all. “Apple” was just the password to get into the giant orgy I was throwing. Of course, God wasn’t invited, so he was pretty pissed that I let in his two kids without him. Which you may think is problematic, but you have to remember this was back in the 0000’s, things were different back then.
I’m getting distracted.
Suffice it to say, they work with great success, and I am very confident in my abilities. In fact, I can hear somebody knocking on the bathroom door. My very first victim.
I open the door and see it is Gerald.
“Hello, Gerald,” I say.
“Hey… man…” Gerald says. I do not think Gerald knows my name.
“Are you about to use the toilet?” I ask, (it is common knowledge that talking about bathroom habits is a step away from sex).
“Yeah…” Gerald says.
“Well, I’ll have you know, I just left a quarter-yard of feces in the toilet,” I say before adding, “But don’t worry, I didn’t feel it leave at all; just slid out easily.” I waggle my eyebrows at him mischievously.
He does not seem to gather that I am implying the ease with which my posterior region can receive ‘packages.’ In fact, he looks rather disgusted.
“Anyway,” I say, “would you like to go to an orgy I am putting together?”
“What?” Gerald asks
“I’m putting together a little office-wide orgy, and I was wondering if I could get down whether or not you will be attending,” I say with a salacious grin.
Gerald seems confused. But then he too grins, and then says “Yes.”
Off-topic, but you may be wondering who this Gerald is, and why he would want to join an orgy.
Gerald is a 5-foot-2-inch man who weighs two hundred pounds and lives with his parents. He has no friends, and the only place outside of work where he has any interaction with non-immediate family members is on online sub-channels dedicated to demeaning women and diversity in blockbuster films.
Now that I mention it, most of the men in this office share quite a few similarities with Gerald. That may have been an important factor as to why they all agreed to the Orgy.
On the other hand, I have had much more difficulty convincing the women of the office to get on board. I’ve tried every trick in the book; berating them, gaslighting, begging, threatening suicide, trying to trick their inferior female minds; nothing has worked.
What’s more, I’ve heard the gals gossiping about deviled eggs even more. In fact, I swear they are looking at me when they do it too. I think they want me to hear them too. Half the time they speak in a stage-whisper right in front of me about how the sulfuric smell of deviled eggs is “super annoying,” and that people should “be taking better care of their health.”
My time is running short. My only hope lies in the orgy now, even though the women have still not agreed.
I’ll have to improvise.
I get to work in the morning. There seems to be a festive cheer in the office. Something about a “Christmas.” I’ve never heard of it, but holidays (excluding spring break) aren’t usually my thing.
Either way, the manager tells us we are doing a gift exchange; Now I know why the manager has been asking me whether I’ve bought a gift for some woman named Sarah for the past few weeks.
I haven’t, obviously, but an idea comes to mind.
I’m practically shaking with excitement as we all sit in a circle with our gifts. My empty laps gathers some glances, but I pay them no heed.
Gifts are exchanged slowly, eventually, my gift is handed to me, and I tear off the wrapping with glee.
It’s deodorant.
A woman, Marsha, says it’s to “help with the smells,” and then she mouths, eggman.
It’s now or never, I think.
I stand up and walk into the center of the circle.
“My gift is for Sarah,” I say, “but it is also for everyone.”
I begin to pull down my pants.
The manager begins shouting at me to stop, but the train’s already left the statin. I stand nude in the center of the circle. A nude egg.
“Let the orgy commence,” I say.
All hell broke loose.
In the end, about half of the men in the office and I lost our jobs. We were also fined for indecent exposure.
I think it is fair to say the orgy did not go as I expected it.
The worst part of it all was that I lost my ability to purchase Burger King. To make matters worse, I could not get a job at Burger King, because of my supposed criminal record.
So I did what any sane man would.
I held the Burger King hostage.
Eventually, the swat teams asked to bargain with me, to which I said I wanted to speak to the president.
They said no, so I asked to speak to speak to the vice president.
That was also a no, so we went down the list of governmental authorities until we eventually reached the community events organizer, whose name actually turned out to be Edmund.
“Edmund here,” Edmund the Community Events Organizer said, “what can I do to help you?”
“Edmund, this is Eggmund, I am currently holding an entire franchised Burger King hostage, and if you do not do exactly as I say, I will murder the lot of them.”
Edmund quickly agreed to my proposal.
“Edmund,” I said, “would you please tell me that I am a very convincing man, who holds a lot of sway?”
Edmund seemed to debate this query for a moment, and then he said, “How many people are in the Burger King?”
“Two dozen,” I said.
“Then sure,” Edmund said, “You’re a manipulative genius.”
“Thank you,” I said.
So I shoved my head in the boiling fry oil, in which I drowned.
I returned to hell a conquering hero. Everybody was like, “Oh my god satan, your such a piece of shit,” which is of course a compliment to me since that’s like my whole thing. But even after being proven completely correct in my ability to foment terror, I think I will take a bit of a break from the mortal realm.
They’re doing my job well enough anyways.
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