The Devil and I are old friends, though we disagree on politics. I like the party that wants to help people live better lives. He likes the party of chaos.
These days, though, the Devil is having a hard time. The internet has made him irrelevant. Every time I see him, he’s grumbling about the latest outrage on Facebook, or the appalling things people do on Instagram. Twitter (known now as “X”)? Don’t even ask.
“Temptation,” he complains. “No one has the patience for temptation anymore. By the time I’ve created some alluring temptations, you stinky humans have trampled past it and are committing sins that make me blush,” he says.
“Come on, now,” I say. “I still give in to temptation. Sort of.”
“You’re too easy and too old fashioned,” he says. “All I have to do is put a pretty girl in your path and you’ve lost your heart and soul. There’s no challenge anymore.”
“I am, indeed, from a passing generation,” I say. “And I have to tell you, the second wife you sent me was truly a demon.”
“Ah, the Dragon Wife,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. “She was one of my best. Until you got divorced and became friends.” He shudders. “I had to get a restraining order against her myself. I’m still not sure how you slept in the same bed with her and lived to tell the tale.”
“There are things one does to tame the Dragon,” I say shyly. “Best not talked about in mixed company.”
He frowns.
“But you’re going to be dead soon,” he says. Then he sees my stricken face. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re 67. I thought you knew.”
“Humans always think they’ll live forever until they don’t,” I said, recovering.
“And when you’re gone, what will I have to do? Tempt men with women? The porn sites do a much better job than I do on that score. Tempt women with men? Women are smarter than that. Tempt the poor man with wealth? What can I do in the age of Bitcoin? Tempt a hungry man with a feast? For twenty bucks he can go to Golden Corral and eat until he’s stuffed.”
“There, there,” I say. I can’t believe I’m trying to make the Devil feel better. “You’ll think of something. You are, after all, the father of lies.”
He makes a strangled cry.
“Have you HEARD your politicians? They make me sound like an amateur.”
No, he sits there, a disconsolate look on his face, shaking his head.
“I used to have Rock and Roll as the Devil’s music. Now most of those rock stars are getting old and getting religion to be a good example for their kids. Rappers are talking about going to church when they used to rhapsodize about killing each other. And don’t get me started on Country Music.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” I said. “There’s always been gospel in Country.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “Some of those ultra-rich Country singers are creating whole worlds of make believe where I should have my rightful place leading them astray. But by the time I get there, they’ve already gone twenty miles down that road.”
“Listen,” I said. “You’ll always have a place in the human heart. We are, after all, naturally cruel and vicious. We love sin. We say one thing in church on Sunday, then go off and do the other thing on Monday.”
He smiled.
“Yes, Monday is one of my best wicked inventions.”
I slapped him on the back.
“Dude,” I said, “you’re not obsolete. You just need to go digital.
So blame me if you’re noticing Evil becoming more efficient and prevalent. I’m the one who helped the Devil buy an iPhone.
Mark Bruce, Writer 