Throughout the endless ages I have fathered countless sons to raise up as my own; to follow in my proud footsteps. But inevitably, no matter how hard they try, I find them unworthy and have them erased from existence. So it amazes even me how my latest protege still manages to walk the through the flames of Hell.
Of all the sons I have tried to mold into my likeness, Jerry is my greatest failure. Where the others failed despite their best efforts, Jerry’s failure is outright stubbornness and spite for yours truly.
“You insolent brat, I am the ruler of all Hell and you will honor me.”
“You are the shittiest angel that ever was, and you can’t even manage to keep Hell running smoothly, loser.”
“I could have you obliterated with the twitch of my tail.”
“Why don’t you already? I didn’t ask to be born. Especially not in Hell.”
I feel like I can’t give up on him. His failure is really just an extension of my failure to show him my greatness and make him yearn to emulate it. Once he sees how powerful and awesome his old man is, I expect big things from him. His arrogance and irreverence are legion.
Today was one of those ‘sit in a desk and sign evil documents’ days. Total bore.
It seems like I spent thousands of years trying to build a bureaucracy to shield me from the mundane tasks only to find myself now buried in a mountain of new mundane tasks to be read, approved and signed off on.
You ever get the feeling that everything you do to make things easier just makes them harder? Well, that’s what it is like running Hell, in a nutshell.
Not as roomy as hand basket, to be sure.