Satan's Big Thrill

(Content Warning: Crude humor, Some Violence, and Mild Language.)

The smooth slopes of the Appalachian Mountains made for a glossy ride as Satan slid down like a raging ball of fire. The Devil’s cherry-blossom skin glistened in the beaming sun blinding everyone who watched his descent except for Morty, Satan’s faithful, loyal assistant. Morty took the plunge first to make sure the path was clear for his master, but it didn’t matter much because the darkness plummeting down the cliff wasn’t a storm cloud; it was evil incarnate destroying everything in its wake.

Morty was a tiny gnome-goblin with a festering maggot infestation, and no matter how hard he lunged forward, he couldn’t gain any distance from Satan. He heard his master’s hideous cackle booming down the mountainside as he came closer to his target. Morty wasn’t sure if the Devil was intentionally aiming for him, but he knew better questioning such things. Just go with the flow, just like the toxic sludge that oozed from his dented forehead. Morty didn’t mean to sweat so profusely, but he couldn’t help himself.

Satan believed ski poles were for wusses and dug in with his trident to steer his course. He looked down upon Morty, who was weaving his way through the thick snow with two male femur bones. He was wearing a purple ski suit with matching goggles decorated with fluffy pink fur. The Devil flashed a wicked smile, charged forward, and crashed into Morty.

With a few whimpers, Morty took the collision with dignity and rolled down the Appalachians colliding with every rock on his way down. Morty’s clothes were tattered and torn, revealing his trusty straight-bladed razor that he frequently used to shave his master’s balls. Morty thought for a moment about slicing Satan’s throat, but performing such an action was folly because the Devil’s skin was too thick and leathery.

Morty flashed his yellow eyes as he saw one last boulder in his way before reaching the flat land. There was no way to avoid it, so he tensed every muscle to dull the pain that was undoubtedly coming. His razor sparked like a flint against the stone and ignited a nearby dogwood tree. The fire quickly danced up the bark and shared its wondrous glory with the entire forest.

The gnome-goblin rolled to a complete stop at Satan’s hooves. “Ugh… that was a rough ride, my master!” 

“SILENCE!!” roared Satan. “Fetch me a Devil’s Brew so that I might quench my thirst. This beautiful fire has made me thirsty!” 

“Right away…” Morty mumbled and handed a cold can to his master.

Popping the top, Satan drank his delicious brew in one gulp. He looked down at Morty, grabbed his neck, and lifted him to eye level. “This is not as fun as you promised! I yearn for adventure and excitement!”  

“I-I’m sorry this didn’t thrill you, master,” Morty stuttered. “After the success of our new tea, I thought a vacation would be a great way for you to unwind…” 

“My creation, ball shaver!!”

“Yes… Your creation… heh, heh…” Morty wanted to change the conversation before using his demon-grooming skills. “I have a great idea that is sure to delight, my master!” 

“Is it shaving time again?” bemused Satan. “I thought we did that this morning!?”

“We did!” Morty snapped. “I was thinking about a rock concert.” 

“Rock concert?”  

Morty smiled. “Every damned soul in your Kingdom knows that you play a bitching guitar solo, and there’s nothing like the high of rocking the crowd.”

The burning forest fire grew in Satan’s eyes, and he dropped Morty to the thawing ground. “Hmm… Yes… Groupies… What the Hell?” he grumbled. “I’ll give it a try. Oh, how I need a thrill!!” 

Morty danced around like a virgin on prom night. “I’ll get everything ready, my master!” 

A burning tree fell at the Devil’s hooves, and he twirled with a peaceful elegance. The carnage was a magnificent sight. “Before you do anything, my bastard pus-filled toad, ready the razor. I feel some stubble that needs tending to!” 

Morty’s eyes popped open, and bile exploded in his mouth. “Very well, my master!”  

A few days later…

Morty worked day and night with the help of a few trusted minions to set the stage for Satan. The concert would be held in Death Valley simply because the name had a good ring. Thousands of people showed up for the Devil’s big debut.

“This will please my master!” boasted Morty. “He might even be so gracious to let me be balls-free tonight…” 

A tall, slender man wearing a black hooded robe turned to acknowledge Morty. “Are you talking to me?”

Morty grimaced and snapped, “Duh!! Do you see anyone else here, you moron!!” 

“Do you have any idea who you're talking to?”

“Does it matter!?” 

“I am the one and only DEATH!”  

Morty recoiled. “Holy crap… You’re not here for me, are you? I promise I was only playing with that goat!” 

Death smacked his forehead and uttered, “What you do in the privacy of your torture chamber is no concern of mine.” 

Relieved, Morty smiled. “Thank the evil one!! So, tell me, great Reaper, why are you here?”

“I enjoy a good concert from time to time, and I hear that this show will be a killer!” 

Morty shrugged his shoulders, and a piece of rotting flesh fell to the ground. “Fine! Go ahead and be mysterious. I don’t care in the slightest!” 

Suddenly, a firm muscular hand grabbed Morty from behind, and it was none other than Satan himself.

“Is everything ready?” he roared.

Words bubbled from Morty’s throat like a drowning mermaid gasping for water on a dry beach. “The people await you, my master, and even the great Death has come to witness your greatness!”

“Death is here!? Where is that old son-of-a-banshee?” 

Morty frantically looked around, but the Reaper was nowhere to be found. “Um…” 

“It doesn’t matter!” fired Satan. “If I know that old dog, he’s probably gone to take his seat already. Let’s rock this joint!” 

As the Devil marched on stage, everyone howled and screamed in excitement. After all, it’s not every day that Satan’s followers get a chance to see the great one. The Lord of Darkness was holding a bone guitar laced with barbed wire, and when he plugged it into the amp, a loud squeal echoed through the canyon. Satan smiled and cranked the volume up to max.   

“Get ready to have your minds blown!” snorted Satan.

Satan gripped his bone guitar like he was strangling his ex-wife and strummed the barbed-wire strings. The pitch thundered through the crowd like a pulse wave causing everyone to cover their ears. The Devil narrowed his eyes and flashed a wicked smile before strumming again. The tone was like a million hand grenades, and one by one, every head in the canyon exploded like a blood-filled balloon.

Morty watched from the sidelines and clapped his hands. “He did it! The master really blew their minds!!” 

Satan closed his eyes and felt what he could only describe as unfulfilled orgasmic activity. “You miserable meat bags!! I wasn’t finished with my solo!”

“Oh, you’re finished all right!”

A robust man with a square jaw wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt trotted out to meet Satan eye to eye. “I think it’s time for someone to take you down, big red!” 

“Who the fuck, are you?!” Satan growled.

“Me?” chuckled the strange man. “I’m Brisk, baby!!”

Offstage, Morty recoiled like an insect being sprayed with poison.

“Oh, snap!!” 

The Devil was never one for a loss of words, but even this brazen assault caught the King of Hell off-guard.

“You look a little confused,” swaggered Brisk, “let me explain who I am.”

Satan looked at Morty, who was trembling and barked, “Explain fast, because I have an ass-waxing at three a.m.”

Brisk scrunched his lips and exclaimed. “Back in 1991, I partnered with PepsiCo and made a deal with Lipton tea and a small company called Unilever to produce a line of tea and juice beverages that has since rocked the world.” Brisk balled his fist and held it up in defiance. “With your infernal concoction of Devil’s Brew, you have made the market unstable and I came here to issue a legal warning for you to cease and desist all production on that drink, or my lawyers will rip you a new one!” 

Satan scowled and giggled at the same time because he knew what he needed to do. “Well… I’m delighted to tell you that Sir Lipton is roasting in one of my fire pits like a sugared-ham, but that is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you!” 

Brisk drew his arm back and punched Satan. He was sure that his warning would be more meaningful with a physical touch, but his hand slid off the Devil’s face like a slab of beef gliding on a frozen slab of ice. 

“What was that?!” asked the Devil.

“That was the power of Brisk, baby!!” 

“Ugh… I will KILL YOU!!” yelled Satan.

Brisk took a step backward, but there was nowhere to run because Morty had latched onto his tree trunk legs preventing him from moving. “Let go of me you little troll!!”  

Satan growled, “He is not a troll!! He is my personal ball shaver and business partner, but more importantly… although he smells like a turd and looks like a pile of puke, this little gnome-goblin is my… friend!” 

A tiny orange tear fell from Morty’s cheek, and he knew at that moment that his master really did care about him. All those years of shaving his big red balls had finally paid off.

Brisk tried to kick Morty free, but the demon’s grasp was like a vice and couldn’t break free. Satan raised his bone guitar and hit Brisk on the head like a railroad worker pounding a spike into place. Brisk’s skull cracked open with a CRUNCH, and he fell to his knees. Morty stepped aside and watched his master repeatedly smash Brisk until nothing was left but a bloody puddle of mush.

Out of breath, Satan shrieked, “Bring me a Devil’s Brew!”

Morty wasted little time and handed his master a cold can. “That was wonderful, my master! Did you really mean what you said?”

“Ha, ha, ha… of course not!” He cracked open the can and drank deeply. “Ah… now that’s Devil’s Brew! Simply refreshing!”

Morty looked sad but hearing those words made all the difference whether Satan meant them or not. He was validated in his ball-shaving existence.

“Morty, take that saying to production,” Satan ordered. “That will be our new slogan!”

“Right away, my master…”

“Don’t look so glum, worm! Even though the concert was a BUST, I realize that my true thrill lies in killing stupid corporate idiots!! Devil’s Brew shall continue our journey towards the top, and anyone who stands in our way will face the tip of my spear as I thrust it in and out of their lifeless bodies!”  

“You never fail to deliver the goods,” a familiar voice said.

Satan and Morty turned to see Death consuming Brisk’s soul. He slurped up his green essence like a milkshake. “Mm… that is good!” 

“Death, my good old buddy! How the Hell are you?” Satan queried. 

“All is well, but that damn arthritis really gets my panties in a knot!” admitted Death. “But, I can always depend on someone dying wherever you go. The souls I collect feed and fester in my gut, bringing meaning to my existence!” 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Satan boasted. “If you’ll excuse me, my friend and I must be on our way. We have much business to tend to.”

Death waved goodbye and disappeared into the shadows. Morty looked up at his evil master and grinned.

“What is it!?” 

“Oh, nothing.”

“Spit it out, ball shaver!!” 

“Well… I can’t believe that Death wears panties!” 

The ground shook beneath Satan’s hooves as he laughed in the night. Morty couldn’t help himself and giggled along with his friend, and he knew that Satan was just that. His friend and business partner, even though the Devil would never properly admit that.

Satan patted Morty’s head and proclaimed, “Wait till the Underworld hears about Death’s panties! The Earth will shake from our laughter!” 

Together, Morty and the Devil laughed hysterically, not as enemies, but as friends, and in the end… that was the biggest thrill of all.   

The End

Daniel R. Hayes