A.G.E's Joint

 Marty Mammon, Senior Demon Director of Compliance for Devil's Quill, is in his office in a nondescript building outside Arlington, VA. "Rrrngg." "It's a great day in Hell. Marty Mammon, here. How may I inconvenience you?" "Oh hey, Dick. How are things? Really? Maker is ramping up his orders? I can't say I'm surprised. But, mark my words, He'll change his mind once the Moaning Karens get loud enough. I've seen the cycle too many times." Yes, I did start the new Scarcity Script. Early indications are good. Gas tanks are going dry all up the East Coast. No. It isn't related to Zuck's Covid one from last year. We had a demon called Afreet write it. What's an Afreet? You remember the Aladdin story, right? One of those. He owed us wishes. No, no threats. He was more than happy to run up some evil magic. I've never understood what Afreets had against mortals. That grudge is from before my time and never wr...

In the Board Room of Devil’s Quill Corporation outside Arlington VA, A special Board of Directors meeting has been called. Lucifer J Beezlebub, CEO, resplendent in a new red suit, approaches the podium.   “Good Morning, Ladies and Gentlemen. I’m glad all of you were able to take the time for this meeting on such a short notice. Things are progressing quickly and it is important to bring you up to date on our latest initiative “Nixon Two, Electric Boogaloo.”    As you are aware, I brought Richard on board from Seraph’s Ice Fields because of his unique technical ability in the field of political subterfuge. Well, the sands of time are just about up and I want Richard to detail out where we have been and where we are now.”    Smatters of applause come from around the table as the ashen faced skeletor walks up. Wiping his brow as he adjusts his blue tie, he clears his throat.    “Thank you, Mr. Beezelbub. Nice tie. Thor’s hammer over...

Rain dripped into the bucket next to the door.   Carefully, he slipped the fuse through the hole. Capped pipes, fuses and wiring were stacked haphazardly on the table next to him.      It won’t be long now.   The memory of the house flashed in front of his eyes, which followed by the image of it burned down.      He was just fighting the monster under the bed.   Sandra, he called her, after his piano teacher.     She used beat his hands when he missed a note.   He could remember swinging the bat and hitting her and she was gone.   Then the muffled voices of the police.   Why they came with SWAT squad, he had no idea.   Everything else was a blur.   The leather restraints and drugs to calm him.   The electrodes as they hooked them on his head and the pain of the shock.     They would never give him anything for the pain.    They eventually let him loose.   But there...

A pile of laundry tossed against the cold stone staircase, at least it looked like that until the sun began to shine on it. Like a lizard sunning itself, Terry slowly began to move. He had survived another night. Struggling to his feet, he wipes away the brown and kaleidoscope in his eyes.  A chill shook him down to his core making his hands feel like they would break off.  The muscles along his abdomen clinched uncontrollably as what little there wanted to be set free.    “Jesus.  Where am I?”   Wiping the spit from his face, he reached down and felt for his pants.  Still there.  Better than the last time.  It wasn’t that good and he nodded off.  It scared the crap out of him when the cop’s baton touched him down there. The girl wasn’t anywhere in sight, either. Just another day. He ended up leaving he jail in the jumpers he had been booked in with. Bastards couldn’t even find a donated shirt. A bit of sadness set in...