The Devil May Be In The Details

Prince Of Darkness Refuses To Mortgage Presidential Hopeful’s Soul

Las Vegas (AP) Reporters were summoned to Sin City this weekend for a press conference by an unknown speaker, but one promised to be about the American presidential election. Reporters gathered in the Bellagio Hotel and Casino, speculating among themselves as to what this might be all about. Some suggested that there might be a new candidate throwing their hat in the ring, but Las Vegas rates as an odd location to kick off an attempt at the nomination- for either party.

A Bellagio spokeswoman came up on stage in an auditorium, calling for the attention of the gathered press. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. The Bellagio is pleased to welcome you all for this press conference. The individual in question asked to introduce himself. And without further ado, here he is.”

The spokeswoman stepped off stage, while someone emerged from the other side of the stage. Reporters recognized him, though he appeared to be younger than his current age. The man looked like the actor Al Pacino.

He strode up to the podium, smiling in a way that seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. The man was dressed in a black suit with red tie, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The smile persisted as he gazed out at the crowd.

Finally, a reporter spoke up. “Are you... are you Al Pacino?”

The man shook his head. “No, but he’s played me before in a movie, so taking this form seemed... appropriate.” His voice, low and gritty, solidified the impression he gave of making people uneasy. “I’ve gone by many names down through the millennia. Azazel. Sammael. The Lord Of Pride. Beelzebub. Satan. Voland. Baphomet. Old Scratch. The Dark Lord. Lucifer. The Prince Of Darkness. Old Hob. Mephistopheles. Old Nick. Diabolos. Oh, most people think of me as the Devil.”

Reporters shifted in their seats, clearly uneasy. The Devil laughed, the sound making this reporter feel the distinct impression that someone was walking over his grave. “Relax, ladies and gentlemen, I’m not here for any of you. This is, after all, a conventional press conference. I simply have some remarks in regards to a single candidate in this country’s presidential elections.”

He removed his sunglasses, and instead of conventional eyes, his eyes had red pupils surrounded by black. “I could have invited all of you down to Hell for this press conference, but it does tend to be a one way trip. So Las Vegas seemed a suitable compromise. After all, there’s a doorway to Hell beneath the city already. Oh, come on, don’t look so surprised.”

The Devil sighed and smiled again. The reporters continued to feel uneasy. “Ladies and gentlemen, it was suggested recently by a columnist that one of your Republican candidates would be willing to sell his soul for the White House. I have come here to refute that claim. Not because the writer was wrong- in fact, the candidate did make that offer to me several months ago. Simply put, the candidate has already previously sold off parts of his soul to me. There’s no soul left.”

He paused for a moment. The reporters waited, wondering who it might be. Then he spoke. “He sold his soul to me several times to avoid corporate bankruptcy. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m referring to Donald Trump.”

The blowhard real estate developer turned wannabe presidential Republican candidate has been all over the news in recent months, from his kick off to a Republican candidacy by insulting Mexico, to dragging the Democrats, fellow Republicans, Muslims, African-Americans, and anyone who doesn’t agree with him through the mud. All while promoting himself endlessly as the only person who’s up to the job of being President of the United States. All while having absolutely no political experience whatsoever. Trump has been managing his campaign, firing off vitriol in tweets and interviews, all from a sickbed as he recovers from the literal beatdown he got from rival candidate and former wrestler Hulk Hogan, along with Hogan’s campaign manager Ric Flair. While he might still be in a body cast, Trump refuses to let go of his ambitions to get in the White House and obliterate America’s reputation just by being himself.

“You’re telling us Donald Trump sold his soul to you?” one reporter asked, trying not to sound timid.

The Devil nodded. “Yes, well, the man’s got a serious ego problem. Thinks the world of himself, doesn’t seem to realize how many people are laughing at that hideous hairpiece, and believes he’s destined for greatness. I mean, look at the way he talks about himself. He uses phrases like tremendous, outstanding, spectacular, the best... I don’t have to be a psychologist to know a guy who talks like that is desperately trying to overcompensate for some serious shortcomings, both in terms of character and physically if you know what I mean. I’m sure any of his ex-wives could verify that. If you ask me, and you are asking me, the man’s an asshole.” This reporter found himself wondering if the editors would run with this headline for the story: THE DEVIL CALLS DONALD TRUMP AN ASSHOLE. Nonetheless, the Dark Lord carried on.

“As it turns out, the first time he found his little empire in financial difficulties, that precious little ego of his wouldn’t let himself actually fall into bankruptcy. So he reached out, made some calls, and, well, long story short, signed away a portion of his soul to me to bail him out. So I did. And then it happened again, and again, and again, and well... this latest time, as it turns out, there’s no soul left. He was all tapped out.”

The Devil smiled again. “He came to me, back before those wrestlers put him in the body cast, asking for a guarantee that he’d be President. Offered up every last trace of his soul for eight years in the White House. I double-checked my records, but sure enough... I have full possession of his soul. He begged to remortgage the whole deal. I said no. You know, I really don’t like it when people beg things of me. I mean honestly, where’s their dignity?”

This reporter doubted Donald Trump ever had any bit of dignity, and then asked, “So what happens now?”

The Devil shrugged. “Well, perhaps it’s possible that your Republican party will be dumb enough to let him have the nomination. I wouldn’t put anything past them these days. I don’t see him winning the White House though. Not enough stupid people to make that happen. So, someday he’ll kick the bucket, probably in some way that attracts lots of attention, because for a man who craves attention as much as he does, even his death will demand it. Or maybe he’ll just blow a proverbial gasket while screaming at someone. Either way, then he’ll belong to me, for eternity.”

“I mean no disrespect by saying this,” this reporter spoke up. “But aren’t you concerned that he could try something in, well, the afterlife... like staging a hostile takeover of Hell while your back is turned?”

The Devil stared at this reporter, smiled, and shook his head. “Look, you’re looking at the guy who’s got the souls of Hitler, Attila, Pol Pot, Genghis Khan, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Mao, Nixon, Bin Laden, and that kid Spanky from The Little Rascals in his keeping. Rest assured, I have plenty of experience keeping megalomaniacs crushed beneath my feet and weeping bitter tears. Besides, I’ve already got my eternal punishment for The Donald ready and waiting.”

“And what’s that?” another reporter asked.

The Devil smirked. “Two things. First, since he’s such a glutton for attention, we’ll be stranding him in a dark room where he’s all alone, with no mirrors and no company. Second, we’ll be keeping that roadkill he calls his hair just out of reach for all eternity. Take away the two things he loves more than life itself, and he breaks. Egomaniacs always break within three days of their arrival when we make use of the Tantalus Initiative.”

The Prince of Darkness took his leave. The mood in the room gradually improved with his absence. The story has something of a post script, with the response of the candidate himself. Trump issued an angry statement by phone to his favourite personal propaganda venue, FOX News, in typical Trumpese. “This is absolute rubbish! Disgusting! This is something that Obama and Christie and Clinton and Carson and Sanders and Cruz and O’Malley and Rubio and Pacino all got together on to drag me through the mud! Disgusting! Everyone knows I’m the greatest candidate ever! I don’t need help to take over the White House! Everyone knows I’m outstanding and stupendous and the best and the most qualified. My presidency is going to be amazing! So this whole slander on my spectacular reputation is disgusting and terrible. I have not sold my soul to anyone, and if I’m lying, may lightning strike... ummm... let me get back to you on that. Vote Trump in 2016!"

In a related story, Trump Tower was, starting five minutes after the mogul’s statement, struck by lightning five hundred ninety three times over six hours.