The Devil’s Gospel: Preface
THE DEVIL’S GOSPEL
Who The Hell I Am,
Why I’m Writing This Down,
Fuck God In Its Ass, And While I’m At It, You, Too
Who The Hell I Am
The introductions are always clumsy, so let’s get it over with.
Hello. I’m the Devil.
shut up, Archelaeus. i’m doing it, aren’t i?
All right, so I’ve misrepresented. Habit of the job.
I’m not THE Devil, only a devil – little d – one of thousands who work for the actual Big Guy: Lucifer, Shaitan, Pluto, Ngabe, THE GIANT DEVIL everybody thinks of when you say, “Man, that guy’s the devil.”
So THE Devil not me, but A devil, me, and I’m a devil. Pleasure.
But were I to now glance at a watch and notice the second hand’s tiny tip move a micromillimeter clockwise, and if I’ve got my timing right…
Here’s where all the questions start.
You’re the Devil?
So there’s a God?
Sure, skip the good bits. Duh, there’s a God.
Then why are we here?
(A Reason to the Universe, and you’re all “What’s it got to do with me?”)
Why did He make us?
It’s an It.
God’s a what?
God’s an It.
What’s an It?
It’s a What.
Not a “He”?
Yes a “He” or yes a “What”?
What the Hell’s an It or What?
Trust me, you can’t comprehend.
I’m pretty smart! Try me!
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
* * *
Then what about the Bible?
What about the Qu’ran?
What about Buddhism and Hinduism and Amen-Ra’ism and all the other -isms?
What about the Book of Mormon?
That last was all me.
Ballooned a little bigger than I’d intended, but fair’s fair, I gave the schmuck every chance, even called myself Moroni – moron, get it? – but poor old Joe wanted angels so bad, always begging God for revelations on his calloused knees — you ask me, he doomed himself. Anytime that kind of lust roosts in the soul, regardless how holy the object, I’ve got raw material to work with. (And Christ, wishing after angels – do you know what it takes to get those fuckers up and involved? Joe Smith from New York didn’t even ping the radar.) So I wound up putting on a good show in the woods for him – pillar of light, Urim and Thummim and whatnot, made grand pronouncements. Even Archelaeus, that fat lazy bastard – or so he would be if he possessed a body with which to be fat and lazy – though he is a bastard, given – said I’d pulled off a near-virtuoso Gabrielesque performance. But then of course added in his sphincterless way that my vocals were half a step lower – when he knows damn well I can’t help that.
like you could be bothered to summon the voices of the heavens at any pitch.
Anyway, it goes without saying Joe Smith bought the act, as I knew he would, as Archelaeus knew he would, as Joe Smith himself knew he would, as anyone reading this book knew he would, and for that matter if there’d been a TV crew (had they been invented yet) nearby to capture the spectacular event, the whole world would’ve bought it, too, and instantly converted to Mormonism – I’m still peeved it wasn’t called Moronism – with undeniable proof that there is some sort of God-Thing Out There, Something Unlike Humans, Something Greater! (!!!)
But that would’ve severely pissed off God.
And I try to avoid doing that.
You see, God’s made it perfectly clear across the board: It wants humans to remain uncertain about God, the better to exercise their free will. The logic going, if humans knew God’s dirty little secret (i.e., that It is true and all-accepting), they might revert to their primal state as animals and obsess only over the earthly survival of their own genes, leaving “spirituality” as something to be dealt with in the afterlife – hence missing the whole point of the human gig in the first place.
A particularly clever devil might argue that knowing there’s a God would eliminate nearly all human fear: the most animal emotion there is. Religious wars would become bureaucratic games of phone tag; loneliness would disappear entirely; even grief at the death of a loved one would be, oh, say, halved or so, knowing that loved one was surely with God, and on and blah and on.
(A particularly clever devil might’ve been told to “Like it or lump it.”)
Anyhow, it was fine to torch a talking bush back in the old days, but once you people started lugging around camera equipment, God laid down the ixnay on public appearances.
And if anybody, devil or angel, wants to start fucking around with God, It says bring it on.
Just trust me.
Exploiting the foibles of the human heart is infinitely more interesting than spending an Ice Age coaxing toxic algae to grow.
Joe Smith sees angels? Who’s gonna buy that?
Why I’m Writing This Down
Generally speaking, as semi-divine beings, neither devil nor angel is chained by rule.
However, as all universes (Archelaeus votes for universii because it’s prettier, but he’s a queer) are created by God, and populated by Beings created by God, and God has this verging-on-OCD thing about rules in general – fucking evolution took forever – all universii happy, no-nuts? are created with rules.
Thus, whenever I decide to leave Nothingness – we devils’ occasional haunt, and quite the entertainment Mecca, as you can imagine – and focus my many consciousnesses “conscii”? oh for the love of Lucifer’s assholes! on a particular universe – call it “visiting,” if you like – after a while, the rules of that universe begin to stick to us like tar: hot, black and rank. Rules like linear time, causal chains, corporeality, gravity: they crawl up your nose and fill your lungs like molten lead – I swear to Satan you can actually taste the carbon stink, like a chewing a mouthful of wet charcoal. Not to mention the longer you stay, the deeper you’re sucked into the muck. It gets more and more difficult to draw energy of any kind – and then, worst of worsts…
It starts to itch.
A deep screaming rabid vaginal itch, radiating throughout your whole entity – invulnerable to scratching – an itch that, suffered long enough, will drive you to lose your several minds.
And that’s if you split up your conscii and stay diabolic.
Possess a single human and your entire Existence is concentrated in one place. You sink even faster, gag and itch faster, until at last you’re locked inside the host like a raving, self-clawing tumor – whence your only escape is forcing the victim to commit suicide.
On the plus side, this is not too difficult after a lengthy possession.
This is why – despite your millennia-old gibbering about evil spirits taking over everybody and their grandmothers’ cockatoos – devils never manifest very long in any universe. For one of my kind, withstanding a significant amount of linear time is like enduring a Beingwide yeast infection.
And you wonder why we’re evil.
(Female humans know how bitchy this can make you.)
The only real cure for it is to gather up your conscii and dart back to Nothingness, or to the farthest human-free reality you can find, until that disgusting inflamed-tar feeling dissipates. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes thousands – or even millions. In any case, it’s not something you care to experience in depth more than once or twice; or maybe three or four times, if you’re immortal and have nothing better to do.
Now, due to God’s omniscience and omnipotence in Its Creation, every possibility It could imagine – which includes every single possibility – came into Existence.
Want the universe where water runs uphill? It’s there. The world where aardvarks speak Ethiopian? Exists. Where Aztecs rule North America into the 27th century? (One of my personal faves, what with all the cumulative blood sacrifices.)
So. There are infinite numbers of universii I can “visit,” each with their own rules – and each with their own infinite number of alternate realities, all of which would take an infinite amount of time to experience in their own infinities.
And here’s the kicker, folks: they are all True.
They’re all Real.
But you humans only get to experience one of them.
For lo, in Its (infinite) irony, God also gave me and those like me almost complete reign over space – and time. This is quite convenient for us, as most of the channels we like to watch are in the 2000’s, when you guys nearly blow yourselves off Earth. All my kind find this period extremely fucking funny.
Humans, on the other hand – supposedly God’s precious, “chosen” creatures – even though It stranded you like lab rats on a rock in space with nothing but a physical body, free will and a soul – you were given no free will when it comes to time. Time runs only one way for you people: A to B, birth to death. Even your alternate realities are only vaguely perceived through the blur of your dreams, while your master reality darts through limitless possibility like a bullet train containing your soul, on tracks laid down by free will and choice – the catch being, you guys get only one trip down the line before you’re kicked out at the depot, willing or unwilling.
In my opinion, that’s pretty damn stingy for a bunch of “chosen ones,” but go ahead and try getting God to explain anything about Its Plans – all you get is a bunch of “See previous re: Lump it”s.
So why am I writing this all down?
Because unless you were there, you never will be.
and for that reason, too. but that would shade the proceedings a bit.
Meanwhile, think about it.
All being “chosen” got you people was free will, a soul, a rock, and infinite universii full of extraneous shit you’re too stupid to see.
And yet you pray to It.
 By the by, you can thank Ieorphanias for your practice of tarring and feathering criminals. He got wicked pissed after devoting thirty years to an invitational possession that went Back To God At The Last Second – and thought humans should suffer the same indignity he felt he had. He was really bummed when that died out.
 Shame that Thierry Renault lost his mind and slit his wrists before he could write down the Unified Theory of Relativity in 2162, but what can I say? I’m persuasive.
Fuck God In Its Ass, And While I’m At It, You, Too
It’s been brought to my attention via a certain nitpicking morbidly obese and overly indolent bastard that calling one’s readers “stupid suckers” might not be the best way to elicit sympathy for oneself as a Narrator .
I told him the Stones had already written the song. Why bother?