Song Of The Day 10/23/2015: Os Mutantes – “Ave Lucifer”



A Dream Date With Satan: Part 6
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Satan:

Paul Pearson the Blog:

S:

P:

S:

P:

S:

P:

S:

P: (Hiccup)

S:

P:

S:

P:

S:

P:

S:

P:

S:

P: You’re stupid.

S:

P: (Hiccup)

S:… No, you’re stupid.

P: No. You’re stupid.

S: No, you’re stupid.

P: You’re stupider.

S: (Hiccup) That is not true. You are stupider.

P: You are the stupidest thing ever.

S: You are. You’re stupider than anything.

P: Nnnnoooooo, you are stupid!

S: You are the pinnacle of stupidity and stupidness! (Hiccup)

P: You are really quite stupid.

S: You’re so stupid that (hiccup) on your birth certificate where they’re supposed to check either girl or boy the nurse wrote in “Stupid.”

P: You’re so stupid that (hiccup) when I do stand-up comedy and I say “Satan is so stupid,” the audience says back “How stupid is he? Oh wait, we already know he’s really stupid, so move on to the next joke ’cause he’s stupid!” (Hiccup)

S: You’re so stupid that in the dictionary under “stupid” it just says “See Paul,” and when you (hiccup) turn to the definition of “Paul” it says, “Heeey, what Paul did you mean?” and you say “Paul Pearson” and the dictionary says back “Paul Pearson? He’s stupid!”

P: You’re so stupid that they named a mountain after you, and do you know what it’s called?

S: Nuh-uh.

P: It’s called MOUNT STUPID!

S: That’s stupid.

P: You’re stupid.

S: You’re stupid.

P: See above where I say you’re stupid.

S: Stupid.

P: Stupid.

S: Stupid.

P: I mean, come on stupid!

S: Come on what, stupid?

P: COME ON! They were just one goddamn yard away from winning the Super Bowl!

S: That’s my point! So you do something unorthodox! You throw the ball!

P: But you’ve got the best-scoring running back in the league! He scores all the time from that range! Who cares if they expect it, he finds a way to get it done, stupid!

S: But the defense was aligned against the run!

P: So if they were so aligned against the run how did they defend the pass??

S: ’Cause it only took one person to recognize it was a pass and he intercepted it!

P: Ah-ha! So you admit passing was a bad idea!

S: That’s still one guy out of eleven! Most of them were defending the rush!

P: Except for that one guy! You don’t need more than one guy to bust that play up!

S: But it’s still better than seven guys who are showing they’re going to stop the run!

P: But he beats that defense every time! The guy they passed to, he doesn’t have that level of experience!

S: You haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about!

P: What about you?? You’ve got no clue whatsoever about contemporary athletics! I’ve got half a mind to clock you one right now!

S: Oh. Oh, Paul. Don’t do it.

P: Don’t do what, you blasphemous turd-knocker??

S: Don’t get me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

P: What’re you gonna do?? Huh? You big piece of meat!! Take this!!

S: Ahh!

P: How do you like that? Huh? How’s that one fit??

S: You don’t know what you’ve just done.

P: Oh, yeah? Try me! Try me, borscht belcher!

S: …..mmmmmmmmmm…

P: What? Cat got your tongue, goat boy?

S: ……nnnnnnnnnggggg-aaaaaaaaaah….

P: What are you, idiot? A Bee Gee? What’s the matter??

S: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH behold my wingspan!! Prepare!! PREPARE!!!

P: Prepare for wh…. Ow!

S:

P: Oh yeah? You've inflamed the acrimony of my pants!

S:

P:
 You're so cute when you're mad! You crumbly prick!

S:

P:
 What are you gonna do, glower at me all night? What is this, a fucking Twilight book?

S:

P:
 "Let's do the Time Warp a-gaaaaaaaaaaaain!"

S:

P:
 "I've got a loverly bunch of coconuts!"

S: 

P:
 I shall neener-neener-neener you with my gothic font! Bleeeeeeah!

S:

P:
 You know what? While you're channeling your impotent Apollo Creed here, I'm just going to grab this wine bottle... just empty it on the floor...

S:

P:
 ...take it by the neck, try and size up your head, take a deep breath... annnnnnnd...

S:


P: AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!

(Paul hits Satan in the head with the wine bottle, breaking it. Satan collapses.)

P: HA-HA! DIRECT HIT! HAAAA-HA!!!! HE SHOOTS HE SCORES!!!

(Satan's head falls backwards and rests on the floor. His eyes close. Paul falls into the booth. A moment passes. Satan groggily wakes up.)

P: ...so... how'd you like that, huh?

(Satan rubs his head.)

P: You don't look so good. What you have to say for yourself?

S:


P: ....what?

S:


P: Whoa... uh, looks like that blow to the head was a little disorienting, huh?

S:


P: So... so that's what goes on in your subconscious? Wow! What the hell could that mean?

Waitress: Oh my God! What's happened here??

P: A little altercation, miss.

W: Do I need to call 911?

S:

W: Huh?

P: My associate here just took a pretty severe blow to the head, and he's not quite back with us 100% yet.

S:


W: What is he saying?

P: Do you mind my asking what year you were born, miss?

W: 1991. Why?

S: 


P: Then I wouldn't worry about what he's saying. It won't make sense.

W: Sir! Sir! Can I get you anything? Can I get you an ice pack?

S: ...

P: ...

W: Sir??

P: ...

S: ...

P: ...

S:


P: ...

S: ...

P: ...

W: You guys are stupid.


Epilogue.

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