I Like You... Charlie Kelly

I resisted watching "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" for years, because I had a small group of friends who were adamant about the show and would consistently demand that I watch it with the same maniacal intensity that they do. Well, if you know anything about me (and you don't) then you'd be well aware that I never do anything that people tell me I have to do. Especially when it comes to movies, books, television shows or any other piece of the pop culture puzzle, because I love finding things on my own and throwing myself into them without care or concern for my well being (which is how I got through the entire series of "The Sopranos" in less than 2 weeks). I absorb what I'm doing better that way, because I'm doing it on my own terms, damn it. But, this time, my friends were right and now I'm addicted to "The Gang" and especially the "wildcard" of the bunch, Charlie Kelly.

Another triumphant moment in the life of Charlie Kelly.

"It's Always Sunny..." is such a rare, rare show. On one hand you have a small group of people running around Philadelphia getting into zany situations with hilarious results; which is standard sitcom fare that has been in place for decades; but, on the other hand you have some pretty over the top gross out comedy, slapstick, meta-comedy, the occasional musical number and a main cast of characters that, despite being complete dicks, you actually like. However; if the show consisted of every single character except Charlie Kelly (played brilliantly by Charlie Day) this wouldn't be the case. Charlie is such a lovable, funny and honest character (even though, at times, he can be just as big of a dick as the rest of the gang) that he brings a much needed sense of pause to a show that can sometimes wander too far into f_cked up territory. It's almost as if every line of dialogue that comes out of Charlie's mouth, even the most retarded statements about made up things like bird law, are there to remind us that the entire gang, not just Charlie, are acting like a bunch of innocent children who have no idea that what they're doing might be construed as wrong, disturbing and crazy by the general public.

The best example of this I can think of is the season 4 episode "Who Pooped The Bed." The title itself is cause enough to be taken aback, but, as usual, it's the meat and bones of it all that makes it much more than your standard issue poo-based comedy, because when 2 full grown men share a pull out mattress every night and one morning they wake up to find, snuggled neatly between them, a full grown turd, it's not about how gross it is, or how sick, it's about who did it, and thus begins a journey into a fecal focused whodunnit episode that, if done by any other show, would rely solely on the fact that they could now get away with making as many sh_tty poop jokes as possible (like that one I just made... it just keeps coming... see, it's too easy). Sure, there are plenty of wacky moments, but if it wasn't for the sheer joy that Charlie expresses as the "crime" is slowly unraveled, or the bouts of rage he displays when the finger is pointed in his direction, it would be blatantly unwatchable even by my low, low standards. During a pivotal moment when Dennis, Mac, Charlie and Frank take the turd in question to a medical laboratory to have it tested they find chunks of a credit card (ruled to be inconclusive evidence) and much, much more that a human should never eat, but because Charlie is involved it's not out of the question. It reminds of the time my 8 year old nephew ate a plastic apple when he was 4, because, like Charlie, he didn't know any better and, at the time, he didn't care. When I, the always cool, down to earth uncle asked my nephew why he kept eating after he realized the apple was fake my nephew said, "I wanted to see if I could," and that's exactly how I would expect Charlie Kelly to answer the same question.

Pictured Above: Happiness.

The Gang, as is true with most groups of friends, operates in a sort of make-shift hierarchy. Mac is the brains of the operation and Dennis is the looks. Frank is the muscle and Sweet Dee is the useless girl who does nothing (their words, not mine); which leaves Charlie as the wild card, the guy who sits there looking like he's capable of doing something crazy at the drop of a hat (like cutting the brakes on a van full of a garbage cans full of gasoline, just because), and even though most people would be offended by the suggestion that they are the crazy one, Charlie fully embraces his responsibility to be "that guy." Why? Because, why not? That's why. When you're the wild card you live by your own set of rules. You get to dress up in all sorts of intricate costumes and adopt whatever accent you want, because it's expected that you, the wild card, act unexpectedly, and when Charlie is at his most insane/goofy/lovable he is at his best. Take, for example, the recurring and awesome presence that is Greenman. Oh, sweet, sweet Greenman. Evidently, according to the show's mythology, Charlie would show up at high school football games wearing nothing but a skin tight, bright green spandex suit and a pair of black sneakers... hell, I'll just show you because it's easier that way.

My Hero.

You and I both know that there is always 1 friend in your group that is damaged just enough to wear something like the Greenman suit (unfortunately my group of friends think that I am crazy enough to wear it, and they have been trying to convince me to be Greenman for Halloween this year... not happening, fellas), and that friend can only properly be described as your wild card. He's a necessary element in every group dynamic, because while the majority of your friends represent the order in the world and display crisp logic and make good decisions on a regular basis, the wild card represents the chaos in the world and the utter joy that accompanies just letting go and doing what you want no matter whose looking; which is why we love them fiercely and go to great lengths to protect them should they come under fire from outsiders. And this is true of The Gang. Sure, they may sit around and rip on Charlie for being borderline illiterate, un-hygienic and a little slow, but if anyone outside of the inner circle says anything derogatory about their wild card, the outsider better get ready to be hammered upon the angry fists of the entire gang (especially Franky Fast Hands). It's not that Charlie needs the protection, because it's been shown that the man can take a wicked beating and keep on ticking, but it's out of a deeply rooted sense of loyalty shared amongst all groups of close friends.

I miss the days when my buddies and I would drink too much and get into trouble, and I miss being the guy they could count on to come up with some crazy scheme that would ultimately make things worse for everyone involved, but would be more fun than should be allowed by law. There was a time when my small crew of close knit friends and I were stumbling back from a bar (we had walked a couple miles at this point) when my friend Mike noticed a new "For Sale" sign in front of a house on our street and all of us immediately took offense at this. We found it personally insulting that someone so close to our home base would dare to want to leave, so we did the only logical thing we could think of at the time. Under the cover of darkness we crept around the sign, my friends forming a wall, blocking me from the view of any witnesses that might be driving by, and with all my might I ripped the sign out of the ground and, using the last reserves of my drunk muscles, I sprinted back to our place with the sign over my shoulder. I woke up the next morning halfway between my bed and the door to my room, because in my alcohol induced mania from the night before I decided that the sign deserved the bed and I deserved the floor. Those were the days, and thanks to "It's Always Sunny..." I get to vicariously live out those crazy days and nights every Thursday, and, as always, Charlie Kelly is the reason I tune in.

I should take the time to let you guys know that I could've written this post about any member of the cast of "It's Always Sunny...," because they are all incredibly funny, talented people who know how to make me laugh. I could've written about Frank (played by Danny Devito in an inspired, genius like casting move) and how all he needs to do is move slightly or make a face and I'll be on the floor. I could've written about Mac and his inflated ego and his ability to be cluelessly self-aware at all times and how much that reminds me of a dozen people I've known in my life. I could have gone on and on about Dennis being the quickest wit of the bunch. I could have written about Sweet Dee being the funniest female on television right now; which she is, by the way. But, in the end I've got a soft spot for that furry little bastard Charlie and every second he is on screen seems to be better than the next. So, without further adieu, I hereby announce the induction of Charlie Kelly to the "I Like You..." hall of fame.

Congratulations, Greenman.

Sometimes You Need To Be Sad To Be Happy

Sometimes, when I'm not paying attention, I catch myself actually feeling empathy towards someone. Usually these moments occur when I've imbibed the right combination of beer, wine, liquor and Trivial Pursuit, but the other day as my girlfriend and I were in the check-out line of our local super market I found myself nearly brought to tears over the plight of an elderly gentleman ahead of us. At first glance he reminded me of my father; which is to say he seemed stately, authoritative and ready to kick my ass, but that's only because I didn't look close enough. After 30 seconds of watching this man fumble with the self swipe credit card machine I noticed his beige cardigan was pock marked with random holes, his navy blue pants were spattered with the occasional stain, and his black dress shoes, oddly, were dazzlingly clean (a remnant from his days in the armed services, I suppose). I felt my heart sink, because I've seen it all before, and it was one of those rare moments in your life when you learn a lesson long after it was supposed to have been learned.

I remember very clearly, to this day, the instant I learned when my Grandma Lucy passed away. I was walking out of school, heading towards my father's car and before I could get in he said "Go back up and get your sport coat, your grandmother died and you'll need it for the funeral and the wake." (Yes, my Dad had no idea how to sugar coat anything and he still doesn't) I was only 14 at the time and my initial reaction fit my age, I flipped the f_ck out. I wasn't sad or hysterical. I was pissed. I was more angry than I'd ever been or would be, and I swear to God, I literally saw red. So, when I turned around to run back inside and get my jacket and a friend of mine said "what's going on, Jim?" I did the only thing I could do. I shoved him into his locker, breaking the door off it's hinges and stomped down the hall towards my locker. I didn't hear the principal yelling my name and I wouldn't find out I was in trouble until a few days later when I got back to school. Luckily, the principal had a heart and let me off the hook considering the events that led up to my transgression. That horrible, horrible feeling of unbridled anger sticks with me to this very day, and it's something I've tried very hard to control, because it made the sadness of the moment that much harder to deal with. The following three days are a blur of sobs, back pats and psalms; which is fine, I'm glad my brain has decided to take those memories out of rotation, because I don't need to remember the minutiae, just the overall feeling of anger that overcame for months, if not years. I didn't know who to blame and I didn't know what was going on, but, unfortunately, I put a lot of effort into laying the blame squarely on the shoulders of my Grandpa Sam, the man whose life was just torn apart because his bride of 60 years had passed away in his arms.

Looking back at it now, through the rose colored glasses of hindsight, I knew it was nobodies fault, and that my Grandma Lucy had been sick for years, and had been in and out of the hospital for months, but I was young and my Grandma was my rock. No matter how sick she was she always put on a brave face for me when I went to visit, and when she was feeling better she cooked my favorite meal (chicken cutlets, mashed potatoes, peas, if you're wondering) and the two of us would fall asleep in our lounge chairs watching Nickelodeon together. Still, at the age, you're always looking for someone to blame for the things that happen, because, as a wise man once said "you're too young to know life sucks." So, unfortunately for my Grandpa Sam, he was the target of all my anger.

3 weeks after the funeral was the annual CYO basketball tournament my team hosted. It was a 3 day endurance test. Sometimes we would play 4 games in a day and have to get up and play 4 more the next day, but that's how it was and I loved it. It was a distraction and it was basketball; which, at the time, was my life. The second day of the tournament, in the middle of the third game of the day, I was in the middle of warming up with my team when I saw my Grandpa Sam shamble into the gym on the arm my mother's arm. He was dressed impeccably, as always in his wool pants, white dress shirt and perfectly shined black dress shoes. He even had a little skip to his step that, when I think about it now, was how he always seemed to get around (hence the nickname "Skippy," that I never understood), and my reaction to his presence was disgusting. I looked at my mother who was smiling proudly, clinging to her father's arm and I mouthed the words "what is he doing here" and "I want him to leave." She ignored me, because she was a great mother who knew me better than I'll ever know myself, and she continued to lead my Grandpa Sam to their seats. I felt my face flush red and with every lay up during my warm ups I slapped the back board a little bit harder, with every pass I tried to hurt the teammate I was passing it to, and it wasn't even game time. My best friend at the time said to me, "you're going to kill someone if you don't calm down," to which I replied, "good, stay out of my way." When the warning bell rang that told us it was time to get to our benches before the game started I looked over my shoulder and sneered at my Grandpa Sam, and he looked right through me like I wasn't there, like he didn't know who I was, so I turned all the way around and made sure he saw me, but I got the same reaction; which made me even more pissed off. Then the game started.

I played like I wanted blood and by the end of the second quarter I got it. I leveled the opposing teams center with an elbow to the mouth that split both of his lips wide open, and because it was in the heat of an aggressive attempt at grabbing a rebound I got away with it. I swaggered away like a boxer who absolutely knows he just knocked the other guy out, and when I looked over at my mother and saw her face turn pale white I knew I did what I wanted to do. It got worse from there. I was, for the most part, smart and I knew how to get away with playing dirty (which, for the record, I hated doing, but, hey, you do what you can to win), so I spent the rest of the game taking shots at the other teams players, making sure they just stayed the f_ck out of my way, and with every elbow and trip I looked up to the stands to make sure my Grandpa knew it was his fault, but I never got a reaction. By the time the game ended I was bruised, but the other team was bloody and my teammates wanted nothing to do with me for the first time I can remember, but I didn't really care. I walked over to my Grandpa and my mother and said, "well, what do you think? How'd I do?" My mother, ever the supportive, doting mom, said "why were you playing like an animal out there? What's wrong with you?" With that I smiled and looked at my Grandpa Sam, he looked straight through me again and said, "Hi, David."

I lost it. I burst into tears in front of the same crowd of people who had just seen me go berserk on the opposing team. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how, in just about 3 weeks time, my Grandpa Sam had slipped so far into the grips of dementia, but as my mother would later explain, he was struggling for a while and taking care of my Grandma Lucy was the only thing keeping him hanging on to reality, and when she died, his mind went into the grave with her.

It was another year before I saw my Grandpa Sam again, now living in a home that could actually take care of him, and we were all at Easter dinner at my Sister's home with her and her new husband. I went through the day doing my best to avoid him, because I couldn't handle the f_cked up reality that was thrown in my lap a year before then and I was still riddled with guilt over the whole thing. As soon as dinner was over I grabbed a golf club, some practice wiffle balls and headed into the backyard to distance myself. I was out there for a while, maybe hours, by myself bashing wiffle balls into the trees and I didn't even notice that my Grandpa Sam had wandered out of the house into the backyard and was watching me. I looked over at him and smiled, he smiled back and said, "What's so hard about that?" I rolled my eyes and laughed and said, "well, why don't you try it" and handed him the golf club. He walked over to one of the wiffle balls, took a practice swing (more of a lurch and push, really) then addressed the ball and pounded one, straight as an arrow right next to wear the rest of mine were landing. He looked at me again, this time smirking and said, "Jimmy, if I can do this, anyone can do this, so what's so hard about it?" I gave him a high five and started laughing. I turned and saw my entire family crying tears of joy behind us and I gave them a thumbs up. Grandpa Sam and I stayed out there a few minutes more, hitting a wiffle ball every couple of minutes, but the sun started to set and it got cold and Grandpa needed to get back to the home.

Before he left I said "that was a great time, Grandpa," and he looked me in the eyes and said, "Hi, David, how are you?" I didn't cry that time. I just let it go and smiled and laughed and I didn't figure out until I saw the elderly man in front of me in line at the grocery store struggle with his credit card, that sometimes, you have to let yourself be sad so you can be happy, because you can't control the world or the tragedies it dishes out, and when you repress any kind of emotion it ends up being used in the worst way possible. I don't know if this makes sense, but it feels good to get off my chest, and any excuse I have to remember my Grandpa Sam is a good one.

The Devil and Jimbolaya

As I've mentioned many times throughout the storied history of this incredibly influential web log, the writing staff and I like to give everyone and everything the benefit of the doubt, and why not? It's the theory the American legal system was founded upon, after all, and if it's good enough for 2nd Appellate Court Justice Mark Hammerstein, then it is definitely good enough for "Where the Wild Things Were Last Thursday Around 8." Hey, we're busy over here, but we're not so busy that we ignore other people's points of view for the sake of making an easy joke.

The "WTWTWLTA8" Corporate Headquarters on a busy day.

That said, I was taken aback when I received a lewd phone call alerting me to a great oversight in one of my most recent posts. I can't repeat most of the words the caller used, because this is a family friendly blog (and he/she was audibly drunk and slurring their words so bad they sounded as if they were speaking in tongues), but what I am able to transcribe for you, my dear reader, I will do so below.

Transcription of message left on Jimbolaya's cell phone (10/8/09 1:07 AM):
"Listen this is *inaudible* and I'm sick and tired of that prick God getting all the *inappropriate language* credit for *inappropriate language* everything and anything you stupid mother *inappropriate language* humans can mother *inappropriate language* *inappropriate language* think of! When will the devil get his due..."
At this point it trails off into unintelligible , Lovecraftian like ramblings that I didn't even bother listening to more than 5 times.

C'thulu called... Jimbolaya let it go to voice mail.

I should have known from the caller ID (616-616-6616) that the unidentified voice was, in fact the Morning Star himself, drunk on Bacardi 151 (his liquor of choice, evidently) and plenty ticked off because I never even tried to get in touch with him when I was seeking out a deity to interview regarding the H1N1 hysteria that was sweeping over the entire globe not that long ago. Of course, I didn't know any of this until the following day when I got an e-mail from Azazel (his administrative assistant) explaining that Lucifer was upset, and he drank too much and shouldn't have left such an ugly message on my voice mail and oh, by the way would I like to meet for a drink and a quick chat sometime soon. Obviously you don't turn down a drink with the Devil unless you have tickets to a Streisand concert, and since my schedule is annoyingly clear I decided to take The Lord of the Flies up on his offer and suggested we meet for a few pints at one of my favorite bars, Lux Lounge (conveniently located at 666 South Ave, Rochester, NY, stop in some time and say hello to Phyllis, Kevin, Kim, Kerry and the rest of the Lux crew, just don't mention my name or you'll get heavily overcharged).

I had a longstanding relationship with God before I interviewed him (shoot, the two of us spent a month in Tahiti one weekend when we drank too much Grappa) so, I sort of knew what to expect from Yahweh, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into with the Lord of the Underworld. As a matter of fact, as I was walking to Lux I got incredibly nervous and wondered if I had set myself up for something terrible, but then I remembered there was free booze involved (I mean, the Devil has to pick up the tab, right?), and my temptations overcame my hesitations as I picked up the pace to make sure I was the first one there (it's polite to show up first when you invite someone out, otherwise always show up no less than ten minutes late and no more than four days past the agreed upon time).

As I walked through the bar's door, into the dimly lit interior a very muscular, very neckless man in his mid to late 40's asked for my identification and I happily showed him my driver's license at which point he scowled and nodded his head in the general direction of the bar before returning his attention to the doorway. I scanned the room for signs of movement and the only person other than myself drinking at such an hour was a heavyset older gentlemen quietly whistling the theme song to "Friends" while he drank what appeared to be a boot full of whiskey, I nodded in approval and took an empty seat at the other end of the bar, and when the bartender (a man named Kevin, a dread locked fellow with a humble demeanor and constant aroma of... well... Rasta) asked me what I would like, I ordered a double Jack Daniels and Coke.

Moments later I was startled to feel a cold hand patting me on the back. When I turned to see who it was (part of me already knew) I was surprised to see a young-ish man with blond hair, wearing a neatly pressed suit and tie, his steel blue eyes staring back at me, "You must be... what do I call you?" I asked, and the young-ish man with the blond hair and steel blue eyes replied, "oh, what's in a name? Call me Lou for all I care." He snapped his fingers and a small sonic boom ripped through the bar and, just like that, time stood still, everything came to a stop and the devil was laughing his ass off.

"I always do that the first time I meet somebody, it really freaks them out," he said before snapping his fingers again to unfreeze time. I rolled my eyes and sipped my drink and decided I would let Lou do most of the talking, because, hey, why get into a battle of wits with the devil if you don't have to, right? "So, Jimbo, I can see you're not a man who likes to talk turkey, so I'm just going to cut to the gravy and get it all out in the open right here and now, so we can enjoy the time we are going to spend together, okay?" I nodded, because, what else could I do? "Great," he continued at a dizzying speed, "I'm not upset you spoke with my old friend Yahweh, because, hey he's a great guy, right? A little stubborn at times, but great nonetheless, anyway, it's not that I'm mad, I'm far from mad, but my feelings are a little hurt because you didn't even think to interview me, did you? No, of course not, no one wants to hear from the second most powerful entity in the known universe. No. Everybody wants to know what God thinks. Everybody. It gets annoying, Jimbo, it really does, so I'm here to tell you we're going to do a little interview to make up for that indiscretion, to let everybody know that I, the one and only king of evil, am still around and relevant, you dig?" I dug.

Jimbolaya - "It's not often I'm forced to do an interview, let alone an interview with Lucifer, The Bringer of Light, or, as my readers may know him, The Devil."
Lucifer - "Well, it's not often that I'm compelled to give such an interview, young man. So, count yourself among the few and the proud who can honestly tell the world they met with the Devil and lived to tell the tale."
J- "So, you're not planning on killing me?"
L - (laughs) "Of course not! Of course not! I don't do that sort of thing anymore."
J - "Let's start here then: What sort of things do you do nowadays?"
L - "Well, I am not as busy up here as I used to be, obviously. I mean, in the beginning I really had to try hard to get people to sin, but now? Yeesh, they do it on their own just fine without my interference, so my days are largely made up of paper work and the distribution of eternal torture to the damned souls that manage to find themselves swimming in the lake of fire when the sweet embrace of death carries them into the unknown; which, by the way, is most of you. (laughs) I mean, it's great for me, but you monkeys really don't know any better, huh?"
J - "No, we really don't, but, can't you chock that up to your influence being a prevalent factor in the development of human kind from the very beginning? I know God has stated that The Garden of Eden tale of Adam and Eve is just a 'bedtime story,' but your ability to tempt and be tempting and the so called fruits that are born out of acting on those temptations must be a deeply ingrained piece of our genetic make up, right?"
L - "Not genetic, no, because when you get down to it you guys up here are just a bunch of hairless apes with better brains than the rest of the animal world, but would I go so far as to say it's been interwoven, carefully, over thousands of years into the social structure and spiritual structure of the entirety of mankind? Yes, because that's what I do."
J - "That's a very existentialist way of putting it, because what you're saying, if I may be so bold as to interpret your words, is that man is born as a blank slate; which is contrary to a lot of popular Judeo-Christian belief systems which believe that man is born with a destiny already in place, and, at the very least a 'human essence' is part of their make-up and their destiny."
L - "I have no idea what you just said, but, sure we'll go with that."
J - "Yeah, I'm actually not sure what I just said, I've been reading Sartre lately and it must be getting to me."
L - "Reading J.P, huh? Yeah, he's alright, I've never put much stock into philosophy, because it's usually dead wrong when you put it under a microscope."
J - "Then why don't you tell me what is right?"
L - "Jesus, you humans are all the same. You never relax! You always want to know answers to questions you could never possibly comprehend, and none of you, not a single one, has ever stopped to wonder if, just maybe, you're not supposed to know everything there is to know. That's kind of the entire point of the Adam and Eve story."
J - "I thought the point was not to piss off God by breaking his rules."
L - "No, monkey, listen, you're all idiots who can't seem to wrap your heads around the idea of living blissfully ignorant. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't try to figure out important things, like cures for diseases and things like that, but, man, leave the big questions like "why are we here," and "what's the purpose of life" up to guys like God and I."
J - "But, don't you think we have a right to know?
L - "Nope, you don't, so just stop thinking about it, because what happens if one of you apes actually figures it out? What will you all do then? You'll all start to freak out and start searching for another impossible to answer question, because that's how you guys are. Too inquisitive for your own good."
J - "Have you been given a bad rap over the years?"
L - "Eh, to be honest, no. I mean, I did try to overthrow the kingdom of heaven and claim the thrown as my own, so in that respect, no I've been given the reputation I should have been given. You don't try to usurp God without making a bad name for yourself, know what I mean?"
J - "As the Devil, it's assumed you are responsible for most of the evil in the world. What was the last terrible thing you are personally responsible for?"
L - "Personally responsible for? The bubonic plague, that was all me, but I did it as a favor to God. I mean, the world was a cesspool back then and it took the plague to make people realize they needed to, you know, clean up their act, so to speak. God didn't want to flood the place a second time, because it took forever to get things back to where they were after that, so he came to me and I said 'why not a disease of some sort?' And the rest is history."
J - "I would've thought the Holocaust was all you, or 9/11 or something much more recent than the plague."
L - "Phhhhh... I'm always getting credited for those things, but no, I had literally nothing to do with it. Like I said, you monkeys have been doing a great job messing things up on your own without my help. I just lay back and watch it happen and collect the souls as they come. I'm really a hands-off lord of the underworld these days."
J - "But, you have to know Hitler, right? I mean, a guy like that has to be in Hell."
L - "Oh, sure. Adolph is currently being raped by the most handsome Jewish man in all of Hell in front of a TV set that only plays "Caddyshack Two", and he will be in that position for all of eternity, but let me tell you a secret: Even I think Hitler is a gigantic prick, and if I could think of a better way to torture his immortal soul, I would."
J - "Are there any people in Hell that shouldn't be?"
L - "No, God and I have a system in place that prevents any accidents like that. It wouldn't be fair if good people went to hell and it definitely wouldn't be fair if bad people went to heaven. We figured that one out on the first day."
J - "Yankees or Red Sox?"
L - "Neither, I'm a Mets fan."
J - "I knew it!"
L - "Then why did you ask?"
J - "Because it's my interview and I wanted my readers to know that you, Lucifer, are a supporter of the New York Metropolitan's professional baseball organization."
L - (Laughs)
J - "Before, you mentioned that you are still relevant, could you explain that to me if you haven't personally been involved in any of the monstrosities that have occurred since the time of the plague?"
L - "I serve as the creative coordinator and talent scout/liaison for Fox News."
J - "You've got to be kidding, right? Is that some sort of twisted, sick, f_cked up joke?"
L - (Laughs) "Of course it is! Do you think I would have anything to do with those nut jobs? Hell no! But, yes I am still very relevant, because I still play a large part in almost every Christian religion around the world. I'm more like Kaiser Sose now, because I've become this legendary beast with a million backs that can coerce people into doing my bidding; which is all bull sh_t, because for the most part people are going to do whatever they want no matter what anyone tells them, but if they do something bad and say they did it because of me, then I'm still relevant, but the same is true of the alternative. If someone does something good and says they did it out of fear of me, then there you go, relevance."
J - "Alright, is this enough for you? Do you want me to ask you anything else or can we just start drinking and get on with our lives?"
L - "Yeah, this is fine, I think I've made a few good points and more than few terrible ones, so this should, at the very least, confuse the f_ck out of anyone who reads it."
J - "Fair enough. Thanks for contacting me and taking the time to demand I interview you, it's been a nightmarish experience that I'll always remember."
L - (Laughs) "Well, that's why I'm here."

The interview, though brief and somehow long winded, was only the starting point of the evening. Lucifer and I shared a few more drinks before we parted ways, and in that small amount of time I came to realize that Satan isn't a really bad guy, because he is just doing his job, but unfortunately that job is to be the dark to God's light and the evil to God's, uhm, not evil. All in all it was a great experience that I never hope to relive, because let's face it, I drank with the devil under the pale bar light and lived to tell the tale, why would I want to press my luck and do it again?