blindsatanist
Posts: 4
Joined: 10/18/2013
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SATAN LOVES YOU!!!!!!!!!
The night was late and the sky was as black as my dark, wicked, depraved soul that my dark, UNHOLY LORD Satan gifted me with. I was in the middle of praying to the Devil, asking him to fill my heart with darkness and wickedness and depravity when my phone rang. I answered it by saying "Hi Smm Smm."
"Smm Smm?" a whiny, pathetic, sniffly man’s voice complained. I recognized that voice at once. It was Failure, one of the members of the Cult. He's the one who suffers from severe depression and who ate almost an entire All American chocolate cake from Costco on one of the pot lucks that I went to and brought one over, not so much for their enjoyment in eating something chocolatey but for my own enjoyment. I could honestly have cared less what they wanted at the pot luck. They were lucky that I had even bothered to go.
"HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!" I said excitedly.
"Failure, long time no hear! What's up? Are you seriously crying like a freaking baby? Smm Smm!"
"Stop saying Smm Smm! I hate it when you say Smm Smm!" he cried hysterically.
I replied mercilessly with a wicked cackle "Smm Smm, Smm Smm, Smm Smm!" He finally gave up asking me not to say Smm Smm because I never listen to that request.
"I miss you," he bawled.
"I want my Ashlee Smashlee back. We all do. Why don't you come to our meetings and parties anymore?"
"Because Satan is WAY more fun than jesus," I said and then began busting up laughing at him bawling like a complete moron.
"No Ashlee, Satan is bad!" Failure protested and then sniffled.
"jesus is good. He wants you to come back. We've all been praying to jesus for your salvation and for you to return back to us. Please come back."
"I'd rather be shot dead or stabbed 666 times than come back to your cult! HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!! Oh Failure, my pathetic crybaby boy, while you've been praying to your pathetic, boring, jealous, judgmental god I've been praying to my Almighty Dark and Unholy Lord Satan for you and the other members of the cult that you are in."
"It's not a cult," he said, his voice rising and his crying becoming more desperate.
Then, one of my imaginary demons named Mary Meyers spoke up. She said in her high pitched voice, "Hi Failure! Are you still suffering from depression?"
Once she asked the question she began to laugh convulsively and loudly. Her high pitched laughter echoed throughout my entire apartment building. I'm sure all the neighbors could hear my demon that Satan created as a companion for me to carry out his dark assignments he had in store for me to complete.
"Yes," he answered in a weepy voice.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha, that's too bad," Mary Meyers said joyfully, cartwheeling and somersaulting around my apartment.
"Hahahahahahahahaha," she continued to laugh until her sides ached.
"Why are you talking and laughing in that stupid voice you always use? You're so mean Ashlee. Why are you so mean now? You used to be so sweet and loving to everybody. What’s happened to you? I want my old Ashlee Smashlee back!"
All at once my friends began talking at once. It all sounded like "Dee dee dee dee" to him and to other people who hear them all talking at once but in my mind they were all jumping up and down and laughing, encouraging me onward by saying "Come on Mommy! Go Mommy! Make him cry harder! Make him cry harder! That's it Mommy! Don't relent! Be mean to that pathetic excuse of a person! Yes Mommy! Like that! Hahahahahahahahaha! HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!"
Resuming my voice I said "That was Mary Meyers talking, not me. My demons can speak through me. Satan gave them that ability. As far as getting your old Ashlee Smashlee back, fat chance of that ever happening you fat, depressing, moldy voiced loser. I told you, Satan is WAY more fun than jesus! Here's an example Failure. Shut up with the crying already, you bald-headed, sniveling baby and listen before I pray to Satan out loud for your pathetic soul right now."
He gave another sniffle but quit the sobbing bullshit so I continued after Mary Meyers finished another fit of hysterical, demonic laughter.
"Remember that time Failure, a long time ago, when I brought that huge Costco cake to the pot luck and you ate the entire thing?"
"I didn’t eat the whole thing!" He said defensively.
"Pretty damn close you idiotic jesus freak! Anyway, you ate over half of it and you know it. I only got to eat two small slices out of the whole thing. You even admitted after the fact when I confronted you about being such a fat pig that you did, in fact, like that cake WAY TOO MUCH. But that's not the point. What I'm getting at, my insect size brained cult follower, is that with Satan, there is no guilt at all! Remember how guilty you felt after having devoured almost the entire cake and went into Piggy's closet and prayed about it in remorse? Well, if you were a Satanist, you wouldn't have to repent. In fact, you could have eaten the entire cake joyously and then thanked Satan for giving you such a guiltless, free, huge appetite to have been able to achieve such a feat. You could have eaten the entire cake with pride, Failure, but instead you choose to serve the god who makes you feel bad, who makes you feel guilty and ashamed for every bit of joy you find in life, which isn't very much. Why else would you have been diagnosed with severe depression? I tell you Failure, come to the Dark Side, we have cookies! And you can eat them all, too, and shamelessly, too."
"You're being used by Satan to try and tempt me." Failure tried to rebuke me away.
I merely said, "I'm just telling you the true facts of life as a Satanist. And, Failure, another thing, as soon as I left your stinking cult, Satan cured all my panic attacks. All I had to do was stop feeling guilty and talking to whiny, ass ugly, fat babies like you and find the true path I want to follow, the left hand path. Come on, join us!"
Then, spontaneously changing my mind, I said "Actually, Failure, I don't actually want you in my Satanist group. You are too depressing and ugly. You'll just bum everyone out who is around you. You actually would be better off alone to rot in your own misery and self worthlessness. Nobody loves you, nobody wants you around, and whoever continues to hang out with you only does it because they are using you for a motive for their advantage. Nobody likes you Failure. I mean, what is there to like? Please promise me you won't ever have children, for it would be an absolute disgrace to pass on such a defective, useless, worthless offspring to the world."
Then I said in a solemn voice "Dear Satan, please make Failure more and more depressed. Make him fail all his classes and get absolutely no credit this quarter or for the rest of the school year. Make him lose his faith in jesus and let him see that jesus is the one making him depressed because jesus doesn't give a rat's ass about one puny, tiny, weakling, morsel of a human being on this earth. Satan, let him suffer with more depression for the rest of his life. Do not cure his depression like you have cured my panic attacks. He is a psychic vampire, as you saw for yourself when he ate MY cake and so is therefore not deserving of being cured. Let him continue to flounder in the mire and disgusting filth of his life and let him stop coming up with things to be thankful to god for. Let him realize that he really does have nothing at all to be grateful for because nobody loves him, not even god. Especially not god."
At that, Failure made an "A-hoo aaaaaaaaa-hooooooooooooo" crying sound. He was really sobbing now. Before he had the chance to hang up on me, me and all my imaginary demons all said "Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Smm Smm! Smm Smm! Smm Smm! Smm Smm! Smm Smm! Smm Smm! Hail Smm Smm! Hail Smm Smm! Hail Smm Smm!"
Then he hung up on me and I promptly ate six Oreos guiltlessly and thanked Satan for my victory at finally having gotten to defeat one of my enemies, people of the lame god christ. Talk about a lame excuse for a god, right? All my demons had Oreo cookies too in celebration of having mentally wounded our opponent. Then I informed my Satanic boyfriend about all the night's events and all of us, my demons included, busted up laughing until our breathing turned to gasps and all we could do was hope that, over time, Failure would become more and more discouraged and depressed. We also hoped that he'd call Piggy and cry to her about his unsuccessful endeavor to try and get me back to his stupid god jesus.
HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!
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A Call from Failure - 
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