Henry Kissmyassworld was visited by three ghosts during the night …
Well, no, just one ghost. Or maybe he was real. Henry’s not sure, and really hopes it was just a dream, go back to sleep, the sun will shine again upon the morn …
Satan walked into Henry’s bedroom and said,
“Hello, old friend.”
Henry sprang from bed, dropped to his knees like he did on the oval carpet during the 70s, and clasped Satan’s knees.
“Please, O Dark Lord, I am one hundred years old … I am haunted by thousands of ghosts … I must have more time!”
Satan laughed (and people died), saying, “Want to kill another few thousand people from South-East Asia? That old nugget, Henry?”
“No, I … well, maybe, why, isn’t Cambodia playing ball? Do they know baseball? We could napalm them while their guard is down …”
Satan laughed again (and a mountain crumbled into the sea), “That’s the old Henry we all pretend not to know and love. But let’s get back on track. Alas, Henry, a few more years, that’s all I can give you. Jehovah is itching for you to burn in my Hell. You’re not Christian, so … my hands are tied. Nixon’s doing great, by the way. He’s tanning by the pool with Thatcher and Elizabeth Bathory.”
“Who?”
“She drank the blood of children she butchered.”
“I never drank a single drop!” protested Henry.
“You spilled it … just because you didn’t drink doesn’t mean you weren’t thirsty.”
Satan had his knees liberally kissed. They dripped with Henry’s spit.
“I don’t want to burn. Please … let me dance one more time.”
“So dance, Henry, dance for your soul.”
And to this day, Henry the Kissass dances a mazurka in his lonely mansion, surrounded by black and white photos of all the famous people who called him great, haunted by the ghosts of every man, woman and child he murdered in the name of American empiricism …
“But know this,” said Satan. “When the dance ends, you come to my house and meet all the people you killed. They’ve been waiting for you, Henry … we all have … but we shall wait a little more, a little more … before you feel every pain you ever caused to another. That’s Hell’s way.”
