Dear Shelia,

It was a dark and stormy night…

Today I barely sat through a Bible lesson that was not in the Bible—at all.

Apparently all the animals on the Ark tried to eat each other and many succeeded. I’d always wondered about that. I mean lions and chipmunks are not a good match. Sounds like a furry bloodbath in the making. You feel me, Shelia? Sometimes I forget that my uncle has been around since the beginning of time. It’s too much for my undead mind to grasp—but he has. And trust me, the dude is smart—very naughty, but very smart.

“So they all ate each other?” I asked with a shudder.

“Yes, they did—that is if you believe the Ark existed at all,” Satan replied with a careless shrug.

“Did Noah’s Ark exist?” I asked, now confused.

“Do you want it to have existed?” he countered.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Did all the animals really eat each other?”

“No. Several of the larger carnivores survived the journey.”

“Then, umm… no. I don’t like that version.”

“Pick the other one then. That’s what God did.”

I sat and chewed on that for a moment. We were getting into some majorly controversial territory here.

“You sure you want to go there?” I inquired, wanting him to and not wanting him to at the same time.

Satan sighed and rested his chin in his hands. “Think about it, Astrid. If one is to believe everything they read then they have to accept the consequences. My brother’s book was written in a language that doesn’t have clear English equivalents.”

“So you’re saying none of it is true?”

“Absolutely not. There are many truths and many untruths that man can choose to believe or reject. The Bible and the world are full of choices and my book will be as well. One can believe it or negate it as fiction.”

“You’ve read the bible?”

“No one has ever read the Bible,” he stated flatly. “No one. Not you. Not me. At the very least, if we’ve bothered at all, we’ve read a very bad translation—a translation of a translation of a translation of a dead language that was passed down by word of mouth long before it was ever recorded.”

“Kind of harsh,” I muttered.

“The truth is always harsher than fiction,” Satan replied breezily. “Which is why lying is far more fun.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“To me, the book my brother put into the world is a bunch of stories—some true, some not—that teach his deluded followers to be good people. My book will do the same except it will exemplify the joys of being bad. In the end neither of them matter. All that matters is how you live your own life. Period.”

“You’re sounding a little good at the moment,” I pointed out.

“Not at all. I’m horrible and I’m happy that way. However, I have no ill will toward the good. I’m just delighted that some have chosen the ‘wrong’ path. It keeps me busy and in business. Free will is a beautiful thing.”

“So you like the really bad ones?” I asked, needing clarification.

Satan paused and stared at me.

“No. I despise them—the murderers… the truly vile. I only like the naughty ones. The ones that didn’t hurt people other than themselves,” he replied watching for my reaction.

“You’re actually a good person.”

“Yes, well, let’s not let that get out,” he said. “Fucks with my outstandingly bad reputation. So shall I pontificate on how the honey badgers fornicated with the cows and then ate the chickens, skunks and rattlesnakes on the very first day the Ark set sail?”

“Holy Hell on fire. Do you have to?” I asked, my stomach roiling.

“No,” Uncle Fucker replied with a devious grin. “I could talk about the time I joined the Mile High Club with twenty-six women.”

“On the same plane ride?” I asked under duress as I pressed the bridge of my nose and contemplated sealing the Devil’s mouth shut—permanently.

“Absolutely.”

I pondered my choices and didn’t like any of them. I considered offering to play a round of blackjack to get out of all of it, but that would end in tragedy—as always.

“I guess I’ll go with the horny honey badgers,” I said morosely.

“Excellent choice. We’ll discuss the flying brothel tomorrow.”

“Fucking awesome,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Pun intended?” Satan inquired with a laugh.

“Yes. Yes it was.”

Shelia, the Ark was a shit show. I have no clue if anything Uncle Fucker said was true, but if even half of it was accurate it was a motherhumpin’ mess—pun intended. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a bunch of chimpandoggies, honeybeavers, ravengles, bearooses, puppy-monkey-babies and so many other farked up species I can’t bring myself to name them. Suffice it to say, I’m gonna go with Noah’s Ark being a fictional story to teach man to be good. My stomach just can’t handle anything else.

I probably should have gone with Satan’s Mid-air Copulation Sex Plane Escapades, but again, hindsight is 20-20. And no fucking worries—pun totally intended—I get to hear that one tomorrow. Yay me.

Try to get some sleep. I’m gonna go blow some shit up to relax before I hit the sack.

xoxo Astrid