So last Wednesday my wife is minding her business puttering around in the other room and my son comes in the room and I hear her talking in a low voice and after a while she goes HEY and I hear a plate smash and then the furniture sqreeeking and she’s yelling HEY HEY COME HERE YOU LITTLE and I get up from the computer and I’m walking down the hallway and she’s huffing and yelling I GOT YOU NOW YOU LITTLE SHIT and I’m speeding up and he’s yelling SKREEEEEEE but he’s moving really fast but she’s pinning both his hands(?) with one of hers and she’s huffing now and her black hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat but she’s holding on and her eyes are wild and she says she says: I GOT HIM I GOT HIM and would you look at that! it’s not our son it’s one of them cat demons that dress up and sneak up on you and I NEVER even seen one in real life so I go and make a woodcut print of the whole episode so we can remember and laugh about it later when we sit and sip a yuzu lemonade
Last night when you were falling asleep, you asked me: “Daddy, are there monsters in here”.
I said “No. Monsters are imaginary.”
But I lied.
The trouble with monsters is that they’re hard to spot. They don’t advertise that they’re a monster.
Monsters don’t come with horns on their heads.
Monsters are just trying to pay the mortgage, trying to drop the kids off at soccer practice, trying to just God Let Me Keep It Together For One More Day, trying to organize the summer school jamboree as part of Parent Council duties.
But don’t be fooled: they’ll flay the very skin off your back. Turn it into a rustic carpet. Into a lampshade. And then act all coy when faced with what they’ve done. “We didn’t know”, they’ll say, “we were living next to the abbatoir but never looked in on what those people in that building were doing”.
Don’t believe them, my darling. Don’t let them near your skin.
Monsters don’t come with long fuzzy tails. Oh no they don’t.
Monsters will justify monstrous actions by saying you’re not a person. You’re not like them. With their braying, yapping, clicking language – they can’t understand your words so they pretend that you can’t speak. They’ll never listen to the slow songs of our people, our tales of perseverance, stories of loss, the soul of a nation.
They’re not listening. They can’t hear it. It doesn’t exist.
Monsters think they’re just doing what they need to get by. But they’ll snatch the milk right from a newborn’s mouth if given the chance.
No. Monsters don’t come with hard clacking hooves.
Monsters boggle the mind with nonsense like We Have To Increase ROI by Seven Percent or Else the Q3 Report Will Have a Negative Outlook and We Are Sorry Stephen We Are Aware That You Have Served the Corporation for Twenty Years But Your Position Has Been Eliminated No It Is NOT YOU It Is YOUR POSITION That HAS BEEN ELIMINATED
But don’t you ever mistake them for oafs, Daughter.
Monsters are closer to a dog – to a wolf – than they are to you and to me. Monsters will tear the flesh off your bones with those sharp canines, my twelve ounce New York striploin.
They’ll shred your little feet into glue.
Pulverize your fine bones into fertilizer.
Squelch your curious eyes into hot dog paste.
No. The trouble with monsters is that they don’t come with horns, or tails, or hooves –
So you’re telling me that after the hundredth time the birdman eats you, ther’es no small talk? You’re not even going to ask his name?
BIRDMAN: It’s Larry. Lawrence.
You: That’s a beautiful name for a bird.
BIRDMAN: Thanks. My mother chose it. Y’know there’s lots about birds that you humans are ignorant about. We have very lyrical names.
You: What brings you to Hell Larry? How did you get to be one of the… Eating Guys?
BIRDMAN: I’m a kind of large falcon and I used to live around the airport. Loved those planes going WHOOOSH, making *their own wind*. Listen, there’s nothing a bird loves more than a good airport.
You: …
BIRDMAN: One day, I flew real close to this passenger plane and whooooop next thing I know I was slurped into the jet engine, I was burning up, I was spat out back as bird sludge.
You: Sounds awful.
BIRDMAN: They said I was a “Bad Bird”. Responsible for crashing an airplane full of people. Culpable for humans dying. Guilty. So they put me in Human Hell.
You: That’s really unfair. You’re just a bird, how could you have kno
BIRDMAN: It’s allright. At least I get to be one of the employees here. It’s hot and unpleasant but at least it’s a living.
You: What do you mean “it’s a living”? Like… you work for wages? Capitalism exists here?
BIRDMAN: Yeah. You thought all that ends after you die?
You: How much do they pay you?
BIRDMAN: Oh, breadcrumbs.
You: That’s really unfair. I see how hard you work. I see you chewing chewing chewing, day in and day out!
BIRDMAN: No no. It’s not like that. They literally pay me in breadcrumbs. I love that stuff. I go wild for it!
You: I just wanted to say, my family and I have been living up your arse for what…20 years now? and … just thank you. I really appreciate you.
Francesco: Aw, thanks. It’s nice to be recognized. When I lost my arse in the war, those battlefield doctors tried to patch things up with branches and whatever. I thought to myself: “That’s it Francesco. Your life is over. You’re a freak, no one will love you, you can’t even sit down like a man….” but later that night I died and got my second act down here.
You: What you do really matters. It’s alternating hot, cold, drizzling here – just a nightmare of a climate. And being able to shelter from the elements inside your body is a real privilege.
Francesco: Thank you. You know, nowadays people are so alienated from their home – how often do people say “thank you” to their home? I’ve heard of people saying grace for their food, but never for their home. How many people today even have a friendly chat with the apartment superintendent, the concierge down the lobby, or even their neighbours?
You: Very few, Francesco. Very few. This place really fosters a sense of community. Especially when you live inside another person.
Satan
Devil And Witches 1839 – Mary Evans
After one thousand years of being tortured and disembowelled, percolating in the same milieu as the Devil and his minions… you’re gonna talk to HIM. There’s no question about it. Eventually you’ll just do it.
You: Hey. Can I ask you something?
Satan: Sure.
You: So what’s the deal with you inflicting all that suffering on, like, Sudan and Afghanistan and places like that. Those poor people just can’t catch a break.
Satan: That’s a good question. But first, take a good look at me. What do I look like?
Satan: Precisely. Aren’t I supposed to be the most beautiful of God’s angels? Do I look beautiful to you?
You: Yeah… what’s up with that?
Satan: Well, I am indeed the most beautiful angel. Stunning, really. When God created this world for goatkind he made all his angels – but especially me – the most exquisite thing that a goat can imagine.
You: …
Satan: I’m going somewhere with this. The world was made for the delight of one creature above all. It was made with beautiful mountains to prance on, hardy bushes to munch on and branchful trees to climb. It was made for goats. But you – you filthy humans – have ruined this world. Do you know that Sudan has the highest per-capita goat meat consumption?! Do you know that the Afghans play a game like horse-polo where THE BALL IS A GOAT?!?! For what they do to my people, they shall suffer neverending calamity!
You: Ok, I kinda get it.
Satan: Any more questions?
You: Listen – why are you always tormenting women that little bit extra? Why make women’s lives so terrible?
Satan: It’s because I’m jealous, OK?! Ever since I gave birth to the twins, my body’s just … changed. It’s like I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
[Pictured: the devil giving birth from both birthing canals. The twins, Keyleigh and Kay-Dan DeVille live in Akron, Ohio. Keyleigh is a makeup Youtuber. Her brother is on his 3rd internship as a UX Designer.]
Satan: Those chicks prancing around up there on Earth’s surface are just taunting me with their perfect bodies. I’m gonna show them!
You: Listen Satan, I get it. Your body has changed beyond your control. You’re angry and you’re confused – if I had a magic wand then I’d magick that hard body of yours back. Has it worked to torment all those women up there on the surface? Did it rewind time for you?
Satan: No 😒
You: Brother, you can’t be that girl who’s pulling down her sisters to elevate herself. For that, you gotta do the hard work on yourself, rising up towards something better.
Satan: …
You: All those women up there are going through the same struggles that you do. And they don’t need you adding challenges on top of that.
Satan: Ok. I’ll think about it.
When you consider it, life in Hell is not like in the stories or the Renaissance paintings at all. After hundreds of years down there, you’re bound to get to know your neighbours. To make friends. Time makes the rough things smooth. The smooth things rough. Makes your own “screams of agony” into a tepid performance meant to keep Larry thinking he’s “still got it” on the one thousandth time you pass through his gullet.
If you hated this, then you’ll also hate Hellbaby.
He was handsome, with tousled blond hair. An easy confident walk.
Yeah, the deal is lined up
Crossing the road now and talking… on a Bluetooth headset? A cellphone? I couldn’t tell
They reviewed the presentation and the latest ROI figures on the deal were acceptable. Yes. Uh uh…
It’s 2016 now. I am living in an odd part of Downtown Toronto. Steps from where the rich run their Ferraris in aimless circles to show off. Steps from where the poor buy their “rose in a glass container” crack pipes at the convenience store. My wife often takes the stroller across the road to get away from a weird person.
Yeah, we discussed his concerns with the deal. The discounted cash flow calculation landed it right in our sweet spot.
He was dressed in a neat summer blazer. A T-shirt under it. Creased shorts and flip-flops. I couldn’t tell whether this was fantastic style and he was pulling it off, or if it was falling flat. What I know about fashion is that the most interesting outfits live in that precarious balance. This outfit’s “success” will depend on his age, social status, attitude.
We finalized those details. As the buyer, we’ll take on the $2 million break-up fee, but the audit will have to come back clean.
28 years old? 30? And making these kinds of deals? It always stings to think that my Finance degree could’ve opened a similar Door To Riches, but I chose to walk away from that because of my morals. You can’t even buy a pair of socks with your fucking morals. A career as an email spammer – talk about morals. Shush! Coming closer to him now!
Yes, I spoke with the board of directors.
The Heart says it’s a “go”.
The Lungs approved the deal. Yes.
I consulted the Nervous System and it says that there’s a high probability that the deal will be successful.
The Brain is still not on board but I think I can bring him around eventually.
As a long time resident of Toronto (and past internee at Scarbiria), I hereby propose the following image as an intense distillation of the nature and character of our city for purposes of tourism, discussion, song, future Olympic proposals, future transit decor and any and all applicable uses for which such a totem of our city's quiddity may be required:
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Inspired by the mediocrities at that one app I sometimes use to book parking spots. Like… why waste your divine spark of life on twiddling with your Privacy Policy?
I’m obsessed with a thought experiment called “The Hellbaby”. Hear me out:
The Hellbaby’s name is Gloria. She’s a regular-acting baby. Born to a loving, ordinary family – except they live in Hell. That life is all that they’ve ever known so they accept it as natural.
Similar to our world, Hell offers both tortures and delights. A dog may be born on a puppy farm, where it is raised in a tiny cage and ends up hacked to bits for a delicious stew. Another dog may be born to a pampered life as a Hell-Celebrity’s companion, hitching rides in her handbag. It’s quite the lottery.
Some people wonder whether their world is the worst of all possible worlds, the best one, or… kinda in between. How could we help Gloria figure out she’s living in Hell?
Well… if you pay close attention, you’d notice some odd features in the fabric of Gloria’s universe.
