You Better Give Satan A Square

Well, I can't think of anything to write about except the fuckin Trix rabbit. I don't know why, but I just got Trix rabbit on the mind. And the Plasmatics. Of course. But I wonder why nobody would ever give the fuckin rabbit any Trix. If I was eating cereal with my sister and a cartoon rabbit showed up and wanted some, I'd give him some. Actually, that reminds me of one time when me and my friend, Little Bob, were all fucked up on Robitussin. It was on sale at the dollar store and we were drinking it every day in record quantities. I think that that was the first time I ever saw Bob go on some fucked up Christian trip, though it became one of his gimmicks after awhile. You see, Little Bob was usually an obnoxious little goblin that would put your favorite tape in the tape player that eats tapes after you distinctly told him not to. He was the best scapegoat on the block. He was a good guy, though, even if he WAS a a pain in the ass. I could say that about anybody I like, now that I think about it. I hope somebody has that printed on my headstone when I die. I recently found out that Bob died, but I'm in no position to be etching wisdoms onto gravestones. I guess I could eventually go write it on his with a black marker. He'd like that. If there's a God in Heaven, like Bob would invariably freak out and think every so often, who knows what God's saying to Bob right now. Probably something like,"Medammit, Bob, would you knock it the fuck off?!!!"

But anyway, we drank way too much cough syrup and hung out at some chick's apartment while she wasn't at home (with her unspoken permission), listening to music and being glued to the floor with our eyes popping out, not being able to verbally communicate with anyone but one another. A bunch of folks came in and changed the music on us, shaking their drunken heads in condescension. "Man, you guys are fuckin stupid." Touche'. We sure were. So I sat around on the floor, confused, observing all the dull activity around me with the same interest a toddler probably has. Why did she just do that? Why did he just say that? Why? Whenever I finally learned how to speak English, I'd be sure to ask them. Some kind Drunk Person would roll me a cigarette once in a while and I'd be all grateful. "Thanks," I'd manage to blurble.

The chick whose place it was suddenly burst into the room, freakin the fuck out that Bob's cryin-he's-gonna-die out in the hallway and what're we gonna do and all this. So I go out in the hall and Bob's curled up in a ball, crying, with some big ol black gangster dude standing over him with a Bible in his hand, reading some passage aloud. And I mean ALOUD. He's shouting like Jesse Jackson about how Satan's got us clenched in his fiery fist or some kinda bullshit... So the Drunk People elbowed past me and apologized to the gangster guy and picked Bob up and carried him back to the apartment. It all seemed pretty damn dramatic and I was actually a little worried, in spite of myself. Was he really gonna die? Probably not, but he sure was terrified. So I shrugged, shuffled back into the apartment, and sat back down on the floor.

Okay. The living room was illuminated by a green lightbulb that me and Bob had screwed in before we were too incapacitated to do so. There was a white sheet hung up in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. There was a standard-issue lightbulb on in the bedroom, and the effect it had (in my fucked up mind, anyway) was that the other room was golden. A softly lit paradise that I wasn't spiritually worthy of entering: The God Room. I was in the sickly green room with the Drunk People, listening to Slayer or Bolt Thrower or something: The Satan Room. The Satan Room was actually pretty cool except for all the weird bullshit that was goin on. One of the Drunk People was somehow religiously qualified to enter the God Room and Save Bob. Which he did. All the other Drunk People were laughing their asses off. I didn't know wheteher to laugh or cry or to be worried or what the hell was goin on. I just heard voices coming out of the God Room. Bob crying and pleading, I mean fuckin SCREAMING, "READ PROVERBS 38:12! NOW! PLEASE OH, GOD!!!" And some wasted idiot slurring a bunch of Biblical jibberish. "Jesus was the son of Mary, who had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow...."

So then the big black dude came walking in to get his bible back, and I think the Drunk People must've gotten a little scared, cos they all kinda shut the fuck up and left. That left me, the guy who was Roboing too hard to go anywhere. Thanks, pricks... The gangster guy sat down on the couch and waited for Bob to get Saved or baptized or whatever and gave me a pious look of distaste. "Yeah," he said, looking down at me and shaking his head. "Yall muthafuckas think yo real funny. Callin up demons with Robitussin. Shit. But when Satan pops up through your floor, you better offer him a square, cos He gonna be ANGRY! Yeah. You keep it up. You'll see. See, I'm into some REAL voodoo shit." Again, I didn't know whether to start laughing or to freak out. So I did both.

So, as one can see, that anecdote directly correlates to sharing one's breakfast with cartoon animals.