A Fan Letter for Satan
By: Warren Wright
I’m writing to tell you how happy you make me, and how just seeing your face makes me smile. I got my first look at you at age 5, the same age I was when my parents told me where the dissenters and non-believers go upon death. I saw your pitchfork, your goatee, your wild-eyed smile. I covered my face with a pillow upon seeing you on an episode of the Looney Tunes. It’s a shame how they’ve exploited our fear of death and the unknown that even a cartoon depiction of the Devil can arouse fear in a child. What a joke!
As I grow older, as I matured enough to laugh in the face of my upbringing, I like seeing your face more and more.
That bong with your face on it at the smoke shop. The sew-on patches I see on bikers. That tattoo on the bicep of a heart surgeon. I’m always glad to see that smile. Your resume of accomplishments is so impressive to me. You convinced Eve to eat that apple with your charm and sophistication. Your elaborate counterargument. You worked with God himself as accomplice; you tried to show Job the light as God watches his pain with folded arms, indifferent. In the 30’s you were charged with bringing sinister, mind altering drugs as well as funky jazz improvisations to the masses. In 1982, grown adults elected into public office caused a panic and hysteria bearing your very name. I couldn’t even wear a ‘666’ t-shirt in high school. Those fucking pricks!
I just love your mad passion for pissing off a bunch of old white men. You’re a n’er do well that’s off to prove a point. Sailing a sinking ship into the Lake of Fire. Desperately outnumbered; all with a shit eating grin that says “Go on and hate me; I’m still telling the truth goddammit!” .
I imagine you giggling in Hell every time some fool burns a copy of Darwin.
You’re my favorite billy-goat. I just love your stuff. You’re so funny and ironic and unrelentingly honest. Don’t ever change.
Your pal, Warren.