Really this is more for Satan, but maybe Jesus can help me out, too.
Who exactly is my boss? The NY Yankees just signed me for 9 years and $324 million. When I asked my former teammates who I should report to, they all told me to go to hell, so I’m assuming Satan is my boss, but I thought he worked for the Yankees, too. Wouldn’t that make him more of a coworker? And not to rub it in or anything, but I seem to remember the Yankees acquiring Satan for two 2nd round picks and a player to be named later, so why would I report to someone who isn’t fit to carry my jockstrap? (Again, no offense.) Maybe you’re the traveling secretary or something?
I suppose it’s just another one of the bizarre ironies of a free market economy. I write poetry and take care of injured birds I find on the sidewalk, but all the patriarchy cares about is my fastball. Do you know what the life of a pigeon is worth in Chinatown? Maybe 99 cents tops.
Anyway, if you could let me know where I’m supposed to go I’d appreciate it.
PS: Here’s a little something I wrote for you guys. Let me know what you think.
Ode to a Pigeon in Chinatown
by Gerrit Cole
Oh sweet pigeon, gray and unplucked,
What must I do to make you look like a duck?
So I can sell you in Chinatown,
Where you’ll spin in a window going round and around,
There’s a reason duck soup is $1.50,
If you add enough sauce it won’t even taste iffy.
The moral here is don’t trust the Chinese,
They’ll pee in your coke and laugh from the trees,
Don’t end up like a pigeon in Chinatown,
Sweet innocent pigeon, fly fast away now!
You don’t seem too bright, which I guess is my fault since I made you. I was going to explain that when your coworkers told you to go to hell, they didn’t mean it literally. It’s just an expression; the equivalent of “get lost” or “buzz off,” which is likely motivated by intense jealously. They feel you’re overpaid, and I can’t say I disagree with them. Sure, you’re good at throwing the baseball or whatever, but why should you make a third of a billion dollars for playing a silly game when schoolteachers don’t even get 60k a year? Anyway, I was going to explain all this to you and tell you not to worry, that you weren’t really going to hell. But that was before I read that awful poem.
The truth is, I fucking hate poetry. I want to say especially bad poetry, but really, all poetry is bad poetry. The only exception is Andrew “Dice” Clay. I mean, how does he come up with that stuff? “Hickory Dickory Dock . . .” I don’t remember how the rest of it goes, but back in the late 80’s, that shit used to floor me. Of course I was coked out of my divine skull 24-7 in those days, but still. The point is you are going to Hell for real. Soon. Tell Walt Whitman I said “hi.” He’ll know I was being sarcastic.
Interesting fact: the name “Geritt” is as common a first name down here in Hell as “John” is up there on Earth. In Demon, it means “shit eater.” Anyway, I think you got some of the facts mixed up regarding my affiliation with the Yankees. It began in the 1930’s when I decided to possess Babe Ruth for a few years. Unfortunately, I stayed in his body too long, and it gave him cancer. Oops. But I had so much fun that, in 1945, I decided to try out for the team as myself. I’m sure I would have made it, had it not been for intense racism against demons. It was infuriating. I wanted to sue, to make them pay. When no lawyer would take my case, I went to law school myself. Unfortunately for the Yankees, I turned out to be a much better lawyer than I was a ballplayer. This was in the Steinbrenner days. That old bastard saw me coming and he folded like a wet noodle. The case never went to court and the Yankees gave me everything I asked for, which was just an apology. They were so impressed with my ability, integrity and mercy that they hired me as their lawyer. So, maybe I can’t throw a 100 MPH fastball, but make no mistake, I am higher on the Yankee food chain than you will ever be. You can keep your $324 million. I’ll just take your soul and the soul of every NY Yankee there ever was and ever will be. Except for Jeter. Jesus called dibs on Jeter.
Have an uncomfortable question? Need some advice about your deviant behavior? If so, then it’s time to pray. Email your question to firstname.lastname@example.org, and it shall be answered in a Divine Advice column by Jesus and Satan.