Consider Turncoats

By Eric Burns


Mm. That's good tobacco. There's no Cuban like a real Cuban, no matter what they say. And what do I care? Want one? Yeah? Well, buy one. Don't like it? Don't talk to me.

Oh, you don't mind. Well, cool.

So, why do I work for them, you ask. Don't I know what they are?

Of course I know. Hellava lot better than you do. I know a lot of things, and they teach me more all the time. I like it like that. The more I know, the better off I'm gonna be, now and in the future.

How can I work for demons?

Now, ain't that the question.

First off, I'm not the only one, see? In fact, lots of folks work for demons and never know it. You're what -- a reporter? A freelancer? Well, you've worked for demons before. I practically guarantee it. They're everywhere. They control the media, they control the cash supply, they control the government. They're in control. You know Lindon LaRouche? Y'ever read his ranting, about how the Jews and the British Crown are in charge of the world, and filtering bombs through Harvard? He got close to the truth, so he was knocked into paranoia and idiotic ramblings. But, you substitute 'Balseraphs' and 'Calabim' and 'the Game' for some of those, and you start getting a frighteningly clear picture about what's really going on.

So why not get ahead in the race, huh? Why work for middle management when you can be an independent contracter. Why accept the treadmill when you can be pushing the buttons instead?

They don't like us, you know. At all. They're dragging us into Hell to make a point -- and not for our benefit. But they make it nice to slide down willingly. You like sex? You like money? You like drugs? Cuban cigars, like this one? Get to know the demons, and do what they say. They treat us damn well, s'long as we don't screw up.

When we do? Don't be stupid. You make a mistake and you're meat for a Calabite. But you don't make a mistake, or you find someone else to blame for it. That works better than you'd think, especially when you're blaming a demon the heat's coming down on. They don't care if you screwed up or not if they can tear apart some of the competition -- and everyone's competition.

So. You're wondering about the angels, ain't you? What it means to fight Heaven?

Jesus H. Fucking Christ on a stick, I've been doing that all my life. The Church? It's just a damn excuse to tell me what to do and who to give my money to. The church funds things like the Klan from the money in the plate. And there's my damn Mom and Dad sniffing at Grammie for sending five hundred bucks to the TV Ministry, then dropping five hundred for new stained glass down the block. Stained glass. Like that matters even a little. So the Hell with it. It's the same racket, except they want to own your whole damn life.

I've seen Soldiers on the other side. They run them like robots, and maybe give them a nice pat on the head for good measure, and they pretend to care so much about humanity, but expect their people to run into chainsaws on command, 'for the cause.'

Look, my bosses don't give a flying rat's ass about my life or me, but they admit it, right to my face. And when they want something, they use the carrot along with the stick. You ever have sex with an Impudite? It's like mounting a damn Roman Candle. Hell yeah I'll shoot some prissy little Angel between the wingspan if it means another wild night at the Hellspire. Or another box of cubans. Or another Song.

And that's the thing. I have power. Me. I'm the king of the damn hill around here. And after -- when I die? Then I'll be the king of the damn hill down there. Oh, not with the demons. I'm not stupid. But we're all damned -- and when we get down there, it'll be my boot on your face, not the other way around. If you make it to Heaven -- fhshhh... you're lucky if they let you wash the toilets. 'To serve is joy's' their damn motto, y'know.

Besides... you know what I hear? I hear the soldiers who really show they understand get to change job descriptions when they die. What'd you rather be? Some punkass damned human being, or a Calabite, ready to stare anything into fire? Damn right you'd be the Calabite.

Now, get out of here -- before I show you who's in charge. You're no demon, and I don't have time for punkasses like you.


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