Seven More Deadly Sins – A How-To Guide for Getting to Hell ASAP

A lot of boners have gone on and on about the nature of mortal or deadly sin, but really the definition just boils down to this: Deadly sins are the ones that get you sent straight to Hell. You’re no doubt aware of the Seven Deadly Sins – (1) [deleted for being boring], (2) [deleted for being boring], (3) [deleted for being boring], (4) [deleted for being boring], (5) [deleted for being boring], (6) [deleted for being boring], and (7) [deleted for being really boring]. And, if you read my last post, you know that the Vatican tried to come up with seven new deadly sins (and that they only managed to produce a stupid list of crap that either isn’t a sin or is so vaguely defined that you’re all supremely fucked). Because the Vatican’s new deadly sins blow goats (not a deadly sin, btw), and because, dear readers, I know that you all, in reading this blog, have probably have grown to love me and want to come down to Hell and live with me immediately and stuff, I offer you the following list of new, (actually) deadly sins:

1. Driving Like Grandma – I’ve composed a poem to help me explain this one:
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
you’re driving too slow,

2. Being a Jonas Brother – I can’t believe how gay these guys are. And I don’t mean that in the sense that these guys like to get it on with each other after their shows (though I’m not willing to rule that out). What I’m talking about is their wankerish willingness to do whatever it takes to make their legions of teeniebopper fans squeal, whether it’s an dorkariffic fist pump, a fantastically-gay hair flip, or a wink into the camera that makes me want light an entire city on fire (yes, I watched the Grammys this year). It almost seems reasonable though, doesn’t it? After all, they’re just a bunch of young guys. Can we really expect that, faced with the prospect of making millions of dollars, and zillions of screaming fans of the opposite sex who want to tear their clothes off, they’ll really say “No, I will not act like a complete boner?” Well, no, we probably can’t expect that. But then can they really expect to act like they do and not end up in Hell? Nope, sorry. So there you go. Being a Jonas Brother is a deadly sin.

3. Liking Mayonaise – Apparently there is an all-mayonnaise restaurant in Japan. That’s just fucked up and disgusting. They’re all going to Hell, just as soon as I can figure out how to transport the whole fucked up, mayonnaise-drenched archipelago down there. The sick bastards.

Mayonnaise = SUCK

Mayonnaise = SUCK

4. Not Being a Ninja – Yeah, I know I’m being a little hypocritical here, given what I had to say about the overbreadth of some of the stupid new deadly sins announced by the Vatican, but you gotta admit, ninjas are awesome.

Ninjas = AWESOME

Ninjas = AWESOME

How about this compromise:

Not being a ninja is only a sin if you’re a devout Catholic. I just want folks to have to go into the confessional and say, “Forgive me father for I have sinned: I am not a ninja.”

There are more, but I have to go conduct some experiments on some grandmas.

Smoking Jackets and Pancake Pants

It used to be that folks wore clothing appropriate to the occasion. People weren’t limited to mundane apparel like shirts and pants. No, they knew that a leisure activity could not be undertaken properly without garments specifically and explicitly labeled for use in that activity. Look up the etymology of “tennis shoe” and you’ll get a bunch of rubbish that has nothing to do with the eponymous sport (fuck you, I know tennis isn’t a person), but everyone knows that the Internet was written by boobs who don’t know what the hell they’re talking about, and besides, it’s perfectly obvious that tennis shoes were called tennis shoes because they were shoes designated for the particular task of covering and protecting one’s feet during a tennis match.

The pinnacle of this sort of thinking – i.e., the notion that it is appropriate (in the very strong sense) to own and wear clothes only for certain leisure activities — is the smoking jacket (think Hugh Hefner).

Exhibit A: A Smoking Jacket, with Bunnies

I HEREBY PROPOSE a return to the days of smoking jackets, tennis shoes, and other task-appropriate garments. I know, that’s not a long list, so I’ve come up with some new ones:

1. Pancake Pants:

Pancake Pants

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I cannot possibly go to IHOP without my pancake pants.”

2. Twitter Leotard:

Twitter Leotard

This one just seems kind of self-explanatory.

3. Sex Hat

Sex Hat

“All civilized people know that one does not engage in coitus without proper headgear.”

Hell Is Awesome

Just — you know — FYI. Here’s a photo I snapped just this morning of a Terminator shooting fire out of his guitar to add to the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion. It really just doesn’t get any better than that.

Mucho Mucho

Mucho Mucho

Fucking Spartans

It’s stupid to deny that global warming is happening — the Earth has been warming over the last half century (though apparently not the last 8 years or so). The picture below, representing data from an ice core in Greenland, puts it into perspective though.

It's Not that Hot

It's Getting Hot in Here.

If 120 years of CO2 is causing that little blip (down there on the right, way down at the end), then what the hell happened 1000 years ago? Or when the Roman empire was at its peak? And holy crap they must have been burning the ever-living-shit out of some green house gases back in 1700 BC. Probably the fucking Spartans, I bet.

Pave the World

Pave the World

8-Ball Update – Top 10 Stupid Questions Asked by Readers

So, I get a lot of questions. Stupid questions. People ask all sorts of things, from the best way to incinerate neighbors to which farm animals are the most romantic. And I don’t have time to answer all that shit. That’s why I created the Satanic 8-Ball. It’s just a computer program, and it’s not that smart, but it does a decent enough job.

The reason I’m bringing it up again is that people have actually been using it. And by “using it,” I mean, “asking it extraordinarily stupid questions.” (It records every question anyone ever asks.) I went through and picked some of my favorites, and here they are, for your reading pleasure (I’m not making these up. These are real questions that visitors to the site have asked.):

10. “Will I get laid tonight?”
This isn’t a very interesting question, but it gets asked incredibly often, so I think it’s appropriate to include it on the list. And the answer? Well, if you’re going onto a website to ask Satan whether you’re going to get some, you’re an idiot, and you’re never going to get any ever. Sorry. PS – You make my ass twitch.

9. “What do cats taste like?”
Good question. Depends on the cat, but, for the most part, pretty yummy.

8. “Am I gay?”
Well, I can’t speak to your sexual orientation, but yes.

7. “Do you want my soul?”
Not really, but thanks.

[NOTE: There were several other, much more explicit questions from this particular person. For the record, I have a strict, no-sodomy policy when it comes to readers.]

6. “How do i do spells of words, like Hokkus Pokkus Pi ??”
Hmmm… tricky. Maybe you should focus first on mastering the art of not being a giant fucking idiot. Dunno. Just a thought.

5. “Dear Satan, If I pray to you, would you answer?”
No. Use the Satanic 8-Ball instead.

4. “Dear Satan, I want to marry you, what should I do?”
Fuck off, that’s what. Unless you’re Scarlett Johannson, I’m not interested.

Yum Yum

Yum Yum

3. “Should i blow dry my hair now?”
WTF? No. You’re an idiot, and you shouldn’t be handling anything electrical.

2. “Will Allah give it to me?”
Yes, my son, Allah will give it to you. Right up the poop chute. Now, I’m going to go check on my Jihad Insurance.

1. “I am janitor.”
Right on, brother. Right on.

Apology: Dick Cheney

Resistance Is Futile

Resistance Is Futile

I’m sorry.

Yes, I am the embodiment of evil and sin and all that, but Dick Cheney… he’s something else entirely. Which is why I can’t afford to have him in Hell. It’s called JOB SECURITY, folks. Any of you who’ve read Machiavelli’s The Prince will know what I’m talking about here–I’d be a moron to let a potential claimant to my throne show up and try to take over. It’s as simple as that. So you can all stop worrying and fretting every time he has one of those heart attacks. He’s not going to croak. I won’t let it happen. No fucking way. In fact, I’ll let you in on a secret: Dick and I have come to an arrangement. I’m not going to tell you exactly what the deal is (he’s immortal!) or how it was accomplished (we used Borg implants to make him into a cyborg), but suffice it to say, I no longer have to worry about him showing up in Hell one of these days, trying to take over as the new Satan. Fuck. Yeah.

The down side of this arrangement is that you all are stuck with him. And for that, I am truly sorry.

I’ll Have the Marshmallow Fluff, Please

The problem with Marx’s ideas was threefold: (1) sociological phenomena are a little like the emergent properties of biological systems — fuck with this phospholipid or that portion of the ATP cycle, and you’re just as likely to kill whatever it is that you thought you saw growing (or festering, as it were), (2) it doesn’t take much to keep the Proles happy and churning out Model-Ts and out of the bars and bowling alleys where they might foment drunken revolution, and (3) basic, bloody human nature. I wonder, though, whether he might not have been right; whether there might not be some ass-arific socio-politico-economical arrangement toward which all forms of human society inevitably lurch and gurgle.

Those of you who bemoaned the ascendancy of the shopping mall take note: At least shopping malls don’t stock generic-brand marshmallow fluff. Big-box stores are here, they’re queer, and they’re out to kick the ever-living shit out of your shopping malls — bastions of our beloved modern culture though they may be. And with their ridiculous leverage with suppliers, their LARGE margins, and the astounding, staggering profits they make on generic-brand soap and cereal, it’s only a matter of time until you regard everything other than generic-brand marshmallow fluff as a luxury.

I want to come back as a bucket of generic-brand marshmallow fluff.

I want to come back as a bucket of generic-brand marshmallow fluff.

But that’s OK. Jesus said something or other about poor folks inheriting the Earth — however fucked up and Wal-Mart-filled it may be.

Dear Satan

Dear Satan:

My boyfriend has asked me to marry him, but I’m just not sure if he really loves me. What should I do?

–Doubtful Girlfriend

Well Girlfriend,

If you’ve read your Bible, you know that there is a simple and effective test to help you to determine whether your boyfriend really loves you. As you no doubt recall, King Samuel demanded that David bring him the foreskins of 100 Philistines as a dowry in order to marry the King’s daughter Michal. But David truly loved Michal, and so he went out and killed 200 Philistines, and returned to his one true love with twice as many … things … as was requested by the good King. Here is the actual verse:

David rose up and went, he and his men, and struck down two hundred men among the Philistines Then David brought their foreskins, and they gave them in full number to the king, that he might become the king’s son-in-law. So Saul gave him Michal his daughter for a wife.

1 Samuel 18:27

There are so many questions that come to mind that I don’t know where to begin (other than by vomiting and curling up in the fetal position). Why 200? What are the practical aspects of collecting and transporting 200 Philistine wangs? What the hell did King Samuel want with all these dongs and what did he do with them? Did he make a coat for his wife? Re-upholster his couch? Or how about just: WTF kind of weird-ass story is this to include in the Bible anyway?!?

Anyway, back to your question: (1) You are stupid. If you’re so unsure about your boyfriend that you need to write to an advice column, give up now and get thee to a nunnery immediately. (2) If you insist on believing that you are a normal human being capable of having a functional romantic relationship, you should probably hold your boyfriend (and any subsequent boyfriends) up to the standard set by David. Ask yourself: Would your boyfriend slaughter 200 Philistines in order to bring your dad their foreskins? If not, ditch the unloving son of a bitch.

Dear Satan

Dear Satan

My dad caught me smoking the dope the other day. I’ve never seen him so angry. I’m afraid he’ll never trust me again.

Worried Son

Have you tried swearing an oath while touching his man parts? That’s how folks in the Bible knew they could trust someone. That stuff you see where people swear oaths by placing their hands on the Bible — that’s just modern nonsense. If you want to make your dad believe you, you need to go grab him by the scrotum.

It’s true, when Abraham wanted one of his servants to promise not to make his son marry a Canaanite, he said, “Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh: and I will make thee swear by the Lord.” (Genesis 24:2) Of course, King James and all those medieval, uppity prudes weren’t willing to translate the Aramaic accurately. The original language — “yo soy el chulo electrico” — literally means “Grab my wang and tell me the truth, damnit!” So instead they wrote “place your hand on my thigh.” But don’t take my word for it: This dude can set you straight on this and many other interesting euphemisms in the Bible.

Of course, I can’t help but wonder how and when you guys went from swearing oaths on each others’ penises to swearing oaths on Bibles. Can you imagine?

“You know what? We need to substitute something for the dong when we swear oaths.”

“Yeah, how about we use this?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a book. Called the Bible.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. The Bible seems to be a great substitute for a penis.”

The President Swears an Oath on Chief Justice Roberts' Tallywhacker

The President Swears an Oath on Chief Justice Roberts' Tallywhacker

Or maybe this “please place your left hand on this Bible and raise your right hand” thing was just another euphemism. It’d be a good thing to test out, I think, next time you’re in court. When the judge asks you if you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, grab yourself a handful of the bailiff’s bits and pieces and swear to God that you will.

And the next time you see your dad, give him a good squeeze in the junk too. He’ll start trusting you, for sure.

Dear Satan

Been getting a lot of these letters recently. Not sure what the hell is going on with you lot.

Dear Satan:

My boyfriend is a jerk. He totally ignored my texts all day long. What should I do?

–Angry Girlfriend

Dear Angry Girlfriend:

You are an idiot. No, wait! I didn’t mean it. Really. I’m sorry. And I know exactly what to do: You should punish that jerk by condemning him to Hell.

Now, I know what you’re thinking — “That sounds hard! Can’t I just cut off his penis?”

Well, my dear, the answer is: You can do both. The Bible says that any guy whose man parts are crushed, mangled, or cut off doesn’t get to be a part of the club, which is another way of saying he gets to go straight to Hell:

“A man whose testicles are crushed or whose penis is cut off may never join the assembly of the LORD.”
Deuteronomy 23:1

Isn’t that great? Not only will he have to suffer the pain, humiliation, and psychological trauma associated with being castrated, he’ll also have to look forward to spending the rest of his days in eternal agony.

So grab the nearest knife or set of shears (or even just a rock) and Get to Work! Listen carefully after you do, because amidst all of that post-castration gnashing of teeth and rending of clothing, I bet you he says something like, “Oh God, I want to die!” And then you’ll be right there, ready to chime in, “Oh, but do you really?”

I’m Writing a Book, So How About That?!?

Retirement kind of sucks. So I’ve decided that I need a hobby. And that hobby is going to be: WRITING.


That’s right, I’ve decided to become a world-dominating, mega-author. And I’m going to write a super-kick-ass-number-one novel, bitches.

But I’ve got a problem: I need an awesome first line. They’re crucial. Without a truly awesome first line, you might as well not have a story. (I know I’m not going to bother writing a whole story until I’m certain that the first line is totally, mind-bogglingly kick ass.) But how do you come up with a great first line without knowing the story? Ugh.

I know, right?! It’s just like Bill and Ted with their Triumphant Video/Eddie Van Halen CATCH-22 situation!

Bill S. Preston, Esquire and Ted "Theodore" Logan

So you’re maybe thinking, “Uh, Satan? That doesn’t have anything to do with what you’re talking about.” And in response, I’m maybe thinking, “Fuck you.” And I still need an awesome first line.

But I’ve come up with a plan: I’ll come up with some first-line candidates that I think demonstrate my staggering authorial genius, and you all can vote on them.

So here it is — a poll (and not just any poll, mind you, but a SUPRE POLL, spelled all cool and European).


  • Uno:We really shouldn’t have brought the tiger. We knew better. Man-eating jungle cats are never a good idea, and they’ve got no business being at weddings.
  • Dos:Lester had always known that his extra leg would come in handy. But not like this.
  • Y Pues, Tres:In the beginning, there was only Vienna Sausage. No light, no dark — only little, wet sausages.

PS – I’m not savvy enough to know how to make an actual poll that actually fucking works or anything for actual fuck’s sake (and probably some asstastic foreign spammers would show up and somehow advertise penis pills on it anyway), so you’re just going to have to send in your votes via mind beams.

Dear Satan

Dear Satan:

I’m worried about global warming, but I keep hearing people say that “the science is not settled.” I don’t know what to think. Where do you come down on this debate?

–Confused SUV Driver

Like I fucking know. What I do know is how to settle a debate!

Once upon a time there were a bunch of Israelites in the desert or something, and some of them were all, “Hey, God is boring! Let’s worship Baal!”

And everyone was like, “Yeah! Cool! Awesome!”

But then this boring dude came up and he was all, “Let’s settle this debate once and for all. We can use fire,” which was a pretty cool idea.

Bubo the Owl, from Clash of the Titans

Bubo the Owl, from Clash of the Titans

And so they built two alters. One was awesome. It was an alter to Baal. It had a giant golden throne on which sat a statue of an angry cow, with mean red eyes made of precious stones. And they brought in some of those little mechanical owls–like Bubo from the movie Clash of the Titans. It was sweet. People were dancing and shaking it and generally having a good time.

Over at the other alter, things were much more subdued. And that was pretty much because the other alter completely sucked. For one thing, it had zero Bubos. And the alter itself was just some sticks and some rocks and maybe some dryer lint or something. It was gay.

Once everything was in place, the two groups of people sat around chanting, praying, and hoping their alter would light on fire to establish, once and for all, the awesomeness of that particular group. Eventually one of them (the groups of people) did.

You can read the Biblical account here: 1 Kings 18:24-40. It totally omits (1) the Bubos, and (2) the fact that the people around the alter caught on fire as well as the alter, which completely changes the impression you get from reading the story. But whatever.

The moral of the story is: All disputes can be resolved with fire. As for global warming, if we light the world on fire, there will no longer be any debate. It’ll be like: “Duh, of course it’s getting hotter, because the world is on fire, and yeah it’s anthropogenic, because we’re the ones who set the fire and stuff.”

Dear Satan

I’ve been getting lots of questions and requests for advice, so I’ve decided to add a new feature to the blog. It’s called “Dear Satan”!

Dear Satan:

I’m having some trouble with my son. I think he might be smoking the dope. What should I do?

–Worried Mother

Well, Worried Mother, I’m not sure that I’ve always been on the right side of the War On Drugs, so I think I’m going to have to point you to the Bible for this one. In particular, I’d like to direct your attention to the Book of Job. You may recall that Job was faultless; he “sinned not,” “was perfect and upright,” and “feared god.” Job 1:1-2. As a reward for his Holy awesomeness, God killed Job’s children and replaced them with a better set. See Job 1:19, 42:13-15. I think it’s a safe bet that none of the replacement kids smoked the dope.

You should be like Job: be a saint; live your life faultlessly, be devoted to God in everything you do, pray all the time, and be utterly and completely without sin. God will reward you by killing your son and giving you a new, better son! Good luck!

PS – Remember to be careful, because God will also send the Fire of Heaven to consume all of your camels, asses and sheep. See Job 1:16. He also may cover you from head from head to toe in boils. See id. at 2:7.

Dear Satan

Dear Satan:

My pastor says that we’re supposed “love our neighbors,” but lately I’ve been having a lot of trouble with that. It seems like everywhere I go, people are rude and awful. It just makes me feel so bad I want to cry!

–Struggling with Brotherly Love

It’s true that the Bible says “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Galatians 5:14) But what the Bible doesn’t say is that your neighbors are evil robots programmed to punish you and make your life shitty. So you’re perfectly justified in hating them.

I’m sure you’ve heard somebody, somewhere say, “Oh, I’ve died and gone, and gone to Heaven.” Next time you hear that, slap that fucker and tell him the truth, which is that:

You’ve been dead and living and Hell for quite some time, only you’re too stupid to realize it.

The people around you, all of those gigantic asshats?

They’re really just robots. Robots programmed by God to punish you for your sins.

I think you must have been really, really bad.

Here’s proof: The The Lake Woboegon Effect is the tendency of stupid humans to think they’re not stupid. This one time, at band camp, there was a survey of drivers, and pretty much all the drivers thought they were good or even great drivers (even though at least half had to be below average). The survey guys and psychologists had a good, smug laugh and patted themselves on the back and said, “Ahh… Human nature… ha ha ha!”

I hate them.

They were totally wrong. The Lake Wobegon effect has nothing to do with human nature. No, 80% of drivers don’t really think they fall into the top 10% in terms of driving skill. Eighty percent of drivers don’t exist. They’re robots, programmed to respond that way when polled; programmed to make your life a living hell by driving crappy and lying about it when asked.

And your pastor tells you to love your neighbor? Well, he’s a robot too, isn’t he? And he’s telling you to love a bunch of evil robots who are only there to make your life miserable. What kind of sick fuck is he? Next time you see him, I recommend that you punch him in the eye. And then you can get on with hating your evil neighbor-robots like you’re supposed to.

That’s Father Satan to You

I’m now an ordained minister, bitches! Who wants to get married?