Ezra often wonders why people only associate devil worship with guys who look like Charlie Manson.
Ezra's boss doesn't look a bit like Charlie Manson and people call him Satan. (Not Ezra! Ezra just calls him shithead.) Ok, my automatic spellchecker doesn't recognize the word 'shithead.' It's ok , though, if you write it as two words. When Ezra gets done with a page of text, the screen looks like it has shingles or something with all those wavy lines. Why is that? It makes Ezra sad to think that the nuns wasted their time beating the shit out of him for 8 years - he still can't spell. And those nuns worked overtime - each and every one was a graduate of Bergen Belsen. They weren't devil worshippers, were they?
Ezra's boss worships money. Money's the root of all evil, isn't it? Making more money consumes his every waking moment. That urge to accumulate little Ben Franklins is a hard, hungry, untiring worm inside of him - more like a soul stone passing down through his internal organs, causing him to spew out bile, turn inside out, change skins - to be pleasant one moment and turn into a complete asshole the next.
This isn't a family blog, is it? It's past 9 pm. Actually it's early morning as Ezra picks up the trail again, mindful that he faces another long day at the harassment factory. In this sluggish economy, the Bush economy, Ezra's boss has more Jeykll days than Hyde days. He's out of sorts almost all the time, The Dow Jones of misery around him plunging into the basement of human depredation.
Ezra's boss has probably been up all night reading the Necrominon. (spellchecker?) Lighting candles in front of a picture of a goat's head. Something or another with horns. (Maybe George Bush with a skull and cross bones headdress that looks like a goat's head.) Standing inside a pentagram. Making a pact with you know who. Ezra's boss will stoop to any level to get the green stuff pumping again. Even to the point of naming his first child Damien.
What if he changes the name of his business? Would that work to drum up business? Would that satisfy the pestilent fires of hell?
Satan's. Satan's of Ithaca. Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 6:27 AM
