"Tremble before me, puny mortal!"
These words came in a deep baritone from the purple cloud of sulphurous smoke which had just manifested itself in the kitchen of Castle Skitz.
The Prince of darkness looked about, narrowed his eyes, and then recognising where he was, brightly said 'Yo Deej, may I?'.
The fridge opened by itself and a can of Stella floated out and into Satan's open hand.
'Cheers, I could use one' muttered Satan as he downed half the can in one go.
'Easy on the beer there sport, they have to last until Saturday. Anyway I summoned you because I need some help'
'Aha! I knew it. Never ask me around unless it's to ask a favour. I thought we were mates.'
DJ hated the 'Big S' when he was like this. He thought the other side were supposed to be the ones with all the bloody martyrs.
'It's just a hand with the points contest is all, should be easy. Thanks for Ghaddaffi by the way, I owe you one.'
The Prince of Darkness frowned. 'Hmm, what's the problem, you're doing well so far, oh it's griffin, isn't it. He's coming up fast. Sorry dude can't help you there, the force is strong with that one, as we say in hell.' The Prince of Darkness crushed the now empty beer can and underhanded it out the kitchen window, off the shed, ricochet off the downpipe into the recycling bin, nothing but net. 'Sorry pal, out of my league.' Poof! He was gone.
DJ was annoyed, and then he doubled his annoyance when he realised he had forgotten to bring up the subject of the twenty quid he was still owed from that trip to the Jerusalem Sexateria. He sighed. Sometimes, you couldn't even trust the Lord of Lies.
Just then the Archangel Michael manifested himself in the kitchen. He leaned over, opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Stella, popped it open and chugged it in one go. He pulled up a chair and sat down, belching loudly. He flourished before DJ the empty can like it was a newly discovered hominid jawbone and cheerfully asked 'Do you mind?'. DJ rolled his eyes. That left only about 138 cans until Saturday. These guys were taking the piss.
Michael sniffed the air. 'Is that a bit of a whiff of brimstone I smell? Funny company you keep, DJ'.
Rather than get bogged down in a discussion of his social habits, DJ decided to go on the offensive.
'Are you here to help with the points contest?'
Michael's gaze went blank for a moment, as he consulted with the cosmos. 'Oh, griffin's gaining ground fast, isn't he?' Michael shook his head. 'Not sure if I can do anything mate, sorry. He's a bit on the special side, you know? Besides' smirked the angel, 'you might not need any help'.
'Special?' blurted DJ. 'I never thought he was special, I always thought he was a bit of a...'
'PAUL!' came the commanding voice of Mrs. Skitz.
Out of the corner of his eye, DJ noticed Michael wave goodbye and disappear as he turned to Mrs. Skitz who had just entered the kitchen.
She thrust out a hand holding a pregnancy test.
'I'm late, and it's not with the rent'.
Maybe. Just maybe, he could beat griffin after all.