It is I. Adversary. Beast. Beelzebub. The Fallen. Father of Lies. Lucifer. The One Who Devours Light and Shits Despair. I normally avoid meddling in the affairs of the 7,000,000,000 doomed souls who still walk the realms of men, but after reading the Man upstair’s review of Timeflies last year, I figured the time would come for your favorite demon basement dweller to speak out. There is really no better occasion than now for me to start writing to you guys. I mean you guys totally are killing it with Yik Yak, probably my most dubious work since slow wifi during a spank sesh. So here are my thoughts on last night’s performance by Christian illusionist Tom Coverly.
Needless to say, I came to the Tom Coverly show to mock his feeble attempts at illusionment, and perhaps devour him in one bite in the midst of one of his evangelizing rants. Any time someone comes up with a new way to sway the minds of the milennial generation to the word of the Book, I try and pop up to protect my hold on the whiny iPhone addicts working their way up in the world. Tom Coverly was just another clever Messiah Maniac who I needed to eliminate. I never expected to undergo the profound transformation of that night.
Tom Coverly’s illusions have made a Christian out of me.
In the years since The Fall, I have seen some incredible magic. Christ’s miracles were pioneering, though a bit too laden with contrived symbolism. Houdini was a straight bad ass. Your friend Trevor was okay at card tricks in 5th grade. But lately, I have been to hell and back (haha…Lucifer loves humor) trying to find some entertainment worth my time. Our wifi reception down by the River Styx is too jagged for Netflix, the Kardashians only have another few months before they all join me permanently in the Pit, and my sex life just hasn’t been the same since Genghis and I had our falling out. Where does my long-sought entertainment finally show up? Here at Gustavus Adolphus, hosted by a group of slaves to that sandal-clad first century hippy I’ve been convincing you to forget about for 2,000 years.
I’m not surprised Christ’s miracles had largely lost their luster up here on the hill. Who wants to see water get turned into wine when MGM is just like three blocks away and your pal Karen has a fake? Who cares about his side piercing when Bridgette just got that sick septum stud? Why go to chapel when breakfast burritos are so incredibly accessible? But Tom Coverly takes the pow and power of JC to a new level, making tables fly with his brain in between some solid gospel fireups. That show was the definition of sick, which I know well, as I would know, seeing I sent the Spanish Flu through your country a century ago and regularly plague your horny campus with mono. I was upset that I had to leave Coverly’s show early to pregame the Dive, because he was just getting into a balloon trick that I guarantee would have sent me straight to Vatican City to do some serious apologizing. Just the thought of an Christian balloon illusionist makes me think that this whole being evil thing is a huge waste of time…
I have been dominating the war with Christ on campuses across the US for about 60 years, (the fact that you had to hold a massive event to tell each other not to rape people is a testament to that). But Tom Coverly has made me wonder: what is this all really for? TC has convinced me that JC is the way for me. Thus, from now on, that small voice telling you to sleep through your 9 am, to take that extra shot of Windsor, to not return your GustieWare, is gone. I’m taking a hiatus from hellishness to reflect on how to make this place a more comfortable landing zone for the Son of Man when he decides to start up the Second Coming.
Well, thanks for reading all of this. It’s uh, been a tough day for me, but I’m ready to make some major changes. Make room everybody, the Son of Perdition has become a Christian.
Yours in Christ,