Swine Fluke

The demons begged Jesus, “Send us among the pigs; allow us to go into them.” (Mark 5:12)

Talk about your low self-esteem. I mean, how much lower can you go? I guess when you get yourself evicted just about any neighborhood will do. But pigs? Any way you look at it, this is a major downgrade.

Now, it’s true that demons aren’t exactly the best houseguests. They’re often unruly and can trash the place if they get bored. They’ve got a bad reputation as belligerent thugs who vomit a lot. Most folks get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about them. It doesn’t help that the Bible portrays these guys as brutish and “unclean.” The way Jesus and the apostles go gunning for them you’d think they were lepers or something.

It’s tough being a demon. You’ve been kicked out of heaven for showing a bit too much initiative. And then, when you finally settle in your new digs and even cultivate a little respect among the human spawn, along comes Jesus with a messiah complex and a huge chip on his shoulder. Now, you admit that there’s very little love lost between you and the Daddy’s boy, but you were willing to grant heaven to him and his boot-licking host. You tucked your tail between your goatish legs and hobbled down to the ghetto where you quietly started remodeling. And it was going half-way nicely too, that is until the selfish dweeb followed you down and started kicking demon butt. Seems he wants this place too, some kind of reclamation project which means kicking the current residents out, sweeping the streets, and establishing a covenant community where you are so not welcome. Well, la-tee-da.

Where’s the respect? Where’s the freaking gratitude, man? It was your crew that made some of the biggest contributions to world culture. Sure, there are those nasty byproducts of demonic involvement, but what’s a few wars, a few killings, a smattering of cruelties? Look what you and your comrades accomplished. It was you who inspired the seven wonders of the world. You were the architects of the great civilizations. You were the muse of the first great works of art and literature. Without you there would be no Homer. Without you there would be no Virgil. Hell, without you there would be no rock and roll! Without you all the movies would be rated G. Without you the world would languish in stinking piety. Without you the whole joint would be suicidally boring! Even those pitiable saints—if they dared—would admit that they find you a much more enjoyable party guest than El Supremo de la Snooze.

But nooo. It’s the pigs for you, bucko. And the great humiliation of it all is that you stooped to beg for that. You! Begging! Oh, the shame of it? No doubt the Son of Man enjoyed the irony of that little encounter—the unclean spirits sign a nano-lease for a herd of unclean bacon bits. And then the dirty beasts do the hari-kari and you find yourself naked as a jaybird for all to see. You can just hear the laughter from Michael and his uppity choir chums. The damn pansies.

Ah, what’s the use? The big Boy’s got the stick and you get the bruises. That’s the way it is. And sometime in the not-too-distant future he’s going to swing that sucker for the last time and you’re going to be lipo-sucked to Saint Quentin for life as a charcoal briquette. Abba dee abba dee abba dee—that’s all folks!

Grrr—you swine!


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