PERSONAE NON GRATAE:
Welsh Losser, a failed opportunist in the PR and self-promotion sector, recently humpbacked, with delusions of being a writer (WL)
Heinrich, Devil 1, looks like a hyena (H)
Boris, Devil 2, looks like a boar (B)
WL: No, no, please, don’t take it away, I beg you, don’t take it away!
B: We gave you opportunities for power.
H: You didn’t take them.
B: Satan helps those who help themselves.
H: The Infernal One’s stark stinking mad.
B: He’s never done this before, but then he figured –
H: – there’s a first time for everything. Took him a while –
B: – to get over the guilt, but when he saw that –
H: – by all accounts you should be dead –
B: – he didn’t feel so bad no more.
H: Took a liking to your attacker.
B: Andrew Plumb.
WL: No, no, not Andrew Plumb, not –
H: Shut it up!
B: And keep it shut. Liked the boy’s gumption.
H: The way The Infernal One figured it –
B: – Plumb could have killed you.
H: Instead, he crippled you for life, so you’d suffer.
B: More fun that way.
H: Can’t help admire a thing like that, can we, Boris?
B: No, Heinrich, can’t help it at all.
WL: But, nyoogi, but –
B: You want to take it from here, Heinrich?
H: Sure, I’ll take it. So we gave you a boss you were supposed to overthrow.
B: If not by taking his job, then at least by achievement.
H: It wasn’t too much to expect.
B: After all, he was nothing more than a loudmouthed hillbilly with an inflated ego.
H: But even when we divested him of that –
B: You still couldn’t take him. Even after his death –
H: – at the hands of said Andrew Plumb –
B: – you continued writing your lapdog letters to him from another company’s office.
H: Rumbling with righteous indignation. And wasn’t that impressive, Boris?
B: Very impressive, Heinrich. And even that took you 16 or 17 paragraphs of long, sleep-inducing, meandering prose before you made your point – the writing style of a coward.
H: And we don’t suffer cowards lightly.
B: We don’t suffer them at all.
H: I stand corrected, Boris. Please accept my apologies.
B: No apologies required, Heinrich. Think not of it at all.
H: Why, I thank you most kindly, sir.
B: You are most gracious.
H: And you, sir, are a gentleman.
They bow to each other.
WL: Nya-a-a-a… nyooga eesh, exfalakixter…
B: And as for his achievements – oh, do you mind, Heinrich?
H: Not at all, Boris, go right ahead.
B: Why, thank you, sir.
H: Don’t mention it, sir. But for the record, you’re quite welcome.
B: And as for his achievements, all he had to his name was a bunch of self-published tripe.
H: The importance of which he’d blow out of all proportion with press conferences.
B: And what could be so hard about beating someone else’s self-published tripe. That’s what we thought – isn’t that right, Heinrich?
H: It certainly is, Boris.
B: All you had to do was get published.
H: That’s REALLY published.
B: By an outside publisher.
H: We gave you the tools.
B: We gave you the office.
H: We gave you the power.
B: But you didn’t take it! Instead –
H: – you went on to publish similar self-published tripe.
B: Except it was worse!
H: And we gave you a lover. Do you mind, Boris?
B: Not at all, Heinrich.
H: The Ferret.
B: Yeah, The Ferret.
H: To keep you sexually fulfilled and happy.
B: But that wasn’t good enough for you!
H: The outrage of it all!
B: How dare you?!
WL: But The Ferret turned out to be a rat!
H: So what! What’s a minor fault here and there?
B: What did you want – perfection?
H: There are those who end up with worse partners, but they somehow manage to ignore their differences and get along. Isn’t that right, Boris?
B: Absolutely! Heh, heh, huh-huh-huh-huh…
H: Huh-huh-heh-huh-ha-huh-huh…
B: But the worst was… I don’t know, it’s too damned terrible. You want to tell him, Heinrich?
H: No, I don’t know if I could take it without choking up, Boris. Better you tell him.
B: All right, I’ll try. But the worst was… when you ran from the fight with Andrew Plumb.
H: We built you up.
B: We used the most sophisticated technological tools at our disposal to not only give you power, but to create an additional dimension of even greater power around you, to give you an aura of unstoppable invincibility.
H: You certainly took advantage of it, acting like everything we simply gave you should have been yours anyway, and maybe that would have been the case, had you done something with it all.
B: But you did nothing.
WL: But I – nyagi – I –
H: Shut up!
B: Yeah, shut it.
H: For rather than facing Plumb –
B: You ran!
H: You taunted him from a distance with a jig over the Dnipro holding aloft the second most prestigious literary prize in the world.
B: Which we also gave you.
H: For, under the circumstances, we could do no more.
WL: But, aruf oldeek anglebrax, he’s younger than me, and even with the fitter, more youthful body you gave me through Photoshop, he was still undoubtedly stronger. I mean, niagrump, you saw what he did to me on Channel X!
B: But we gave you the carpet.
H: It was bigger, faster, stronger, and far more versatile in its capabilities than the old carpet, which Plumb was using to catch you.
B: All you had to do was face his challenge.
H: The carpet would have done the rest.
WL: But, but, nyug isha nyeee, I didn’t know, I didn’t know, ashka nyunkadiddledeedee.
B: Then you should have taken care to find out.
H: So in his mercy –
B: – and infinite wisdom –
H: The Infernal One –
B: – has decided to give it all to –
H: – … Andrew Plumb.
WL: Ah!
B: Put quite simply, he wants it more.
H: And willing to go to outrageous lengths to get it.
B: It’s impressive.
H: Truly.
B: That’s what we like to see.
H: And there’s no reason, The Infernal One says, why we shouldn’t oblige him in his efforts.
B: So, goodbye, Losser, you fat stupid lump of meaningless nothing.
H: Yeah, see ya, sucker. And when we see you in Hell –
B: – it won’t be too soon.
WL: No, no, no, nooooo…!!!
In a great blast of sulfuric stench and smoke, the demons disappear. A desolate wind sweeps the stage.
Welsh Losser remains, crying into the billows.
Filed by Jack Step, for All the World’s a Stage, Journal of Anti-Theater, January 1, 2014