My Life as a Top Writer on Medium
And head of the World Bank
OK, you’re laughing. But the Devil didn’t. He offered to give me advice on how to get there.
“John,” the Perfidious Penis advised, “You’re so stupid that I’ve decided to take you on as a client!”
First of all, you may not know that the Devil, Satan, etc., is known, humorously, by his office staff as the Perfidious Penis. That’s OK. I had no idea, either, until he took me on as a client.
They told me in a Zoom call.
You’re probably glad you’ve never had to participate in a Zoom conference with people from Hell. Or maybe you thought you already were. But whatever you may think of your own co-workers, I’ve got news for you: THEY are nice. You have no idea how bad these things can get.
“John, why do you want to be a Top Writer?” the Sub-Devil for Earthly Intoxication asked me.
“Well, I don’t know. I thought it could get me more babes!” I dreamily imagined out loudly.
“We don’t like lying down here, John. We might ask you to move to some new quarters more permanently,” he let me know.
Maybe I really am quite stupid. “I thought you loved liars!” I ventured optimistically.
“We used to, John, but I’ll be honest with you (well, in a lying sort of way:) When the PP gave me this assignment, I knew it was hopeless, so I’m just trying to get out of it. I figured attempting to get you to be honest about yourself would be so impossible that his Miserly Magistrate-ness would transfer me to something a lot easier.”
“Like undermining democracy?”
“You got it, John. That one’s fun! And we’re doing quite well with it, too!”
“But, Sub-Man, making me a Top Writer would be harder?”
“Actually a lot, John…”
“Why? I try hard enough!”
“But you don’t produce! You gotta turn out thousands of meaningless words, dude! And hire bots to clap for you, of course.”
“I thought they outlawed that.”
“Right. And Hitler won World War 2.”
“No, he didn’t!”
“And you’re not a Top Writer, John!”
I decided to change the subject. “Why do you call him the Perfidious Penis?”
He liked this. I guess it’s an office joke in Hell. “Well, Johnny, my boy, the Devil used to think he was quite a stud, so, just to rile him, we decided to spread a rumor on Facebook…”
“They read Facebook in Hell?”
“No, idiot! We’re too busy undermining your world for that sort of stuff. No! Men up in the top parts still think the Devil is kind of hot, so we wanted to stick it to him.”
“But wouldn’t he get revenge on you?”
“Like send us to Hell?”
“My mistake,” I admitted. I was learning about these guys.
“Anyway,” he continued, “We hired Mick Jagger to write a song and…”
“I knew it!”
“Of course you did, John. But what you don’t know is that Mark Zuckerberg doesn’t really control Facebook. His Metaverse Avatar controls him!”
“I knew it.”
“You already said that.”
“I know that.”
“Just don’t start with ‘Are we there yet?’ and I’ll let it go.”
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OK. It turned out that the office staff decided to call Satan the Perfidious Penis because they actually succeeded in getting human men, the alive ones, that is, to think of the Devil as some sexual role model. It wasn’t that hard (pun accidental.) But what human men don’t know is that, by implanting that belief, they enabled a malicious microchip designed by the Office for Earthly Intoxication to be implanted directly into your johnson (your tool, dude!) which can be directly activated by Instagram accounts…
“That are controlled by us.”
“We really do need to use the anti-trust laws on Facebook,” I hopefully hypothesized.
“Meta, John. We’re called Meta now.”
“And Google is Alphabet.”
“And your mother wears Army Boots!”
“She’ll kick your ass, creep!”
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Obviously, I wasn’t getting along well with this guy.
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So I changed the subject again! “Listen,” I told him, “I don’t really care if you control all men on Planet Earth with hidden microchips in their dicks. I want to be a Top Writer on Medium! And the Devil told you to help me!”
“We also control the silicone implants.”
Oh, God, why did you get me involved with these people???!!!
“God didn’t, John. You did.”
I should’ve read my Faust.
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© “John” Lesly Levin 2022
