Who Is Teaching These Kids?

By Stan Saten, Landlord - Hell, Michigan

I weep for the children of America… or I would weep for them if they didn’t piss me off on a daily basis. I check my mailbox looking for rent checks, and all I get are poorly scrawled letters from 14-year-old suburban white boys offering me their souls.

From the volume of letters I receive which start off “Hale Lord Saten, Master of Hell, I sware my eternal illegence to thee!” it is painfully obvious we are plagued by twin crises of parenting and education. Every day I get about another dozen or so teenage cracker-boys offering me their eternal servitude in exchange for something lame like the chance to play bass for Pantera or a backstage pass to some high-school cheerleader’s panties.

Who is raising these children and what on earth are you idiots teaching them? Where do they get the idea that their immortal essences have some kind of material market value? I’m no agent of the Prince of Darkness - I am merely Stanislav Saten, a property manager in Hell, Michigan – but if I were, I tell you right now I wouldn’t take any of these dorks!

Billy Manchester of Effingham, Illinois, I’m looking at you when I say: If you can’t bother to spell my friggin’ five-letter name right, I wouldn’t give you half a thimbleful of gerbil jizz for your soul much less “a shot at Mallory’s sweet ladybiskit.” And Jerry Reynolds of Englewood, Colorado – I got your mix tape. I played your mix tape. You suck. You have the rhythm of a retarded wombat with an ear infection. You play so shitty that the real Satan wouldn’t have enough power to make you the “White Jimmy Hendricks” much less “All Mithee Stan” – with or without your pledge of eternal servitude. Sell your bass and buy some freakin' books, assclown!

Further, where did these semi-conscious shitstacks of stupid get the idea they could write a letter – ON PAPER! – mail it through the US Postal Service (with only one stamp), and have it reach the Eternal Lake of Fire in a readable, unscorched form? This smacks way too much of the “Letters to Santa” line of crap you parents fed them. Parents - either your “little white lies” are realizing their full fruition in your sons and daughters attempting to offer their eternal souls to The Dark One for temporary earthly gain… or you told the truth, and these dyslexic dipshits are also unwittingly asking The Master Of All Lies to bring them a PlayStation for Christmas.

Either way, you seriously screwed up. Stop having sex, you bastards.