the timboucher experience

I met the devil at a party. Actually I met him before that, but that’s where the story starts to get good. What do they call that? In medias res. Anyway, like I said, I met the devil at a party. The first thing I asked him was how he would feel about playing the devil in a musical.

He stiffened his back like he’d just been prodded with a live electrical charge. He knew his cover was blown. He analyzed for signs of a threat from me, perceived none, relaxed and responded: “I think I could do that.”

We phase-shifted into the corner for a while to talk to the alien. He claimed he couldn’t remember his name or where he came from, but he kept calling me Jonathan - which means “Yahweh has given,” and which only seems appropriate. He’s now the second alien I met who likes tacos. I was talking about this subject recently, and we decided that the Eucharist in the Catholic Church is nothing more than a tiny tortilla without anything inside of it. A little stale empty taco. Seems pretty accurate to me.

A dragon twisted through the crowd, trailing a black membrane behind him, some young thing in tow. The smell of sulphur lingered in his wake. He turned out to be no match for the purifying power of the unicorn horn.

I like talking like this. It makes me feel like I am living in a mythical magical world.

I am.

The devil came up to me later and asked me what my “major” is. I just started laughing and he proceeded to sit down next to me. It was actually more like hovering at first. He told me I should consider psychology and started in to talking about Alan Watts - who I love - and BF Skinner, who I don’t care for. He said he could see that there was something about me.

He held up two fingers on his right hand and pointed them towards my two eyes, weaving them back and forth like a snake waiting to strike. I knew he was trying to hypnotize me. The tone of his voice modulated, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. Who does this devil think he is? I thought, and just closed my eyes. I looked at him still and spoke to him in stillness and the love in my voice carried through all the way from my heart, rendering his power of illusion null and void.

I ended up telling him to read the Four Gospels - out loud, no less. I pretended like I didn’t understand the effect doing so last year had had on me. He seemed interested. He seemed humbled. But he’s still the devil. But you can’t hate him for it - that’s just the part he plays in the musical. It’s a good part, but it’s pretty juvenile. A sixty-two year old man trying to make girls not even old enough to drink. He told me he’d been kicked out of the seminary. I told him I could see why.

The alien talked to us about how the Cookie Monster used to follow him around and he had to kill him. I told him I could see where he was coming from. C is for cookie and that’s good enough for me.

At least two Starfleet officers were in attendance as well. It was quite a party. It reminded me of the part in the Matrix movies where all the ship captains are gathered together, although we left before it turned into that stupid rave scene.

Also at that party, the alien recommended that I start reading Shakespeare to the dogs that I look after (I recently started a part time doggie daycare job) because it would be good for them. I knew exactly what he meant and told him I had the perfect play to start with. So last week when I got back I went and bought a collected works of Shakespeare for eight bucks at Half Price Books. When I went to work, I started in on A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It went smashingly. Some of the dogs came over to near where I was and laid their heads down. I could tell they weren’t sleeping though. They were listening. Other dogs, whenever I looked up, would just be sitting there staring at me, like they couldn’t believe what was happening. Still others couldn’t hold their attention and got fussy and whiny. I didn’t pay them any attention and read on, stopping about two thirds of the way through.

One of our customers came in after I’d stopped and saw the weighty tome on the desk. “I see you’ve got yourself a challenge there.”

“Absolutely. I just started it today. I’ve been reading it to the dogs actually.”

“Oh, that’ll be good for them!”

“That’s what I thought too!” I didn’t bother to tell him it was actually the alien’s idea. Nor did I bother trying to explain that I thought the alien probably wasn’t an alien at all, but something more like a Watcher angel, like the Grigori from the Book of Enoch. Same difference though. He helped us turn cheap beer into better beer. Aliens can be handy to have around like that.

I forgot to mention that the devil also told me he had three daughters. I laughed when he tried to tell me their names: they all started with the letter “M.” I told him “they must be goddesses.” The devil likes being flattered, even when he knows you’re lying.

• Thank you Shakespeare
• Dog Love
• Acting For Dogs
• Pack of stray dogs decimate zoo gazelles
• Zombie Dogs