Shrieking Orgasms: My Demon Lover

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Shriek. Eek. This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. If this were a real emergency, and demon lovers did actually exist alongside zombies and vampires, well, we’re all pretty much doomed. Luckily, these monsters can only be found in the imagination of Desperate Housewives (and dueling variations on TV.) Many bikers and rappers admire their gamesmanship, but mostly go gaudy with bling or leather, instead. Cheerleaders bend their knees in service of all the scoring. Harvey asks for “a second chance” after taking, like, twenty. OJ is free and chatting up blonds again, and Cosby is still playing on cable. Ah, what a world. Everyone else is racist and sexist. Everyone else is guilty. Imagine Satan appearing on stage in Vegas, today. He would have sold out shows from here to eternity. “We have a winner!” Trump would gush his praises, before announcing “a new drug Czar!” The red carpets, with real blood, would roll out. Any demons out there would get instant recognition as “powerful and charismatic.” Business leaders would invite them to speak. Mr. Wonderful on Shark Tank would fall to his knees to beg for a 10% share. What would Hunter S. Thompson say? “Strange Daze are here again, brokes!” Actually, there are. For satirists. Seen the news lately?

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