Two demons wearing red silk skate across a room of ice
until they come to two
dead preachers—two dead preachers
whose heads stick above the ice.
“Welcome to our church in hell,” the preachers say. “But
until this ice melts, there will be
no baptisms.”
“That’s okay,” the demons say. “We want to
be married.”
“We’re sorry,” the preachers say. “You are
same-sex demons.”
“Even if we give you twizzlers and taffy?” the demons
say. “Let us consider the larger ramifications of saying
‘yes’,” say the preachers. “If this is
permitted, and same-sex demon marriage
runs rampant through the halls of Hell, how
will we know where to draw Hell’s
moral line? Even if it is within Hell’s morals, are
twizzlers and taffy a proper reward?”
“Or,” says one of the preachers, “Shouldn’t
we insist upon Tic-Tacs and Sweet Tarts?”
“A valid point,” says the other preacher, “and
if we insist that Tic-Tacs and Sweet Tarts are
necessary to the bargain, what will
happen to their market value at the candy store?”
“And most importantly,” says the first preacher, “if
the market value goes up, will the
worker demons be able to afford the
product of their own labor?”
“Perhaps it will create a new hierarchy. Satan will bring
an efficiency expert to speed
production. Demons will lose jobs
and pursue higher education in a feeble effort to
reenter the market. They will reinvent
the factory machinery, put Satan out of business.
And then what?” the second
preacher considers.
“A take-over. We’ll be under Thor or Kali, or maybe
Hell will be privatized, split-level by
level, ring by ring. We’ll
be heads in boiling acid or chewed bubble gum. So you see this
decision has ripples,” the
first says, then licks the ice.
Sixty years pass. The preachers are still talking amidst frozen
water. The demons have told
everyone Sweet Tarts are the
key to same-sex demon marriage. There are rumors of
Satan getting bought out, and no one knows by whom.
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