Director Executive Beelzebub calls Greg the Daemon to chat.
Dey´re transferring ya to Earth, Gregory.
Devildammit!
I´m just a compassionate guy, you know. What can I do?
I TOLE´ ya mon... nobody fucks with the mon downstairs! Ye´re just too nice! Now we got souls coming down from HEAVEN ´cause ye treat dem betta than THEY do!
Be evil. Torture p´ple. Make dem eat ready-made microwave pasta. That sort´a thing.
What?! I can´t lose my super-duper-caring friends! I love my pals! Hugs and kisses!
PLEASE!!! PLEASE DON´T EAT ME!!!! I´M A VERY CUTE DEER!!!!!!
sorry, bub...
What is wrong with me? Why can´t I control this irresistible urge to kill everything beautiful? Somehow, I feel myself a very tiny particle of this universe entropy.
I know I´m not supposed to whine or anything. It´s not like my mother´s dead or I got fired. It´s just sad. Things don´t need to turn out wrong most of the time. And I know there is a time for jo
... and a time for reckoning.
I just wish my time for joy had showed its face already.