Tag Archives: Hell

ON HOW BEST TO BEST ABU AND THE DONNY

A Watcher’s commission: I, Penueme, he who introduced mankind to poetry,

have been commissioned by The He who created him, to save humanity.

Humanity is devolving far too quickly; far more quickly, than it is evolving;

especially now, that both ISIS and The Donny are … arriving.

We Watchers, we rebel angels, (the Jinn, in Islam), defeated long, long ago by

the forces of our Creator (Allah/God/Jehovah/Yahweh), long to die.

We Watchers, we, the Nephilim of Genesis, long to die; our sentences, lengthy:

to view, in chains, your tragi-comic re-runs … perpetually.

Watchers, watching re-runs, in chains, perpetually; sounds like Hell to me,

but thankfully He is … The All-Merciful and … The Almighty.

We Watchers, lovers of women, have long … longed to die; it’s up to me,

Penueme, to help Art, a pitiful creature, write novel-like, poetry.

The commission is this one: Write to the children of the nations. Let 140

characters teach them the wisdom best to best Abu and The Donny.

BEWARE: Read This Only if … Unafraid … of Being Afraid

Call me evil. Call me devil. Call me jinn. Call me whatever in the hell you want. I write; therefore, I am. This story (a poem within a poem, really), is really happening. Happy endings, on the other hand, are not happening … way more often … than not.

Halloween, my absolutely favorite day of the year, is, once again, upon us. In celebration thereof, I congratulate the overwhelming majority of you homo sapiens (lol) on your early-bird reservations. To update both unbelievers and skeptics alike on the goings-on here in my swell and swelling hell, read these poems in conjunction, as if they were, as they are; a diabolical, help-wanted, advertisement. No harm in that; after all, you shall … indubitably … believe me not.

Can you trust me to tell the truth? Of course not, sillies. I’m the evil one. I have malice in my heart, deceit in my thoughts and shall have lies, near perpetually … on the tips … of my tongues.

But this is not to scare you with the admittedly horrific details regarding my psyche, much less, my physique. Believe you me, they’re pretty scary. Rather, this is to scare you with rhyming lines about time consigned. Your time … wise guys … is near done.

A few prefatory notes to my want-ad-like-poems; firstly, make no mistake. Heaven, like hell, is a fact, Jack. In fact … no other place (but Heaven) … is eternal.

Secondly; believe it or not, contrary to popular belief, all you evildoers and non-believers DON’T join me, much less Him, immediately upon the termination of your worthless lives. It’s actually not until after Judgment Day that the festivities down here are scheduled to begin. If you don’t believe me, just re-read what the New Testament and Koran reveal … regarding … the infernal.

Finally, take note of this: You needn’t be much of an evildoer to join me. Being a non-believer is more than sufficient. And you don’t even have to submit a resume of your evil accomplishments, nor any notarized certification of your disbelief. Both misdeeds and/or disbelief … are continually recorded … for posterity.

Just let your deeds and your misdeeds, whether affirmative acts or omissions to act, speak for you. In the majority of cases by far, like me, you’ll fail. You’ll fail to love Him above all. You’ll fail to love your brother as you do yourself. Believe you me … you’ll fail … most miserably.

My power play, borne of vanity and jealousy, backfired on me. But like an AIDS-infected sex-addict, I’m going to take as many of you suckers as I can, down with me. The greatest of your generals have divided to conquer. It’s been much easier for me. In dividing yourselves, you’ve made my conquest of you … and your brothers and sisters … near effortless.

Just keep on keeping on. Keep on lying. Keep on cheating. Keep on denying that you’re your brother’s keeper. I’ve plagiarized the poem that follows from one of your own. As you read it, you may well nod your head in somber acknowledgement. Thankfully though, you won’t take it to heart … You’re doing just fine … To that … I do attest.

CALL ME EVIL: By Bubba, the Devil (I)

Call me evil. Call me devil. Call me jinn. Call me whatever in unholy
hell you want. I write; therefore, I am. This story
(a poem within a poem, really), is really happening. Happy
endings, on the other hand, are not
happening … way more often … than not.

Halloween, my absolutely favorite day of the year, is, once again, upon us.
In celebration thereof, allow us
here in hell to congratulate and welcome
the overwhelming majority of you homo sapiens on your early reservations.
You are all well come to my unholy kingdom …. Welcome!

1 PAGE: # 27

When last Almighty Me tweeted and blogged thee (7 edited tweets at Page # 26), Me thee wrote: What you do to the least of thee … you do …. to Me.

To wit, what’s gone on recently in Algeria and Mali. Me reiterates most unequivocably to all thee: What you do to the least of thee … you do … to Me.

With terror’s timeline thusly temporarily updated, “Mr. Marlboro,” smokes, on Earth no more, albeit in Hell, there’ll be more than enough smoke … in store.

One man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter. Reminds Almighty Me of Rodney King’s song of  lament. “Why can’t we all … just get along.”

As things stand, “getting along” isn’t in prognoses, much less cards nor stars. With treatment though, the prognoses are no bar … to curing ailments.

Take it from Almighty Me all the way to banks. As you individually overcome maladies, or not … so too, communally, you may submit … to treatment … or not.

Time flies. Time’s short. Time’s Mine, not thine’s. Submit to treatment post haste if you’d make of Algeria and Mali … a pivot point … for all souls’ sake.

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