Eyvindr

Me: Golly gee willickers, this one was hard.

Satan: Doesn't look hard to me... oh, you meant... never mind. >.>

Me: Perve. >8{

Satan: That's a very short leash he's wearing.

Me: It's a bell charm, you dingaling.

Satan: Bad Bobbie! To the punitentiary with you!

Me: -facepalm-

Satan: What's that thing on his arm?

Me: A wrist-mounted brazing dildo.

Satan: Hm... Intriguing. Where can I get  one of those?

Me: -___- I'll send you one in the mail.

Satan: What's that weird thing on the tray in the background?

Me: A highly sensitive stupid-triggered fucktard annihilator that atomizes dipshits who ask dumb questions. >8{

Satan: What's all that blue crap on the other tray?

Me: The leftovers of dipshits who didn't take the hint and kept asking stupid questions! >8E

Satan: Is he single? I'd hit dat ass like a Mack Truck doing 20-over on the highway.

Me: MURDER!

Satan: What!? Inquiring minds want to know! In the pursuit of journalistic integrity, I am obligated to ask if dat ass is as spankable as it looks!

Me: You can't even see his ass!

Satan: Ahh, but here's the thing, you do not have to see dat ass to know it's there. You can tell by dem hips and dos thighs that there is necessarily dat ass on the other side. It's simple math really.

Me: I wasn't aware dat ass was a branch of mathematics.

Satan: It's elementary, my dear Twatson!

Me: -aims highly sensitive stupid-triggered fucktard annihilator-

Satan: I happen to know that, since I am not a fucktard, this thing won't hurt me in the slightest. Also, there are no titties in this painting. Just thought I'd point that out.

Me: BSHOOOOM!

Satan: -fizzle- OWWW! YOU BETCH!

Me: BSHOOM!

Satan: I am going to create a special place in Hell just for you!

Me: -takes aim- Any last words? Speak now or forever hold your peace.

Satan: *Grabs junk* HONK HONK, BIATCH!

Me: Really, those are your last words?

Satan: Well, we both know that thing isn't going to properly kill me. It's just going to send me back home where I intend to begin work immediately on building your Special Hell which will be staffed with congressional republicans and ruled over by Donald Trump while disco, country music, and gangster rap intermittently play through speakers loud enough to make your ears bleed. The only food available will be beets, celery, and those nasty cardboard pizzas they used to serve on Fridays back in Jr. High. There will be no indoor plumbing, no AC, and the only thing playing on TV will be infomercials or Fox News.

Me: ............BRB. Converting to Christianity.