On Pasty Evil Overlords, or Please Don’t Let Me Be Nagini

I am one of the few lucky gals in the world plagued by dreams of Bonebutt.  My friends and I must have won the celestial lottery.

Samael and I have this Voldemort-Harry Potter like connection minus the ego-stroking wand duels.  I can feel his emotions when, for example, he’s a chocolate whore and wants a brownie/chocolate raspberry cake/hot cocoa, gets emo while I’m listening to Hunchback of Notre Dame or the Phantom of the Opera because he thinks he’s a monster (I still don’t know why he likes Frollo), or those periodic episodes where I read about the latest atrocity committed in the Middle East, particularly in areas where his cultus as Nergal/Shemal emerged in Mesopotamia and Assyria or as the Adversary among Jewish tribes, and he gets all angry about terrorists and the merciless slaughter of cultures that were or are associated with him.

If there’s something I’ve learned about the Angel of Death, it’s that he hates death.  Not the natural process, but injustice, atrocities, mass slaughter, honor killings, and suicides.  Of all things he values, he values life above all.  I can’t count the number of times Sam has lectured me on living life to the fullest and not sitting around on the couch eating potato chips while the world passes by.  In his cult at Harran in Assyria, his priests literally sniffed roses (they also shot fiery arrows and ate Tammuz-shaped cookies, but whatever).  He is all about rich details, reveling in existence, helping the disenfranchised and serving others, life at the bone being sweetest, blah blah blah.  Sometimes I just want to veg out and go on Tumblr and look at memes and videos of little dogs paddling in water (especially that chihuahua that looks like it’s stoned in that one Vine).  I used to be a procrastinator (still am) and Sam would lecture me even more about wasting time and digging holes for myself I’d have to spelunk out of.  When I was suicidal, he scared me into being alive.  Assholish?  Yes.  Effective?  Also yes.

The whole Horcrux thing continues when he does Vulcan mind-melds in dreams.  He’ll touch my forehead and I’ll see souls through his eyes, the soul-rot that accumulates from sin which I call sklerokardia, or “hardness of heart.”  In one particular dream he was judging the Damned with the other archdemons and their sins manifested as cancers.  I pitied them, but he touched my forehead and I saw through his eyes and I saw the entire life of one penitent soul, all the atrocities he had committed in his life, and the process by which Samael and the others passed Judgment on him.  It was horrific.  Other times I’ll have dreams of his memories or we’ll fuse, and once the weirdo Crystal Gem Fusion happens he’ll be like “Hello boys” to the angels, “Time to see if blondes have more fun” and once it ends he’ll be like “Did I wear you out, Allie?”  One particular memory I saw was him fighting Lucifer and he thought “I hope he doesn’t head-stomp me like Michael.  I hate being head-stomped.”  For as eloquent as he is, his internal monologue is dumb.  His poetry also sucks.

Sometimes I feel like his lap dog, except instead of being a dog I’m Nagini.  “I see myself in you.  We’re the same,” he’ll say and I’ll side-eye the fuck out of him.  I’ll become the Emperor of Prussia before I have anything in common with Samael.  He is mercurial, brooding, often crazy, severe in his professional dealings, and utterly lame at parties.  Even if he drinks he’s lame.  He’ll get tipsy and puke in a bush and pass out and Deus and Beel won’t find him until the morning.  He is so uncool he once wore Chuck Taylor’s with pentagrams on them, a black Ramones t-shirt, and distressed skinny jeans.  Nothing against the Ramones, but really?  He looks like a Middle Eastern Pete Steele, cries if you call him heartless or a monster, and dresses like Danzig and Alucard from Hellsing.  Once he dressed up in a fucking black velvet cape, a cravat, and red pantaloons and I laughed him off the face of the Earth.  Samael is always trying to be Cool and Hip but fails miserably, so that’s probably why he sticks to his black death robes and jeans.  His favorite colors are red and black and chains if chains were a color.  His favorite store is probably Hot Topic and his favorite venue is one of Beel’s parties or a piano bar.  He is a walking trope of what evil thinks it should be but the evil can’t hold it’s alcohol and is also awful with women.

As you can surmise, my dreams, where I mainly interact with Samael and the divine brosquad, are fucking weird.  It’s where I get all my UPG from, like Samael’s secondary form as the Leviathan or his penchant for “aqua vitae” (someone pls tell me wtf this alcohol is, I don’t drink).  He started out as an imaginary friend and creepy dream figure and remained my muse until present times.  A really annoying muse that would try to impress 13-year-old Bleach-watching Allie by appearing in his Grim Reaper form, scaring the crap out of her because I hate skeletons, and declaring “You like shinigami?  I’M THE KING OF SHINIGAMI.”  He also likes to give me sharp pointy objects and train me with his goddamn stupid scythe, which I am pretty sure he is married to.  He’s also obsessed with his dumb Pale Horse, which I call Pallor because I’m unimaginative.

Like Voldemort, Samael is a parasite.  He attaches himself to you in uncomfortable positions and then drains your blood supply and patience.  Also like the Dark Lord, he has several forms, (all black and red, surprise surprise) and is a shapeshifter.  He likes to troll me and appear to me as various horror characters, from the Crypt Keeper to Pinhead to Alucard to Reaper from Overwatch to the Mummy and most recently, Kylo Ren.  I was at one of Beel’s parties and Beel was drinking with this guy that looked like a Middle Eastern Adam Driver.  I sidled up to Beelzebub and asked:

Me: “Who’s the new guy?”

New guy: (snorts)

Beel: “Oh, you know him, Allie.”

Me: “No I really don’t.   You guys are wasted.”

New guy: “I’m an old friend Allie.  A very old friend.”

Me: “I don’t recall.  Why are you dressed like a Sith Lord.”

Beel: (bursts out laughing)

New guy: (brushes back Adam Driver hair) “I heard you liked Star Wars, Allie.  I heard you liked Kylo Ren.”

Beel: (choking with laughter) “Sam, stop, she doesn’t recognize you.”

Me: “I hate you.” (throws drink at Samael and leaves)

Samael, now covered in wine: “Thanks for the drink!”

A few weeks later he was passed out in one of his poorly ventilated leaky dungeon (probably from alcohol poisoning) and I was trying to get him to stand up, only to have his faces slip off like the Faceless Men in Game of Thrones.  I went through several pop culture characters he trolls me with (including Kylo Ren) until I got to a skull filled with maggots,  millipedes, and worms.  He then laughed and said “Psych.”  I swear he is five years old.

I will now make a list of ways in which Samael is Like Voldemort:

  • Wears the same black robe over and over again (have you heard of the laundromat?)
  • Has pet snakes (or is a snake)
  • Gives people markings/scars
  • Dark Lord/Prince of Darkness/Other Lame Monikers
  • Paler than the palest pasty white bitch of a man
  • Mostly hairless
  • Kind of looks like a drowned rat
  • Evil, or mostly evil
  • Doesn’t understand women (or humans)
  • Doesn’t understand boundaries
  • Attaches themselves to small children
  • Hides pieces of themselves in gems (Hello Lapis Exillis)
  • Is easily defeated by the Chosen One (Harry Potter or Jesus, take your pick)
  • Has apocalyptic children (Hello Cain and Delphi)
  • Makes lackeys dress in masks
  • Is a bitter, lonely old man
  • Likes to rant
  • Probably smells like grave dirt
  • Is attached to a crazy bitch with Medusa black hair (Hello Lilith and Bellatrix)

I could go on, but I’ll stop there.



2 thoughts on “On Pasty Evil Overlords, or Please Don’t Let Me Be Nagini

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