Devil Sticks

SOMETIME AFTER THE FALL, NEAR PITTSBURGH

Somehow the devil talked me into getting Christmas Eve dinner at a Japanese Hibachi steak house. It was one of those places that serves any kind of Asian food – from Sushi to chow mein, but also cooks your surf and turf on a hot Hobart grill right in front of you with a weird mixture of soy sauce and butter. I mean, it wasn’t real authentic, or anything. It was Asian food for white people. Scratch that, it was Asian food for white people who still call Asians Orientals. Yeah. It was Oriental food and the devil mostly liked it for the waitresses dressed up like Geisha and the drinks that came with tiny paper parasols.

By the time I got there, the grill was already warm and the devil was half crocked on mai tais. He was wearing a parasol behind his horn like a Polynesian virgin and talking smack about the Buddha.

“Sit down,” he said. “Don’t be so passive. What are you the freakin’ buddha.”
“No,” I said. “I’m Ishmael.”
“You’re an A hole is what you are,” the devil laughed, waving me to sit down with his red, claw hand. I slid in behind the grill table and the Korean chef came over to cook like a Japanese guy. It was all a weird sort of theater where nothing was what it appeared…. I mean from a historical or cultural perspective. Mr. Lee was chopping away with the sharp knives and making a James Brown rhythm on the griddle with a pepper shaker and the devil ordered me up a mai tai with extra umbrellas from the pretty cocktail waitress, who was half Peurto Rican, Chinese Filipina dressed up like I said, as a Geisha… cute too.
“I could fall for her,” the devil said.
“Shit, You’ve already fallen.”
“Must you curse at the table,” the devil scolded.
“What the fuck,” I said.
”Please,” said the devil. “There are ladies present.” and the waitress came with the cocktails and the devil took a long pull and so did I and he ordered a round of Kamikaze.
“Come on,” I said. “The waitresses are dressed as Japanese whores.”
“Geisha are not prostitutes,” he said. “They are artists… granted their medium is eros.”
“Fuck me.” I said. “You’re the fucking devil.”
”You forget, that I am an angel too. Just because my father thinks I’m no good, doesn’t mean I AM no good. I’m a freakin’ angel and stop swearing before I get angry. IT’S Fuc….IT’S CHRISTMAS.”
“What do you care for Christmas? You’re the devil.”
“Jesus is my freakin’ cousin, okay and he’s next in line… Show some respect.”
”You make religion sound like the mafia.”
”Well it sort of is.”
“And you’re Fredo.”
“Yeah… I guess I am… but I am really smart you know?”

“Sure,” I said and the kamikazes came and then we had more and few more mai tais and the chef made a volcano out of a stack of onion rings and burning liquor. It made the devil homesick and he started getting drunk and pinching the ass of the cute Chinese/Filipina and whispering dirty things in her ear and calling Mr. Lee the best knife chink in the business and just really getting loud and out of control and I was sort of embarrassed as he kept throwing the food around the table like a spaz. He couldn’t keep anything on his chopsticks.
“Who fucking invented these things?!” he yelled at Mr. Lee.
“Maybe Chinese,” Mr. Lee said in a flourish of knife work.
“Bullshit Chinkboy, I did. Who else but the devil cold invent these fucking things? Useless. Give me a fork. I’m a god damned devil and I like pitchforks and forks and…. I hate fucking devil sticks…chop chop chinaman,” he said.
“Me Korean,” said Mr. Lee.
“You get me fork, or you be Solly,” said the devil.
“Cool it,” I said. “You’re acting like a real…as… A hole.”
“Fuck You,” he said. “Who’s paying for this fucking dinner anyway? Me, asshole. You don’t have any money.”
It was true. I hadn’t sold a story since the whale thing, so I was the devil’s guest.
“Right…so I’ll fucking act like I fuckin’ want to act,” the devil said.
”Hey the language,”I said. “I thought you said you were an angel.”
“Sure sure. Most of the time I’m a fuckin’ angel, but listen…” and he dragged me close with the red claw and said in a whisper, ”I’m a god damn devil when I drink. How the fuck do you think I fell out of heaven anyway? I fuckin’ tripped on a cumulous cloud, drunk on Rum and pineapple juice… A funapple , I called it. A God Damn Fun Apple.”
He ordered a round of funapples and dumped the rest of his kamikaze on the griddle and it exploded in fire and heat.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Just like home.”
It was that kind of night all the way into Christmas morning when the devil stumbled out of a strip club and tried to pick a fight with Santa Claus, but santa just tried to give him a stuffed bear.
“You fucking Buddhist,” he yelled at Santa and. then he tried to fuck the stuffed bear. He couldn’t find a viable orifice and made a lunge at Prancer. I grabbed him by the left horn and I dragged him away. I walked him back to the gates of hell.
“Merry Fuckin’ Christmas,” the devil said.
“Merry Fuckin’ Crhistmas to you too,” I said and he slurred something and fell down the hellacious stairs.
I heard him yell up from hell in a bruised hoof groan, “I’ll be an angel in the morning and you’ll still be an asshole, out of work writer!”
I realized then that those who’ve known the heights of heaven, always think they’re above you. They look down on you, even when their drunk asses are falling down the stairway to hell, you know? I was good enough for hibachi Christmas Eve, but you know… I wasn’t really good enough. Anyway, I bet they use chopsticks in heaven… I mean if they eat or anything, I just bet you they use chopsticks.