Everyone seems to have their own idea of just what
constitutes true Black Magic. Some even entertain dark and
macabre ideas involving death and dismemberment,
mass destruction and dire spiritual harassment. The
worst examples of evil, of course, are exhibited by the
purveyors of evangelical religion who seem to dwell
upon the eternal torment of the dissenting human soul
after death. This is where it is presumed that such a
person's essence should supposedly be in its weakest
and most defenseless condition, naked and alone.
What these espousers of evangelical nonsense fail to
take into consideration is the accomplished, black
magician who will, with great delight, take unbridled
revenge upon their own whimpering and groveling
souls at the moment of their hopefully, unnatural
demise. Then, of course, there are black magicians
who will begin to take revenge in the here and the now!
Allow me give you an interesting example of fighting
back with everyday Black Magic and claming sweet
revenge where and when it is most fulfilling.
Once, there was this mouthy evangelist who annoyed
me every day on my way to work. It was like he
stationed himself in my path in order to harass me with
his inane fundamentalist ideas. Once he discovered
that I was a Satanist and on the other side of the fence,
he fervently escalated his assault on me as if he was on
some kind of a personal crusade to convert me to his
way of thinking. His plan, apparently, was to wear me
down with vague threats about his fearsome God
bringing righteous destruction upon my immortal soul
if I didn't bow down to Him and His offered Son.
This untenable situation continued on for some time as
I pretty much had no other routing options and had to
travel this path every work day. Now, I tried to avoid
the guy, and most of the time, even kept my mouth shut
so as not to fan the flames of righteous indignation, but
he was most extraordinarily unconscionable and
diligent in his effort to bludgeon me with his pathetic
religion and the prowess of his long-departed God.
Finally, it got so bad that I began to actually consider
using black magic to rid myself of this obtrusive
pestilence when, as Satan would have it, the preacher
dropped one of those little tracts that such people leave
all over your car when you park it at the supermarket.
Now, it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that
Satan had virtually smiled upon me when lo and
behold, I found this evangelist's name, address and
telephone number neatly stamped upon the back of his
little, evangelical missile. Quickly, I stooped and
picked up his tract and crumpled it into my pocket in as
unobtrusive a manner as possible. Now, I had real
plans for this guy and didn't want him to connect
anything to me, so I waited a time with patience before
acting. A month went by and then another before I
surmised that he had forgotten about the incident of the
tract (if he even noticed my picking it up at all). I then
chose to act and take my full revenge upon this
charlatan, thus paying him back in kind for his
merciless barrage of harassment upon my person in the
name of his wearisome and otherwise offensive God.
Have you ever heard of a little snowball rolling down a
mountain, picking up debris, dirt, rocks and snow, and
then cars, trucks and so on? An example of this series
of events is the "Start Little and Grow Big" theory in
action, and works on a similar principle to an old-time
Jewish curse or a delayed orgasm. However, I had the
knowing that the time was finally right to act because I
had found the second player in my little drama of
revenge. Evil always breeds evil if you are patient.
You see, the other day, while I was waiting for a
parking space at the local shopping mall, Satan, once
again, provided. The parked car in my target parking
place was backing out of said space, so I backed up a
bit to give him room to maneuver. Then, in a flash, a
surly driver in a black Mustang coming from the wrong
direction whipped into my cherished parking place
with total impunity and lack of consideration. The
driver shut off his engine and exited his car, ignoring
my comments about him stealing my intended parking
spot. He didn't even look my direction. Well, so be it.
All good things come to he who waits, and I noted that
there was a "For Sale" sign in the black Mustang's rear
window, giving the offending driver's phone number.
Well, don't you know that I quickly scribbled down my
prize and drove off to find another parking place, far
from the black Mustang and the memory of its driver.
That night, I placed both the evangelist's phone number
and the number of the driver of the black Mustang in
my speed dialer's memory. Then using a bogus pretext,
I ascertained that neither the preacher or the Mustang
driver were familiar with caller ID. Then, chuckling to
myself, I then garnered the Mustang driver's address by
feigning interest in his Mustang which, of course was
for sale, so the guy quickly gave his name and address,
saying that, "I get home at 4:30 pm., and the car is on
the street where you can see it. My name is John
Harmon, I live at 2838 No. Worthington St. on the
North side of the city, and if you like the car, I'm in
apartment B."
Well, my devilish little plot could now commence. So,
starting the ball rolling, I called each of these offenders
every night for a month. That's right, each night, I
would dial up both offenders and simply say to each
one, "Your are an asshole." I would then quickly hang
up. I had a great time, and as the days passed, every
time I felt depressed or was pissed off, I'd call each of
them up and simply say, "You are an asshole," and then
quickly hang up. Never would I say more, and never
would I say less. I patiently let the tension build, until
one night, the preacher blew his stack and asked in an
agitated voice, "Who are you, you son of the Devil?
What is your name and where do you live?" Then
realizing that this frothing curmudgeon of an oaf, this
thunderous emissary of a bygone God had played
directly into my waiting hands, I simply said, "My
name is John Harmon and I live at 2838 North
Worthington St. on the North side of the city." That's
all it took. The preacher was seeing red and frothing at
the mouth when he expostulated, "Stay right there, you
son of Satan, I'm gonna come over there and kick your
butt up and down the street until your ass barks like a
dog." That was my que to hang up the phone and say
no more.
Figuring that it would take the preacher at least a half
an hour to transverse the city to the North side and drag
out John Harmon, I set my plan in motion. I had
previously realized that timing was of the utmost
importance to the success of my little scheme, and I
had my itinerary perfectly planned. Yes, I had even
driven the routs and averaged arrival times. Well, at
last, the game was on, so I hurried to the scene and
called the police from a nearby phone booth and
advised them that there was this guy beating up on his
gay lover out in the street at 2838 North Worthington
St. I then called the local news channel and told them
that there was a gang war raging out of control at the
same address. I then bought a box of popped corn and
a cold drink at the adjacent convenience store and
proceeded to the above described location where I
parked down the block, turned off the motor, doused
it's lights, and then removing my foot from the brake
pedal to quench the tail lights, waited unobtrusively
and unnoticed in the dark. Then, as the news chopper
flew over and the police cars and swat team arrived, I
proceeded to eat my popped corn and drink my soda
while watching the show. Evil is as evil does...
