Don’t fool yourself, the Planned Parenthood scandal is dangerous to us in hell. When everyone’s talking about our work, someone will see the artist’s fingerprint. Not in the sense of “There’s a demon,” or “The devil made me do it,” but every expose shines an unwanted floodlight. Just like Planned Parenthood, we in hell hold privacy in high regard.
As a result of your efforts in the Los Angeles judicial circles, not nearly as many of our patients will see the Planned Parenthood videos, but shackling the press may not have been your best move. Under the tutelage of my sagacious uncle, Screwtape, I’ve been making my way up the ranks of hell, and I’ve learned a few things about humanity along the way. You may think you’ve made a keen chess move covering up Planned Parenthood’s private parts, but when the whore dons a habit, suspicion isn’t far behind. I tell you, we do better to deal in the open. To prove my point of brazen-works-best, I used to invoke the example of the relative safety of smoking pot on the White House lawn, but our efforts on that front have been so effective that soon one will be able to have a marijuana picnic on the White House lawn. Relativism, I get high on it alone… but I digress.
Every up-and-coming tempter feels the need to try something fresh and original and over-the-top macabre. That gets you on youtube, for sure, but it doesn’t get your patient tubed, if you pardon my pun. I just love puns. And being funny in general. Nothing does more for our cause than crass humor. If you can get your patients to mock and laugh at righteousness, you can consider them your next meal, burnt as it may be. Again, digressing.
The collateral damage we demons have taken by these images of lilliputian arms and legs, torn apart and scattered on a pie dish or the blitheness of Dr. Nucatola as she describes just the right way to crush a person so as not to waste, cannot be understated. Though you think your efforts with the restraining order are commendable, anyone with a molecule of discernment will see a neon flag barely less obvious than the hastily-sewn fig leaves. Cover ups serve only to scrawl our Father’s name in large letters. A restraining order was the worst move to make and belies your vanity.
If you can’t learn to work in anonymity, you’ll never get anywhere in hell. My advice is to use the subtler brush– delegation. Think about it. The first victory we had was in the garden, inciting that wench to do our work for us, to awaken in her a coveting for a power that wasn’t hers and would make her ours. Now, to her daughters who find themselves in a position to play god with the life growing within them, we give them that same damning power, and they wield it marvelously. They use it and call it a “right.” Makes me want to giggle. This Dr. Nucatola, a great physician if ever there was one, feels justified in desiccating smaller copies of herself, all in the name of scientific progress or Lamborghinis or “breaking even.”
To make the decision on when a person becomes a person has never been ours to make. Or theirs. But what a grand victory to delude them into usurping it… well, we’re sensational, I tell you. Absolute genius. And no resting on our toasty laurels– we’ve got scads of tempters working tirelessly to make sure that the person or faction who calls our spade a spade, is dubbed ignorant, dogmatic, extremist. Oh, I could go on, but you know all our names. Sticks and stones and names, even symbols– all useful to us.
We need to get busy, cleaning up your mess in California.