I’m not the kind of man to ask strangers on the internet for anything other than nudes, but I’m so desperate for guidance that I have no choice. I have a really bad problem. The demon possessing my girlfriend is way nicer than my girlfriend is.
Some context: A couple of weeks ago my girlfriend, Angela, and I were in our usual booth at Sizzler, and she was harping on her same old shit about how she can’t afford for me to get sued again and how she’s sick of showing me how to wipe my ass so as to not leave skidmarks on the shag rug.
I thought she’d never shut up. Until, by the grace of God, she did. Right there in the booth, she puked up a shocking amount of ranched-up croutons. I did not think she’d eaten so many. Her eyes sucked back in her head like goo, and her elbows cracked and turned inside out. She started spasming and screaming in a guttural voice, “Your mother sucks cocks in Hell!”
Wow. I wasn’t so much offended as I was shocked. Angela, who is God-fearing and does not tolerate cursing. I knew then and there I was a goner. I’d never fallen so hard in love.
I call the demon Succubina. I’m not 100% sure that’s her name. It’s hard to tell, as she mostly speaks this croaky language from her infernal homeland. What I am 100% sure of is that she’s my person. I know she feels it too. She does this cute snarl, really painful bite thing when I kiss her. She laughs so diabolically at my jokes she pisses herself. She listens to my deepest, darkest secrets with a wheezing calm that assures me that I am wrong to doubt my good looks.
But I’m getting worried that Angela is returning to her body. Sometimes Succubina talks like Angela and starts crying to be freed. The neighbors are complaining. What if somebody calls a demonologist? Or, Jesus no, an exorcist?
For now, I’ll just enjoy my heaven on earth with my darling demon, who is now lowering—so sweetly, so tenderly—a flaming match to the poopy shag rug.
