Everybody knows (by now) about Adam and Eve and ‘Let there be light’ all cast into (surreptitious) darkness by an overzealous Angel of Such: Beelzebub. Lesser known, though, is Beelzebub’s younger brother Bozzlebub, who is more commonly known, to those few who know him, as Boz.
This eclipse is not so unusual; many sibling sets have a star and schmuck, and in the first family of evil and mischief Boz is the real fuck-up. In the bizarro ethic of the Family Bub, that means Boz toils away in the obscure shadows of archangels and the Ultimate Entity, while Big Brother Beelze rules the Underworld and Hollywood Squares, often spoken of but rarely seen in the flesh (as it were), famous beyond riches.
Sociologists are at a loss to explain so many of these imbalanced sibling performances; nature v. nurture is irrelevant in these cases because both factors are the same for both siblings. It’s like the movie ‘Twins’, where one guy gets all the looks, brains, height, muscles, charm, and good-heartedness, and the other guy gets all the waste bi-product. In the case of the Brothers Bub, Beelze is a big strong man with good sets of hooves and horns and a brilliant instinct for wickedness. Boz is short, pale, crooked-nosed, skinny, lacks leadership skills, he’s half deaf and doesn’t understand sarcasm, and has no knack for evil.
His naïve nicety, from the perspective of the Top Rung on the Pentecostal Ladder, is Boz’s one redeeming feature (not quality), and the one that earned him a high level (and low profile) position of Prayer Correspondent when the Orchestral Oligarch became too busy to maintain this one of many Cosmic Duties. (This all happened right after the human population of Planet Earth reached a quarter of a million people and the total number of species plummeted below 4,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (4 octillion) for the first time since just before the Great Creator took a 7th day nap.)
Boz’s reaction when informed of his promotion from Guardian Angel of what is now New Jersey District (where he’d had mixed results) was incredulousness, and questioning, as in “Why me?”
To which the Top Banana responded, “You’re a good kid.” Boz had reached a pinnacle with the Good Guys closer to his over-achieving Evil brother’s rank with the Bad than he’d ever expected in all Eternity.
Like any young up-and-comer in any new job, especially a newly created position, there was a period of adjustment, during which the role and its relationship to the rest of the jobs in the organization needed to be clarified and revised as necessary. In this case it took six millennia. You may say to yourself, “Well, that’s not bad, on the clock of Eternity.” But try telling that to any God-fearing Prayer Merchant born in the past 12,000 years and suffering a life-time of hit-or-miss messages sent from the close-eyed hands-clasped raspy-voiced dark, sent out fervently with hopes of some small improvement to a crash-test world.
Systems Analysts will tell you that the flaws in any hierarchy have less to do with the Dude at the Top than they do with the complex series of relationships running throughout. In fact, that’s exactly what they told the Universal Parent when they were asked what was wrong with the Prayer Correspondence Division.
But in this case, they were dead wrong.
The problem with consultants is they answer more questions than they ask. The consultants would have got it right if they’d, instead of consulting their charts, graphs, theories and matrices, had only asked one Ashfad Mersk about the time he joked with his friend Sulwood Kalev, “Imagine if we never had to hunt again, if only the animals would stay calm in our presence and we could have them all together, take our pick for the slaughter.” The two men had laughed heartily at the absurd notion, but within the year an invading nation had introduced full-scale agriculture and, their hunting skills considered obsolete, they found themselves slaving the fields for an overseer, dusk till dawn, until their merciful deaths.
Speaking of slavery, the consultants could have also consulted with Sheniqua Okri, who one day while cooling her naked body from the hot sub-Saharan sun in a tributary of the Nile, commented sarcastically to a jumping fish, “Oh, what a haaard life, if only someone would take me from all this!” referring to the cool sweet water and surrounding lush plant-life, and the jumping fish to whom her sarcasm was directed, and his animal brethren, all of which she loved too much for seriousness, and of course her new husband Kibu, whose baby she hoped would soon visit her belly.
Next thing she knew, she and Kibu, and her whole family, were at the bottom of a boat in chains and the land she loved was transformed into a memory.
Had only the consultants bothered to ask the group of Mohawk children playing Alien Invaders that time, when the ones pretending to be Mohawk Warriors were winning over the ones pretending to be Aliens, and the one girl playing an Alien said in frustration, “I wish there really were Alien invaders and you’d all see you weren’t so tough!”
(And you know what happened next: Europeans, Aliens, same thing to the Mohawk, at that time.)
Had only they asked that little girl they’d have realized the root of the problem with the Prayer Correspondence Division: the guy in charge doesn’t understand sarcasm!
Not only that, but because Boz is half deaf he’s missing half the serious prayers we’re making down here!
The worst part is, I suspect, Beelze is most likely starting to realize that his brother’s inability with verbal irony and the ensuing irreversible alterations are causing more evil, worldwide, than all the nuclear notions Beelze has put into men’s minds (and more recently women’s minds) and even his latest porno plot of Bush and Dick in the White House don’t compete with his little bro’s unintentional evil. So, what’s Beelze gonna do if the consultants ever catch on and Boz’s name gets more media — what kinda hell’s gonna flow from that subterranean sibling rivalry?