Pendington, Jude
JOURNAL ENTRY 04
Antisocial Personality
Disorder

I'm waiting patiently as Belial finishes one interview after another. As he sits in a specially constructed chair that looks absurd when he isn't perched in it, his long neck snakes around under orbiting boom microphones and TV lights. Across from his strange chair, a series of journalists of varying degrees of importance stares in awe as Belial is perpetually weaving his tapestry of inspiration and insight and the media goes on lapping it up like a dog drinking from a milk saucer. I love it.

With love in her eyes, a reporter asks how it is that Belial's religion of Coprophagianity appeals to our most natural instincts and is more easily simplified than all other major religions.

"All propaganda has to be popular," Belial purrs. "It has to accommodate itself to the comprehension of the least intelligent of those whom it seeks to reach. Coprophaginaity is meant for all of us. It speaks to the most simple aspects of ourselves as well as the most complex."

"Wonderful," the reporter says, shaking her head in admiration. "Simply wonderful."

One of Belial's other assistants, Abaddon, strolls in as the reporter collects her things and heads out the door.

"We have a few more sir, are you up to it?"

"Of course," Belial yawns. "Give me a minute. I want to speak with Mr. Pendington here."

Abaddon nods silently and leaves the room. Belial stands and stretches, his many joints popping noisily.

"Well, little buddy, everything seems to be running like a uh..." He looks down, squinting.

"A well-oiled machine sir?"

"No! A clock!" he laughs.

"Of course."

"Here's what's about to happen," he whispers eerily, suddenly turning to me and lowering his bulky head in front of my face. "We're about to really go nuts. Do you know anything about. uh. history?"

"History, sir?"

"Sure. Ever hear of the Nephilim?" "I don't think so..."

"Well, you're about to hear about them constantly." He grins. "My people have done quite a bit for America in the last couple of months. Wouldn't you say?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, we're about to take something back: Families."

"Families?"

"More specifically: Children." "I don't exactly follow."

"Kids!" Belial cheers, gripping his crotch. "Babies!" "Is that." I sneer, searching for the right words.

"Possible?"

Belial stands upright, posing properly with eyes closed dreamily, and speaks in a sarcastically eloquent voice: "There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown." He finishes and opens one eye to peer at me where I stand confused. "Eh? Eh?" he grunts, nudging me with a knobby elbow as if inviting applause. I clap awkwardly and Belial bows, giggling.

"You want to sire children, sir?"

"Many, many children, little pinkie. We have quite a troop to construct. Right now we're accepting volunteers, but I want women who are already pregnant."

"I'm not sure I follow, sir."

"So that we can terminate the pregnancies. Terminate more taboos as we head down this road. The people may be following, but it takes effort to keep them on track. I want you to gather some pregnant applicants and set up appointments with our vacuum-toting doctors."

"Yes sir."

Belial steps over and pats me on the shoulder with his long talons.

"Wonderful." He grins. "Go ahead and return to headquarters, faithful assistant. I need the wheels spinning on this one right away."

"Of course," I answer, nodding, and head for the door.

As I'm leaving I pass Oprah Winfrey, who grunts when I stroll by, apparently annoyed with the wait. She smiles, however, when she makes eye contact with Belial.

"Jude!" Belial calls out before I'm out of sight. "Third trimester! And make sure they keep the. you know. scraps."