Angel of God Chaining The Demon of Lust. Jan Steen
ca.1660 Museum Bredius
“WHAT HAVE YOU GOT IN YOUR MOUTH?”
“Blarlarlarlblar,” said the Demon of Lust, nearly dislocating its own legs as it fought like a baby evading a diaper change.
“Could you stop! Eating! Garbage! For! One! Minute! STOP WIGGLING.”
The Demon of Lust, in a simultaneously guilty but reproachful way, stopped wiggling. Instead, it held still but stretched itself slowly but relentlessly backwards. Its eyes fixed on a new object of desire. The heap of steaming hot garbage throbbed in its vision. Upside-down, just out of reach - or was it? Carefully not wiggling, it stretched its neck backwards, extending its tongue. It could practically taste it.
“Don’t think I don’t see - no! That’s literally burning garbage!”
“Blarlarlar!”
“No! It’s burning your actual face!”
“Blarlarlar.”
“That’s it. Kennel. KENNEL.”
“Blar,” said the saddest demon in the world, staring fixedly at the hot mess.
“Lust CAN help itself around trash fires,” the angel said sternly, handling the demon in a method popularized by people trying to administer pills to struggling cats. “You can’t fix it. You’ll hurt yourself making it worse.”
“Blar.”
“Oh, tell you what. You can have a blorbo as a treat. Nice blorbo. Come on, puppy, into the kennel. Nice blorbo for you.”
