Posted on 11/24/2004 7:14:28 AM PST by macsmind76
i agree my stomach hurts from laughing so hard
William Hung is a Tool of the Devil!, November 21, 2004 Reviewer: James Stephen Garrett (George Town, Grand Cayman) - See all my reviews
The new Millennia, even by the grumpiest Imp's account, had been a smashing success for Hell: terrorism, nuclear proliferation, a plunging dollar, a stock market crash, the new "Star Wars" movies. But Lucifer Himself reckoned that his master-stroke for the 21st century had been a singular bit of inspiration, almost a random act: the creation of the malignant blob of pure filth, mediocrity and Evil that Hell had christened "William Hung."
"My Dark Prince, you are thinking about William Hung," growled one of Satan's pathetic demon lackeys, whose bloodred skin had recently been flayed and stripped from his back, and who lay abased at the foot of Lucifer's throne of night-black volanic rock. The guttural gurgle startled Satan out of his thoughts.
"I have been, aye, you wormish Slave," growled Satan. Hell's Treasurer Astaroth had just flipped through Hung's new Christmas album sales, and Satan couldn't stop giggling. CHRISTMAS ALBUM! His Infernal Majesty roared with laughter so black and diabolic (and Damned Loud) that they could hear it in Liverpool. "Ha! Let that be our bray of Hellish defiance to Heaven---let God try to celebrate the birth of the wretched Nazarene while the stench of Hung mewling out 'O Come all ye Faithful' wafts up to the Almighty like the stinking fart of an Ebola victim in the terminal stages of the disease. Let Heaven celebrate Christmas *then*!" It was, really, too funny.
And to think, it almost hadn't happened. It had been Astaroth's idea to create "William Hung" from a blob of Imp vomit mixed with some wet greenish scraps of Demon poop. Forged in a rough, vaguely human shape and held together by stringy demon spittle, the Hellmouth had gaped wide, and Hung had been vomited forth from the Bowels of the Abyss just in time to appear on the hit-singing contest/Reality TV show "American Idol".
He hadn't won the thing---no, that had never been part of Hell's Plan. But he was so awful---so soul-scarringly, brain-tumor inducingly bad---that America was fascinated with him. "Perhaps fixated, My Lord, is the better term" Astaroth had said. Foolish humans: Hung was invited to sing "She Bangs" on the show (oddly enough, a hit by Ricky Martin, another of Hell's minor creations), and soon appeared on talk shows, even landed a record debut. And now this, a CHRISTMAS album! Every time Hung sang, another Angel's wings were melted off by black battery acid.
But Satan has always had a great handle on pop culture, and he suspected that Hung's usefulness would soon draw to an end. Couldn't Hell use him for one final blow, something that would serve as a final gesture of blazing contempt for God, for his ridiculous standards of perfection and technical excellence?
"Isn't the new season of American Idol starting up soon?" the demon underling gurgled from below the Throne; he was rewarded by Satan stomping his head into a pool of green buttery fluid. But the more Satan thought about it, the more an idea formed in the vast eternal darkness of his brainpan. Yes---Hell could serve one final, fatal blow, and use William Hung to do it before he was returned to the Hellpits of slime and chaos from which he had sprung. Lucifer picked up the Special Red Phone and dialled up the Birthing Pits, manned by the foullest of Hell's demons, and located on the very lowest rung of Hell.
"Birthing Pits," he growled over the line. "Do you still have the original plans for William Hung? You do? Great. Clone him."
There should be a conjunctive connector between the "active links" and the "blah blah blah blah".
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