I have a grand and glorious destiny. That doesn't happen to just anybody. You see, as a demon, we've got a kind of luck-of-the-draw setup when it comes to getting zapped up to Earth and possess someone. Sure, there's a hierarchy in the Underworld, just like any civilized nation. We, in Hell, prefer a kingdom of high functionality instead a society comprised of fru-fru, practicing-my-"art" Angel choir whiners.Ours is more focused on jobs.

    Here's the basic spectrum: at the bottom of the pyramid are the Untouchables (we didn't want a perfectly adequate name to go to waste). These are the souls that still need a good torturing done to them because they haven't become demons yet. And who wants to touch a soul that may still have a scrap of humanity? Yuck. Next level: Torture Titans, because nothing heals the purified demon in you like inflicting unimaginable pain on others. Torture Titans are like that zealously named T-ball team so they can learn how to properly serve Satan and not embarrass anybody. Then, you've got a mish-mash of Possessors and Haunters that get an express ticket up to Earth. (Like me!) Above that are the Broker-Dealers, responsible for negotiating deals on his Unholiness' behalf, and Seducers, those that sway the hearts and minds of unhealthily upstanding souls. (They've handled everything from Kim Jong-il's paranoia to Watergate to the rising of ISIS to Clinton's adultery to Tiger Woods' adultery to your neighbor's adultery to all adultery really.) And finally, you've got your administration, like Cain, Mr. Alastor, the Horsemen, Forcas, Krampus, Bael, Moloch, Astaroth, Ornias, Abaddon, and the several incarnations of the big guy himself.

    So, now it is my time, my shot. Mr. Alastor, head of the possession department, winks at me. It's time. Beam me up, Scottie! I am R-E-A-D-Y! Mr. Alastor whispers the name of my pawn, touches my shoulder and then -

    ZzzzzzzzzzAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPooooOOOOO  

    In all the excitement, I didn't pay attention to my victim's name. So when I hear,

    "Achmed? Achmed? Can you hear me?"

    "Uhhhh," my human drools.

    I take in my surroundings. Mountains. I'm on a mountain of some kind. The wind tastes like salt in the evening heat. There's some military base there flying the light blue flag of U.N.-filled, high-horse lazy nobodies. Fuck. Am I in the Middle East? Awesome! Maybe I can get some hummus or baklava while I'm here.

    "Achmed, hurry up!"

   I must have been buzzed into something important. Let's demon up!

    "Hurry up, Achmed! Now, throw this," some guy instructs me.

    Now, when someone hands you an explosive, you say thanks and watch the world burn.

    Only, that's not what happened.

    Instead, I managed to solve the conflict in the Middle East.

    Here's how...