George Sorosdemon & His Alvin Braggbitch
A One-Act Political Farce in which a Political Harlot Sells His Soul and Promises to Help a Demon Destroy His City
“Our plan to destroy New York City is going well so far, George, but we need to move faster,” said the shriveled old man on the computer screen.
George Sorosdemon nodded slowly and leaned back in his plush leather chair. Sorosdemon was a wrinkled old ogre with dark bags of scaly skin underneath his cold, beady eyes. He flicked his tongue across his lips, like a lizard tasting the air, and smiled, as he imagined the streets of Manhattan looking like the slums of Port-au-Prince.
“We have to speed things up, George,” continued the voice on the computer speakers. “The lockdowns and riots were good, but they weren’t enough. Property values and quality of life are still too high for what we want to do, and that’s true throughout the Northeast corridor. We really need to do to New York and Boston what we’ve done to San Francisco and L.A.”
“I agree,” hissed Sorosdemon. “Look, I am completely confident that I can control whoever wins the mayor’s race, as long as it’s not Sliwa; but he won’t win anyway, so we don’t have to worry about him. My biggest concern is the District Attorney’s race. If I can get one of my puppets in there, like I did with those other cities, we can ruin what’s left of New York in two years, tops, and create a real opportunity for ourselves. I got a guy coming in to see me today who should be perfect for our plans.”
“Glad to hear that,” replied the wrinkled face on the screen. “Keep me posted. Moloch be with you.”
“And also with you,” said Sorosdemon. He leaned over and turned off the computer. For the next several minutes, he stared silently at the wall, as he rocked slowly back and forth in his chair.
Suddenly, a mouselike woman cracked open the door and peeked inside. “Mr. Sorosdemon?” she asked meekly.
The ugly ogre glared at her with his reptilian eyes, but said nothing.
The woman flashed a nervous smile and continued, “Mr. Sorosdemon, your 10:30 appointment, Alvin Braggbitch, is here to see you.”
Sorosdemon leaned back in his chair. “How long has he been waiting?”
“He just arrived, not even a minute ago,” she replied.
Sorosdemon nodded slowly. “Tell him I will be with him momentarily. Make him wait for exactly nine minutes. Then send him in.”
Sorosdemon then closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, as if in a trance.
At the appointed time, the door creaked open, revealing a fat, Mr.-Potato-Head-looking man with a goatee and dark horn-rimmed glasses. The man clasped his hands tightly behind his back and bowed slightly, before saying, “Good morning, Mr. Sorosdemon, I’m Alvin Braggbitch.”
George Sorosdemon said nothing. He slowly opened his eyes and just stared at the newcomer.
The fat, potato-faced man kept his hands behind his back and shifted about nervously. Every few seconds, he looked at Sorosdemon and smiled awkwardly. Sorosdemon ignored him.
At last, Sorosdemon, pointed to a chair and beckoned for Braggbitch to sit. “I am a busy man,” said Sorosdemon. “I do not like being inconvenienced or kept waiting. Our appointment was for 10:30 A.M. It is now 10:38 A.M. Why are you late? You have started off on the wrong foot with me already, Braggbitch.”
Alvin Braggbitch’s eyes widened. “Um, uh, um,” he stuttered. “Uh, I apologize. There must be some misunderstanding. I actually checked in with your secretary at 10:25, but she did not send me in here until just now.”
Sorosdemon shook his head and said, “Why are you wasting my time with this nonsense? Are you ready to cut the bullshit or not, Braggbitch? I don’t have any more time to waste.”
Braggbitch hung his head like a lost puppy. He shuffled towards the chair and sat down as gingerly as he could, given his bulk. He hunched over in his chair and held his hands to his chest. “I sure am sorry, sir.”
Sorosdemon smirked. “I agree. You are sorry. Very sorry. Such a sad and sorry excuse for a human being. You contacted my office — well, you begged Chuck Groomer to contact my office on your behalf — because you want me to open some doors for your political advancement.”
Alvin Braggbitch nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. I would like a career in Democratic politics, and I know you’re the man to see about that. I know how to follow orders and be of service to my bosses. You won’t ever have any problems out of me. You want me to do anything, anything at all, and I will get it done. I promise.”
“You’re a talentless, unimaginative, unintelligent cretin,” retorted Sorosdemon. “Why should I waste my time with you?”
“I graduated from Harvard Law,” replied Braggbitch, defensively. “And I got my B.A. from Harvard as well.”
George Sorosdemon crossed his arms. “You were an affirmative-action admittee. You have done nothing in your miserable life to deserve my respect. I started as a bank clerk with nothing to my name except for my cunning and my ruthlessness, and I managed to make good with that. Now I got more money than most banks. I could take you and turn you into the next big thing nationally, and certainly I could put you on top of New York’s local politics; but you have to understand this up front: your success will be entirely due to me. Not you. To me, and me alone. I don’t need you. You need me. And don’t you ever forget it, you fat Mongoloid.”
Alvin Braggbitch gulped. “Yes, yuh, yes, sir.”
Sorosdemon smiled slyly. “Now, I’m talented enough that I can take a complete shitbag like you, Braggbitch, and I can make you into a Senator someday, maybe even a President, if you prove yourself worthy of my support. Just look at what my friends and I did for Barry Obama. I can do the same for you —” Sorosdemon paused and glared at Braggbitch for a moment, before continuing, “I can do the same for you, but only on one condition.”
Braggbitch looked up expectantly. “What’s that?”
Sorosdemon pointed his bony forefinger at Braggbitch. “That you never, ever, under any circumstances forget that I own you, Braggbitch. You hear me? I. Own. You. I own your soul, Braggbitch! Your soul! Do you understand me?”
Alvin Braggbitch forced a sheepish grin. “I understand. You want my complete loyalty, and you most definitely will have that. I will not let you down.”
Sorosdemon pursed his lips and stared icily into Braggbitch’s eyes. “I am not speaking metaphorically. I mean it literally. I. Own. Your. Soul!”
“Yes, sir,” replied Braggbitch.
Sorosdemon chuckled and continued, “Not that your soul is all that special. You’re such a pathetic, piteous — let me translate this into ‘street jive’ for you, so your little unevolved mind can better understand what I mean: you are a punk-ass bitch, Braggbitch. And you will be my punk-ass bitch. Mine. Do you understand? I own you. I own your ass. I own your soul. I own everything about you.
“That’s how it works, Braggbitch! I will give you the opportunity to experience all the power and glory the world has to offer. I may make you President. But never forget, even if you are sitting in the Oval Office, that I still own you. Even if you have the nuclear codes and can order missile strikes on anyone in the world, I still own you. You are a puppet, my puppet, and I jerk your strings. Whatever I tell you to say, you say. Whatever I tell you to do, you do. You have no loyalty to anything or anyone besides me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Braggbitch.
“It’s ‘Yes, Massa,’” Sorosdemon shot back.
Braggbitch nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Sorosdemon shook his head. “Not ‘Master.’ It’s ‘Massa.’ As in, I’m your Massa, boy.”
Braggbitch took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “Massa?” he said hesitantly, the pitch of his voice rising doubtfully.
“Do you want to be at the top, with the big boys, or not?” demanded Sorosdemon. “You don’t have what it takes to make it to the top without a patron. And I have so very many men and women begging me to be their patron. I don’t need you. At all. You need me. Do you want to work for me, or not?”
Braggbitch tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge. He bit his lip and finally said, “Yes, Massa.”
Sorosdemon smiled. “Good boy. Now, I want to see you degrade yourself.”
Braggbitch’s eyes widened. “Degrade myself?”
Sorosdemon scowled. “For me to be able to work with you, you have to give me all of your respect. All of it. Meaning, you will have no respect left over for anyone else, not even yourself. So when I tell you to degrade yourself, your only response should be, ‘Yes, Massa, how would you like me to degrade myself?’”
Alvin Braggbitch nodded. “Yes, Massa, how would you like me to degrade myself?”
“You will be my organ-grinder monkey.” Sorosdemon cackled.
Braggbitch forced a wan smile. “Yes, Massa.”
Sorosdemon reached for the telephone on his desk and paged his secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Sorosdemon?”
Sorosdemon sneered at Braggbitch and shouted, “Send in the organ-grinder equipment!”
“Yes, Mr. Sorosdemon!” she replied.
A moment later, the office door opened. Two young men walked in: one carrying a colorful costume and the other pushing a cart with a pneumatic organ on it.
“Give the monkey suit to the scumbag,” barked Sorosdemon, pointing at Braggbitch. “And both of you stay in here, so you can be witnesses of this cretin’s self-degradation.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men said in unison.
George Sorosdemon looked down his nose at Braggbitch and said, “Now, my n*gg*r, put on the monkey suit.”
“What did you say?” cried Braggitch, his eyes wide with dismay.
“It’s, ‘What did you say, Massa?’” retorted Sorosdemon. “And you heard what I said, Braggbitch. And I said it with the hard ‘R,’ not the hip-hop inflected ‘A,’ because I did not mean it as a term of endearment, but as a term of complete contempt and total ownership. I own you, Braggbitch. You are my n*gg*r. Mine! Now put on that monkeysuit!”
Alvin Braggbitch looked like he was about to cry. He held the small outfit in front of his face and stammered, “Uh, I, uh, I don’t believe I shall be able to fit into this.”
“Don’t shuck and jive with me, Braggbitch,” retorted Sorosdemon. “The objective is for you to degrade yourself. I will play the organ, and you will be my grinder monkey. You wear that suit, whether it fits or not, whether the fabric rips or not, whether it leaves your fat ass exposed or not. You need to degrade yourself before me, so that when I place you in positions of power and prestige, you know that it is I, not you, who am responsible for your success.”
“Yes, Massa.” Braggbitch looked beseechingly at the old ogre. “Where’s the bathroom, my Massa?”
George Sorosdemon shook his head. “I told you to degrade yourself, Braggbitch. You change right here.”
“Yes, Massa.” Braggbitch stumbled about as he changed into the monkey suit.
Meanwhile, Sorosdemon waddled over to the organ and began playing a circus melody. “Dance, Braggbitch!” he ordered. “Dance while you put on that ridiculous costume. When my secretary comes in here with the camera, I want you to put on a real show. Stepin Fetchit, Braggbitch! Degrade yourself with everything you got left in that soon-to-be mortgaged soul of yours.”
Alvin Braggbitch performed a cartoonish pantomime as he tried to squeeze his flabby bulk into the tiny monkey suit. Sorosdemon’s two male assistants clapped and laughed, and the secretary entered the room with a camera and began recording.
After a few minutes, Sorosdemon yelled at the young men, “Ravish Braggbitch’s ass like the bitch that he is.” Sorosdemon continued playing a clownish tune on the organ, as the young men took turns sodomizing Alvin Braggbitch. Finally, Sorosdemon stopped playing the organ and returned to his desk. “You can change back into your regular clothes now, Braggbitch. Now that you have degraded yourself completely, let’s talk business.”
“Yes, Massa,” chirped Alvin Braggbitch, as he pulled up his shorts.
“I will help you become Manhattan’s District Attorney,” said Sorosdemon. “If you perform well in that role, I shall elevate you further. If you fail, I shall consume your miserable little soul and destroy you completely.”
“Yes, my Massa!”
Sorosdemon smiled. “After you leave my office, these men will take you to the next stage of your initiation, where you will provide collateral for me in exchange for your continued use of your soul, which I now own, and which I can repossess at any time, should you ever fail me. You will also sign a contract for the sale of your soul. This contract may not be enforceable in a human court of law — at least not yet, anyway — but I promise you, it is eternally binding in the courts that will have everlasting jurisdiction over your soul.”
Braggbitch looked sideways at the old ogre. “Um, uh, what does this, uh, ‘initiation,’ as you call it — um, what does it entail?”
Sorosdemon leaned back in his chair and giggled. “You ever heard the expression, ‘born again,’ Braggbitch?”
“Well, it’ll basically be the exact opposite of that. When you’re done, you’ll be like me. I’ll still own you, to be sure, but you’ll be one of us. You’ll have more power and privilege and prestige than you have ever dreamed of.”
“Yes, Massa,” replied Braggbitch, with an audible sigh of relief.
George Sorosdemon smiled at his new political whore. “I will install you as Manhattan D.A. You will be tasked with destroying New York City by any means necessary. You will destroy what’s left of the social fabric. You will destroy what’s left of the Rule of Law. You will be responsible for the complete and utter destruction of families, neighborhoods, and institutions. Because of you, millions of people will suffer, and several thousand will die.”
“Yes, Massa,” chirped Alvin Braggbitch.
Sorosdemon grinned. “You will go very easy on violent career criminals. You will end cash bail. You will allow vicious felons to plead down to petty misdemeanors. You will ensure that the most sociopathic murderers and rapists go free. Anyone who is an agent of chaos, death, destruction, and evil, is our comrade, and you will treat them as honorable citizens.
“Meanwhile, anyone who believes in fair and impartial justice is an enemy. Anyone who believes in the Rule of Law is an enemy. Anyone who tries to protect themselves, their families, or their communities, is an enemy. And you will use every aspect of your office, as D.A., to destroy our enemies.
“You will zealously prosecute only two types of people: those who dare to oppose criminal violence, and those who dare to oppose me politically. That’s it. For everyone else, no matter how depraved and deadly their crimes are, no matter how horribly they shock the conscience of the public, justice will truly be blind — as in, justice will be so blind that it will not be able to find the guilty or protect the innocent.
“And if anyone has the temerity to use deadly force to protect himself or his family against a violent career criminal, you will make an example out of him. You will destroy him completely. Ruin him! You will commit prosecutorial misconduct if you have to. You will withhold exculpatory evidence from the defense. You will leak rumors and half-truths to the press. You will overcharge. You will nail motherfuckers like that to the wall, so that everybody else in this city gets the message: you are all worthless victims that depend on the power of the State for everything. And if you ever dare to be anything more than a helpless victim, then the State will crush you! Our goal is the complete demoralization of anyone who would resist our agenda.
“Then there will be my political enemies. There will be times that I order you to fabricate a case against someone whom I see as a threat to my agenda. You better do everything in your power, without regard to legality or ethics, to destroy such persons. Because if I ever order you to destroy someone and you refuse? Oh, ho ho ho!” Sorosdemon laughed fiendishly and licked his lips with his lizard-like tongue. “If you ever disobey my direct orders, I will absolutely crush you. A fate worse than death is what will await you, Braggbitch, if you ever disobey me.
“Remember this, Braggbitch, I own you. I fucking own your miserable ass and your miserable soul. If I tell you to betray your own mother and sell your own daughter into slavery, you will do it. Do you understand?”
Alvin Braggbitch bowed his head and replied, “Yes, my Massa.”
Sorosdemon grinned. “You’ve got to hate your own people even more than I do.”
“What do you mean?” asked Braggbitch. “Even more than you hate my people, or your own people?
“Both!” barked Sorosdemon, gritting his teeth. “I do not have a ‘people,’ except for those who have sold their souls to me. Those are my people: only the people I own. But I do not identify with them in any way.”
“Aren’t you Jewish?” asked Braggbitch.
Sorosdemon shook his head. “I am only Jewish if, and only if, being Jewish serves my purposes. But if it doesn’t, then I am not Jewish. I have no loyalty to anyone, least of all to the Jewish people or to Judaism. I have betrayed my supposed people before, and I will happily do it again.
“And I expect the same from you, Braggbitch. You better despise and betray your own people whenever I tell you to do it. Destroy their neighborhoods and ruin their lives. Sure, pretend to be their friend. Use all the politically correct agitprop, just to get their votes and their support for your agenda — our agenda.
“Let me tell you what makes me happy, Braggbitch: suffering. I love suffering. It gets me off. I am happy only when I see people suffer. When I see misery. When I see despair. When I see death. And the best kind of death, Braggbitch, is the one that happens in the psyche, before it happens to the body. I love to look into a man’s eyes as I break him, as I crush his soul and consume its remnants.”
“Yes, my Massa,” said Braggbitch, his voice trembling with fear.
“You are going to be my instrument of destruction in Manhattan, Braggbitch! And if you do a good job there, then I will use you to destroy even more of this cursed country, this America that I hate.”
Sorosdemon began frothing at the mouth. “I despise America. If America was a person, she would be some rich divorcee with a catamite ex-husband, some WASP-y woman who stupidly invites homeless burglars into her home and then shrieks with terror when she realizes she’s being robbed, but then when the police show up to protect her from the burglars, she shrieks at the police for being too rough and films them with her phone while threatening to give the footage to the media. Such a country deserves the death that I intend to inflict upon it.
“America has rejected Christianity, but she has retained the servile morality of that detestable religion, which I have helped twist and repurpose as a new antichrist religion: Marxcissism. America loves her enemies. Ha! I am her enemy, and she invited me into her soft underbelly. I came from abroad, and she opened up her treasury for me to loot it. She gave me access to her politicians, to corrupt them with my money and influence. I harm America, and she turns the other cheek and invites me to keep harming her. She left herself vulnerable to me, because she is weak; and I took advantage of her weakness, because I am strong.
“I am the Übermensch, Braggbitch! The future belongs to those, such as I, who are strong and ruthless enough to destroy their enemies completely, without holding back or hesitating at the moment of triumph, without being hindered by conscience or compunction. I have no conscience. I have no compunction. All I have is an unquenchable hunger for ever more human suffering.
“I will destroy my enemies, throughout the world. And you will help me do it, Braggbitch! Starting with Manhattan, and spreading outward like a cancer from there.”
“Yes, my Massa,” replied Braggbitch cheerfully.
Sorosdemon paused to catch his breath. He smiled, almost genially. For a moment, he looked like a kind, grandfatherly gentleman. “Braggbitch,” he said at last. “I think you will have a nice future working for me.” He leaned back in his chair, looked at the young men, and nodded. “Take Braggbitch to the last stage of his initiation. You know what to do.”
“Yes sir,” the two young men replied in unison.
Sorosdemon turned to Braggbitch. “You’re about to become superhuman, like me. I think you have it in you. I shall be very disappointed if I learn that I was wrong. Show me you’ve got what it takes to receive the indwelling of The Infernal Spirit, and the world will be at your feet, Braggbitch. All the kingdoms of the world, and all their glory, all of it is mine, and I will share it with you, as my Vizier.”
“Yes, my Massa,” said Alvin Braggbitch, leaping to his feet. “Whatever this initiation consists of, I am ready and eager to complete it. And I will destroy New York so thoroughly, that it will never rise again. I will turn the Big Apple into applesauce!”
George Sorosdemon chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. And after you destroy New York, you will join the team that I have in place to destroy the United States.”
[Note: this vignette is a work of fiction; any similarity to any human beings, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. However, no such guarantee is made concerning demons masquerading as humans.]
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