Tag: christians

Demons are terrifying. They’re the beating heart of evil manifested on Earth. They’re fucking awesome. Without demons what would our heavy metal album covers be of? Just dragons and tits and dragons with tits and that’s great art but it could be better with a demon riding it. In 1863, Colin De Plancy put together the Dictionnaire Infernal, an exhaustive list of every demon he could find. I know the name “Colin De Plancy” does not exactly shatter the nerve of man, but luckily the version I bought was edited by Diablito Ordo Al Ghoul, a clear demon expert and also how you order a Spicy Loaded Nacho Taco in Abyssal. Obviously when you’re cataloguing every demon, not all of them are going to be winners. So this article is for them – the silly demons, the stupid demons, the demons who get shoved in hell’s lockers. 

Furfur is what an idiot child names their first cat. He’s a flying deer with human pecs and his only enemies are priests with unwavering faith and pickup trucks at night. He only says lies unless he’s locked in a triangle, so he can be defeated with basic shapes and his whole deal is that he really respects the sanctity of marriage. FurFur the Fidelity Elk is less like a demon and more like the least popular character on a Scandinavian Christian cartoon. He understands losing out to Heblokk the Respect Your Elders Raccoon, but OppOpp the Stop Touching Yourself Monkey? OppOpp doesn’t even speak! He just screeches his own name and isn’t allowed to take off his mittens!

Adramelech is a super sick burn on himself: he thinks he’s a peacock, but he’s really a jackass. It’s pretty hard to bleed terror into the hearts of men when your head is a dunk on your butt. He takes care of the other demons’ clothes, no doubt reserving the choicest pantaloon huffs for himself. Wait, fucking really, Assyrians, you burned your children for this guy? What did you get in return, knit ties and culottes? Those better have been some shitty kids. Those better have been OppOpp kids, if you know what I mean. 

Ipes, you look like a drunk Jim Henson sketch. You’re a lion with the head and feet of a goose? The head and feet are the best parts of a lion, and the worst parts of a goose. It’s such a weird turn: Give a lion a goose’s wings and innate hatred, and this world would fall in a day. I have to believe this is a The Fly scenario, where the teleporter accident actually output two monstrosities, and somewhere there’s a goose with the head and claws of a lion just fucking dominating the pond behind the old folks home. 

Also please note Ipes gives ‘audacity’ to men — not bravery. Just gall. He gives you the nerve to unleash ribald quips at cocktail parties, and all it will cost you is your soul and some wet bread.

This is just a bird with a job.

This is your Great President of the Underworld? This guy commands even more legions than the jungle goose? No, Malphas is an old-timey racist British cartoon whose stereotypes have been lost to time. This guy is a union rep in Redwall. This is what replaced Rabbit in the Ukrainian version of Winnie the Pooh. 

Wait, this guy gets control of storms? You’re sure? This guy? He’s made of seventeen different things I don’t want in my kitchen. This looks like something that did a bad job selling mayonnaise in 1960s ad copy. You’re telling me the Thor of the demon world is a naughty salad? 

Look, if there’s a hell I’m definitely going there anyway on account of all the everything I’ve ever done. But I’m actually looking forward to it now. I’m going to wipe the floor with these chumps. I’m going to rule with an iron fist. This is going to be the McDonald’s Play Place debacle all over again, only this time little Madison won’t slip past my guards to tell her precious mommy about the “conditions” in the ball pit. 

I’m not looking at a Great Duke of the Underworld here, I’m looking at a bashful horse boy that is visibly horny in three different ways.

A flying dog isn’t a demon, it’s the plot of one of those Air Bud sequels that only poor children watch. This is a good boy who can get the ball off the roof himself, not an eldritch terror that torments the afterlife. Wait, literal Air Bud up there teaches Women’s Studies and Homicide. They say the key to holding onto a teaching gig is to diversify, so between West African Fiction and Hobo Murder I guess Caacrinolaas is recession proof. 

That Dobby the House Elf looking champion invented frying and the Fourth of July and he has to hold a maintenance job in hell for it? There truly is no justice in God’s wrath. Ukobach, I’m sorry that I called you a crappy demon — and you are; you look like a promenade caricature of Adrien Brody and your demon weapon is “big spoon” — but I would love to call you… friend. I could hang with Ukobach. Shit, I have hung with Ukobach: If he was wearing loud Chef Pants and always had weed, Ukobach is every line cook I’ve ever worked with.

Lechies is a shy neckbeard who buries himself in his oversize hoodie when things get too real. I definitely know Lechies. He kept trying to get me to listen to System of a Down and I wasn’t allowed to be friends with him anymore after we caught him in my sister’s room. He’s just a fat low-confidence goat, no additions, and he murders by non-consensual tickling. He is the infernal king of fleshlight tech support. He’s the demon who tortures you if your death was masturbation-related. You summon Lechies by cracking six RC Colas and saying something incorrect about Babylon 5. 

Buer the mighty demon comes to Earth in the form of a legwheel with a lion face, and his weaknesses are soft punts and shoe costs. Buer can be defeated by just hopping over him on your way to pick up the Holy Water. Imagine ruling amongst the legions of hell and then googling your unholy name to find you’re most famous for being barely an annoyance in Castlevania. Don’t summon Buer unless you need help finding a good butler, a dime bag with no stems, or a spare for your Big Wheel.

Belphegor has big ‘Stepdad the Day After Thanksgiving’ energy. Look at that cranky hellbeast, straining. You just know he calls for you to fetch him toilet paper and then insists you open the door all the way to hand it to him. I love that he has to hold his own tail as he shits, because you know he learned that from experience. He’s the patron demon of astonishing discoveries and donut pillows. You are reading his bio correctly: Belphegor eats shit that you toss him through a hole, so he’s both on a toilet and is a toilet. 

Flaga was just a bewildered dude stuck on a bird. 

No powers, no legions, no weird boons to grant. If you helped him off the bird all he’d give you was his sincere thanks and maybe $20 if he remembered to get cash back at the Fred Meyer before this whole bird incident. 

Leonard. 

The demon. 

By this dark moon I do inquire, of a force most grim and dire. I bring ye forth the blood of child, given here in dark and wild. I revile god and stillborn Christ, I spill my seed upon His Mary. By these bloody graces do I summon… 

Gary.

Fuck you, Leonard. When they asked what infernal title you answered to, you were supposed to think of a cool demon name. Viscikar or Morlax or something — you’re like the asshole that names the band after himself. You could’ve been MOTORPUSSY, Dave Matthews Band, you could’ve been anything. You are a failure of imagination and you deserve to be the official state music of Nebraska. 

Everything about Leonard sucks out loud. He stands like he’s sarcastically cutting the ribbon on a Medieval Times and he has both upper and lower pinkeye. If you summon him on a Sunday he waddles up goose-legged like he’s hitting the coffee shop in comfy pants and slippers. 

If I slit the throat of a lamb on the equinox and Leonard answered I’d pretend like the reception sucked and say I’d call back.

I would not.

I’d let all of his calls go straight to sacrificial voicemail and if he tried texting me I’d look up how to say “who this stop texting my daughter” in Spanish so it seemed like my number changed. 

I’d tell you to eat shit in hell Leonard but that’s kind of the problem here. How about this: Eat Loaded Potato Skins in a Wilmington TGI Friday’s, you fucking Leonard. 

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This article was brought to you by a tip from Alpha Scientist Javo, and by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme, Brianne Whitney: The demon who teaches English 97 night classes in the annex and commands 73 legions.