My aunt told me demons came to her bedroom.
They stood at the foot of her bed like, I suppose,
those guys in the kung-fu movies,
waiting to attack
instead of just closing in
and forcing her to serve Satan.
She woke her husband Arnold who is a minister
but notorious for sleeping through demonic visitations.
Together they sang
“There is power, power, wonder working power
in the blood (in the blood) of the lamb!”
until the demons writhed in agony and disappeared.
That was lucky
that they knew a good demon-thwarting song.
I would have probably called for direct angel intervention.
I’d have screamed,
“Help me, Jesus, help me.”
I would have never thought to sing to them
any more than I would try to stop a robber
by showing him a photo
of the Emmy nominated cast of Hill Street Blues.
But my aunt and uncle knew exactly what to do.
Which brings up another point.
What kind of hapless stupid demons
are they trying to palm off on us nowadays?
Of all the houses on her street,
this was the one house
where demons had no chance.
To my aunt and uncle, heaven is like
a celestial Olympic Games
for which they are constantly in training.
What were they thinking?
It’s the demonic equivalent
of walking into a Hell’s Angels’ bar
and yelling “All you pussy bikers suck!”
Bad strategy, boys.
The demons never returned to my aunt’s bedroom,
but stay busy nowadays directing the conduct
of America’s political parties.