(The following experpt is faithfully chronicled by niteowl, in the vague hope that, the anti-christ will take it easy on him.)

Hello, sorry to interrupt your busy lives but I felt some introduction was necessary. You may already know me by reputation, I am the anti-Christ.

That’s right folks God has gathered his faithful, those meek, those repentant, those who loved and forgave all others and were themselves forgiven. God gathered all three of them up, and the rest of you belong to me. I’m quite surprised at who those three were really, no priests, or prophets, no monks or holistic healers; one was a barber, one was an undertaker, and the last a telephone solicitor from Iowa. I’ll never know how he slipped through.

Now please don’t start getting all heroic and try “saving the world” from me, even in God’s version, that’s not how this story goes. Anyway, this wasn’t my idea to begin with.

I’m the real victim here. “I turned from God,” they say. Come on, do you really think God didn’t know how I was gonna turn out? He made me same as the rest of you, he was still omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient and omni-whatever the hell else you can think of. Of course, he knew that sooner or later I’d get tired of running circles around the gold throne and singing his praises: he counted on it.

Where would God be if I had pulled a no show for this whole end of the world schtick anyways. I’ll tell you where he’d be, he’d be busy creating someone else who’d show up here and tell you all exactly what I’m saying now. And don’t feed me that tired free will line of BS either. Sure God gave me the power to choose differently, he also gave me the power to masturbate with a belt sander if I wanted to, as it happens masturbating with power tools is not in my nature.

And there’s the real rub of this whole stinking situation. I’m free to choose whatever I want, but he engineered me to want to choose being bad. How long can a man run around denying his own nature? Sooner or later you just gotta indulge. Everyone does, it’s just a question of scale. You cheat on your wife, I topple nations, it’s merely a difference in taste. And now for being the creature he made me, for simply helping him perform the necessary task of weeding the faithful from the unholy (which I thought was the point of this whole stupid exercise), he’s gonna fling me into a lake of fire to burn for all time. Isn’t that a bitch?

So now I’m doomed, to conquer the world and plunge it into seven years of war, famine, pestilence, and death...

Oh, what the hell, I’m a sucker for a good time.

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