Walking the corridors of Mott Children’s Hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan, which is a concentrated assemblage of little ones with tumors and leukemia and just about every vicious disease ending in “oma” that has been identified, I am persuaded that cancer is one of the fingerprints.
Another is abortion. I know that the topic is a sensitive one and that not all of you will agree with me, and that’s fine. I would simply say that aside from the Biblical perspective you should expect that I would bring by default, it just seems that there’s somewhat of an intrinsic and almost effortless ominousness that palls the topic of Abortion each time it is broached. For or against it, it is a discussion dealing in very dark things. And to go a bit further, even if I were to acquiesce to an existence without God, it would still seem to me that Life is not necessarily chosen, but rather, it happens. And yet its termination is given over into the realm of choice by those who’ve already benefitted from being preserved and protected from termination during that happening. I’m yet to understand this except as I behold it playing out amongst predators in the animal kingdom. But in the realm of man, the assent of the protector to kill the protected just seems more like devilry to me. Again, you may disagree, but I hope we can still be friends.
Radical individualism is the third. In fact, I think it is the fingerprint on the middle finger that the Devil is quite often extending to all of us. Radical individualism is the inability, or should I say, the willing disavowal of distinguishing between what is objectively true and what is only true by way of subjective interpretation, and it is nothing short of astounding. Western society, namely the United States of America, is embroiled in this foolishness as we speak. It hasn’t quite arrived at the threshold of society’s unraveling, but I get the feeling that plane is coming in for a landing. Perhaps we’ll know for sure when someone who believes that the earth is flat ends up getting appointed to the chief position at NASA. Sure, it’s fine to believe that the world is flat, but just so you know, it isn’t. It’s round. And so no matter what you believe, you are inevitably bound by the rules of objective truth, and you must affirm this natural law lest you steer us into oblivious things. The Devil’s third fingerprint is societal destruction by way of radical individualism and the discounting of natural law.
The fourth is winter. I hate winter. Surely had the Devil stayed away from Eden, maybe changed his mind and decided to ask God for some grace, there’d be no such thing as winter.
I’m not completely certain as to the fifth, but I think I may be onto something. I think it may have been poured into the vile you see in the photo and sent home with me for a review.
When I snapped back the latch to sniff the whisky, I’m certain that I smelled the familiar scent of rotting grass at the bottom of a moist yard waste bag. Rot is decay. Decay is the progression toward and into death. These are the Devil’s things. That was sign number one.
Next, with the first sip there was the overwhelming sensation that I’d consumed this whisky before. It took some deep digging into my mental matrix, but after a time of contemplation, I believe I made the connection.
When I was younger I worked as head counselor for a summer camp in Illinois. But not only was I the head counselor, I was also the head lifeguard, sports director, and the weekend camp maintenance assistant. Well, one Friday after the last of the campers had been collected by their parents, I decided I’d get a head start on mowing the soccer fields, and so I fired up the bush hog and pulled up next to the elevated gas tank to fill up. I used my key to unlock the latch which would allow for gas to flow into the hose, but for some reason the knob wouldn’t budge. I pulled and pushed and pried until finally it popped open. The only problem is that somehow I managed to tear the hose and I was sprayed by the gasoline, some of which ended up in my mouth.
Sipping this Label 5, I now know that all those years ago I’d been filling the tractors with cheap booze.
And by the way, this is another sign. It tastes like gasoline. Gasoline is flammable. Coincidentally, Hell is a place of fire. Again, surely these are the Devil’s things.
Lastly, the finish did all but sign and seal a certificate revealing this stuff as an unholy sacrament.
There was a hint of fruitiness to the gasoline, but I can only surmise that the fruit therein is of the same batch snipped from the Tree of Knowledge in Eden. Right after Eve took that bite, shared the rest with her idiot husband, and God came ‘round to deal with the situation, Lucifer snatched a few to put into Hell’s freezer before slithering away in shame. Fruit from Eden is good, tempting, luscious. And that’s sign number three. The sweetness in the finish nearly convinces you that the poisoned cocktail you just swallowed wasn’t all that bad.
Lies. Filthy lies. Surely these are the Devil’s things.