A Happy Devil Worshipper
December 11 2024

Thought for New Business Owners

Happy Holidays from a Devil Worshipper

You know what’s funny about days that change our lives?

We never know until AFTER they happen.

The interesting thing is they happen at the weirdest and most ordinary time.

For me, this happened back in 2022.

And of all times, it happens when I’m jamming to my favorite playlist.

Just when my jam comes on, the phone rings and it’s my BFF.

The great and illustrious Kandy.

I’ll bet she’s calling to get me turned up so I can step out to downtown and throw my back out..

“What Up Kandy!”

“Hello Miquiel, I got Karl on the phone, we’ve been wondering about something important, got a minute?”

I peer at the clock, it’s only 7:45, I got time.

As we discuss her husband’s erratic behavior, the mood shifts and I try to band-aid the situation.

Arrrgggh, I totally forgot about this.

I peer at the computer, I’m already 10 minutes in.

As I put my clothes in the dryer, the conversation quickly moves to a direct attack on me.

“It makes no sense, why would you think that you are an exception and that Hip Hop is important?”

I respond, “y’all don’t see it, but Hip Hop is being attacked and it is our culture, so I must defend it.”

“I don’t see what you see, we all grew up with Hip Hop, it means nothing for my life.”

I respond, “Hip Hop is a gift from the Universe, given to us by Mother Hip Hop and I promise you, it will save the world one day.”

Kandy laughs, “spoken like a true fanatic, Hip Hop is just music, that’s it, and it doesn’t serve the right side.”

Her accomplice follows up, “I have no idea why you think you’re so special because of what happened to you in Desert Storm. I was shot and pronounced dead and I came back to life, big deal. Christ has saved millions.”

After that, they continue telling me how much of a waste Hip Hop is for our lifetime.

I respond, “people, it is 2022, I promise you, in the next three years, they are going to try take Hip Hop and claim it as their own. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put it on tv too.”

Kandy laughs, “why would anyone care about Hip Hop music promoting shenanigans?”

I respond, :Hip Hop is a culture, not just the music.”

Kandy giggles, “all we care about is the music and even then, only in the club. I haven’t been in the club since I had my son, which is over 20 years ago, see my point.”

Her accomplice responds, “CORRECT.”

I pause and I’m so ready to tap out, but Hip Hop is the most important thing in the world, so it must be done.

“I promise you, in the near future, when people realize what Hip Hop is, you’re gonna eat these words.”

Kandy glosses over and ramps up her emotions, “let’s get back to why you go out to the club.”

As they present reasons for why I still go out dancing after age 50, they settle down on one point.

Mind you, the point is beyond disrespectful and in any other scenario, someone would be getting the shit slapped out of them.

I’m told that the cause for my evil behavior is a simple thing.

Because she’s a mother, she knows best.

And the worst sentence in all of human history comes out of her mouth.

When I first hear it, I’m shocked.

Then, I pause and regroup, did she really say that?

They say people will shock you, but they never tell you that your closest friends are the case study for this sort of thing.

I pause and the words shutter me to my soul.

“You had a TERRIBLE MOTHER because she let you call her by her given name, that’s just wrong.”

Bear in mind that my friend, Kandy, is AWARE that my mother has transitioned.

Yet, she has no reservations about this statement.

There’s disrespect, but this is next level.

To add more pain to the wound, she continues on why I turned out so rotten.

“Why would your so-called good mother allow you to call her by her given name?”

I respond out loud with etiquette.

“Kandy, people are raised differently, what’s the big deal?”

Inside, I am screaming and screaming.

I peer at my computer and phone, this conversation is now 90 minutes in.

I decide I’ve had enough and there can only one resolution.

Her annoying voice continues.

“Sorry Miquiel, there’s only reason that you don’t see the issue with this nonsense.”

I shake my head, yeah, this is gonna be good.

Let’s see, either I’m going to be the result of a long line of pain passed down from slavery.

Or I’m going to be the result of a broken home.

Or my personal favorite - you’re from Atlanta, a big city, and there’s no love in a place like that.

However, I have to give her credit, she goes WAY OFF THE DEEP END.

“Sorry Miquiel, the reason you go to the club is from a deeper wound.”

And this goes deeper than the flesh.

I roll my eyes - oh yeah, this is gonna be GOOD!

And the words come out of her mouth with ease.

“You worship Satan!”

I take a long sigh and shake my head.

It’s hard to believe, after 15 years of friendship, she has done the unthinkable.

Disrespecting the dead is one thing.

But to disrespect my mother.

That’s Omega Level SAF!

And I wonder, where did this come from?

Like you, I tend to think of myself as a decent and honorable person.

Never been to jail or prison.

Never smoked weed, cigarettes, cigars.

Never drank alcohol.

Never took drugs.

Never been married, no kids.

Been to college four times with two degrees.

Desert Storm Veteran.

I would argue, isn’t that enough?

But I pause.

Whether I stay on the phone out of respect or etiquette, who knows?

She and her accomplice continue their warlock hunt and after 2 hours, they pause for my response.

I knew 30 minutes ago how to handle this situation.

There’s no need for me to allow this weight into my life, so I provide a nice response to alleviate the situation.

“There’s no need to worry about me, I know how to fix this situation.”

They laugh and continue their rant and I respond.

“Sorry Kandy, but I am going out dancing tonight in downtown, I’ll talk to you later.”

Before I hang up the phone, they respond.

“That’s right, go out to the club and worship your God.”

“Just like a Satan worshipper, going back to the den of iniquity.”

And then there is silence.

Click.

The conversation is over and my 90 minute decision is correct.

I open up my notes app on my phone.

Ensure that you block both Kandy and her accomplice and move on with your life.

And when the dryer’s annoying BUZZ echoes, I pause and I go back to the beginning.

You know what’s funny about days that change our lives?

We never know until AFTER they happen.

The interesting thing is they happen at the weirdest and most ordinary time.

Two hours ago, I was having the time of my life.

Two minutes ago, I lost my bestie and according to CNN, I now worship the Devil.

As I get in my car and drive to downtown, the radio offers comfort.

One of my favorite 80s songs is ending and the lead vocal resonates in the midnight air.

Hey now, hey now. Don’t dream it’s over.

Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in.

They come, they come, to build a wall between us.

Don’t let them win.

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