There’s been a lot of chaotic anger over the past couple of days regarding my route from Athens to Beijing. People keep trying to extinguish me or take me on an alternate route. Then there are those who refuse to touch me as if I were a you-know-what with AIDS on it. But nobody has asked me what I think, what my opinion is on the matter. 

  I have to acknowledge the controversial nature of the Beijing Olympics and so to be fair to the world – which the Olympics are supposed to represent – I think we should have an Olympic Fire-Extinguisher which will follow five meters behind me. At specified locations, its bearers can squeeze the handle to fire off some token CO2. Thus, the gamut of opinions will be represented along my route.

  Yes, I’m a remarkable Olympic Torch. Not only can I solve problems but I have also been writing a short-short story for the past four months on this blog. I’ve written under different pen-names in order to sidestep the inevitable disbelief that some would have over an Olympic Torch writing a daily blog.

  Anywho, I hope you enjoy today’s fast fiction…



Satan Goes For A Jog



   Because he needs a break as much as the next guy. Because evil can be ubiquitous if he really sets his mind to it. Because he’s not getting any younger. Because he wants to try out his gas-powered treadmill that coughs out clouds of pollution. Because something’s up his poker-hot sleeve.

   Mike opens his front door to get the morning paper. He’s not in the mood for bad news but he needs to read the facts over his cornflakes. He needs to respect his morning ritual. He hears the rumble of engines and he looks up.

   Satan is on his gas-powered treadmill which in turn is on the back of a pickup truck. Mike feels like an idiot. Satan was at his front door a week ago collecting pledge money for his run for the environment. Dinner was ready and saying yes seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time. Mike made sure not to sign anything and just said he would give Satan some cash up front. Satan estimated that he’d run 25 miles for the environment. Mike gave him five dollars and told his wife all about the conversation over their meal of chicken and potatoes. How Satan was turning over a new leaf. 

  Now Mike feels like a shmuck. He’s paid to help pollute the environment. Great. This will someday come around to bite him in the ass. He knows it.

  Satan waves from the back of the truck. He fires up his gas-powered walkman which makes more noise than music. More exhaust fumes trail the truck as it goes up the street.

  Satan’s an asshole.