Free Devilcountry by Craig Spivek Page A

gets people whom she sees as underneath to do shit for
her so she can maintain her “bell of the ball” status.  She has no talent
and no place within the Hollywood forum, or maybe she did and it was I that was
the imposter.  One thing was certain, all parties
serve a purpose in this town.  And much like a lonely, wicked, wicked
witch playing steward over a cannibalized broth ,  her purpose was to stir the pot.
    Perhaps this was the rudimentation of my
aversion to authority.  When I was seven I was playing flag football and
John Elway was the referee. At the time he was the star quarterback at my
future high school and was making extra cash as one of the referees at the
park.  He pissed me off with a bad call so I got in his face.  I
don’t remember what it was about but I remember my dad pulling me away. Elway
had an energy to him that I didn’t understand.   I
think I just wanted my dad to be impressed with me moreso than the future hall
of famer.  I just wanted to even the playing field. I wanted my dad to be
as impressed with me as he was with Elway.  I still don’t know if I
achieved this but the one thing I know is that my dad always brought that story
up to anyone who’d listen.  I have been beaten up, fired and harassed by
more assholes than anyone.  Something about bullies who have a bad agenda,
a lack of respect, a crappy sense of humor and are
granted too much attention, accolade and capital just pisses me off.  It
is their will towards the destruction of the decent that fuels my hatred of
them as well as my own self-destruction.  I try desperately to rid
whatever world I am circulating in of their virus.  I am granted limited
success but unfortunately more times than not it is I who is thrown out.
 I am the worst white blood cell ever created.  

 
    So now here I was about to deal with one of the
most famous persons on the planet.   The Prince of
Darkness.  Ozzy.  I was scared of myself, to be honest.
 If he was rude would I lash out as I have in the
past?  It is a strange sensation not being able to completely control your
own state of mind.  I admire those who can, like Geraldo.  He can
take all the shit that Dickie or a shitty customer throws at him and still be all smiles.  So can all of the dudes who work the
back of The Big Pizza.  Every single one of them had balls of steel.
  Sadly, it is my own sense of entitlement that has destroyed me on
the job, time and time again.  The Big Pizza was helping me remedy this.
When I was with my co-workers at the shop, I was as strong and as patient as
they were.  I brought my strength with me on the delivery to Ozzy’s.
 Ozzy was a god to me. I prayed my devil be ceased.
    I knock on the door. Nothing.  When
delivering to houses of the famous it’s always someone else who answers.
 Someone unfamous and on-the-clock .  I knock
again.  Finally I hear movement behind the door.   The door
opens.  Ozzy poked his head out. I am speechless.
    “Yes?” he asked, politely.  I can’t believe
it.  The Devil himself has opened the door to his own home.  What a
horrible breach in protocol!  
    “Pizza, uh .. Mr. uh...
Ozzy... sir.”
    “I didn’t order a pizza.” He mumbled in his
thick Birmingham accent.  He looked confused.  He turned back into
the house.  “Oh ..fuck it, just come in...”
 I couldn’t believe it.  Gargoyles everywhere.  Dim lights.
 Aroma’d candles.  “Right, just follow me.”  I walked behind
him.   about three steps.   Through
a hallway.  It is long, narrow and dark.  I hear tiny
whispers, “Hail Satan...hail Satan... ”   Ozzy
starts waving his hands around over his head brushing the voices away like they
are flies.  All of the sound dissipates instantly.  I am majorly
freaked-out.    Past more darkened rooms and
candles, and into the kitchen area.  “ You can just put it there on
the table.”  He paused for a moment.  He turned back and up the
stairs.