Beelzebub, Benghazi and the Bitch

At the offices of the Clinton Foundation, sometime in February 2012…



“ Good Morning, Clinton Global Initiative, Kimberly speaking. How may I direct your call?” Kimberly was looking smart at the desk, her wireless headset fitted snugly.

“Yeah! This is Satan. Lemme talk to the bitch, willya?”, came the voice over the line.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Kimberly tapped at the headset, uncertain of what she had just heard. She maintained the proper decorum, of course, and reached to take a sip from her triple shot vanilla latte.

“ What? You got some kinda hearin’ problem, sweetheart? I said lemme talk to the bitch!” The devil had easily slipped into his best Brooklyn dialect, an unconscious habit he’d developed whenever phoning or visiting the Big Apple.

Kimberly maintained her composure and would have been inclined to take this call for a prank, but for the fact that there were a lot of strange calls that came in to this office. “ I’m sorry, sir. Which bitch were you wishing to speak with? We have a lot of bitches here….”

“ Heh-heh-heh! Oh I bet you do! The head bitch in charge! Hillary, you dumb cunt!”

Now she was offended at the misogynist epithet. “ Excuse me sir! There is no need to speak to me like that!”

The devil could be a smooth talker when required. Very smooth. But this morning he was in a hurry and he had other things on his mind. Truman Capote’s abrupt resignation left him with a staff position to fill and quickly. Election years were no time to operate with a short staff.

“ Look, toots! Is she fuckin’ there or what, huh?”

“I’m sorry sir, no, Mrs. Clinton is not in this morning, may I take a message or would you like her voice mail?”

“ Ahh fuck! Never mind! I’ll see if I can’t raise her on her cell!”

Over her headset Kimberly heard the line go dead. She was relieved. What a rude prick! Did he say he was Satan? Weird…

Meanwhile in a posh hotel suite in Algiers Madame Secretary and her aide, Huma Abedin, were sipping absinthe and alternately taking turns going down on each other while her security detail stood watch outside the door. Suddenly her I-phone vibrated on the nightstand. She was annoyed at the interruption, but checked the screen to see if it was anything important. It showed a number that she did not recognize: 666-666-6666. She pushed the phone aside. Had to be a wrong number. Then the phone vibrated again. And again. Whoever it was they were not letting the call roll to the mailbox, but dialing again and again. She finally considered that perhaps it was a donor. They often reached out from disguised or blocked numbers, not wanting to leave any trail. Madame Secretary took the phone and turned to Huma.

“Don’t you go anywhere! I’m not done with you yet! I need to take this call”, and she excused herself to the bath. Finally she picked up the line. “ Yes? Who is this?”

The devil was not at all surprised by her abrupt manner. He briefly mused that if he were but a bit younger he might tap some of that action. “ Who is this? That’s all I get? I might get the idea you were trying to avoid me!”

Even though she was alone on this call Madame Secretary instinctively shielded the mouthpiece and whispered harshly into the phone. “ How did you get this number!”

The devil proceeded in a patronizing manner. This was a very haughty woman. He enjoyed toying with her. “ Hey now! Is that any way to talk to your old pal Satan? Come on Hillary! You know I can tap any fucking phone I like. Any time, anywhere. Am I interrupting something?”

She wanted to tell him “yes, you fucking prick”, but she still needed favors from him. In spite of her supplicant position she wasn’t intimidated by him at all. If anything she regarded him as a peer. “ No”, she lied, “ I have a few minutes. Whats on your mind, Satan?”

“A few minutes? Well, I should be flattered! How’s Barry and Mikey? That amazon still peggin’ that scrawny fuck?”

“How should I know?!” She let her irritation flare momentarily. “ Look! We both know you don’t just call to talk about the President and First Tranny’s sex life. I need to get ready for a conference soon so what do you need?”

“ My oh my! What big lady balls you have grandma! Ok, cut to the chase here! It’s been six months now. What the fuck are we doing with Libya? You know I got the Colonel down here and he’s singin’ like a bird. I’m starting to wonder if I haven’t bet on the wrong horse here, that’s all. Maybe could ya keep me in the loop?”

Well there it was. Madame Secretary had a lot of irons in the fire. She was aware that things were behind schedule. She just needed more time. “ You know this is a big job. Its not all just about Libya. Sid is still helping, we just need more time!”

Ugh! Blumenthal, that fucking kike! The devil couldn’t wait to flail a few layers of flesh off of that hide! “ Boo-hoo! Cry me a fuckin’ river you cunt! You think I don’t have a big job? Please!”

“ Okay, okay. You’re right. We’re starting an election year, you know. Political considerations start to come into play that hamper our operations. Surely you understand this?”

Indeed he did and more than she could know. The devil still considered his engineering of Grover Cleveland’s second election one of his finest political achievements. “ I am aware of this. There’s really just one thing we need to clean up. That ambassador of yours. He knows too much, don’t you think?”

“Chris? Bah! He’s a stooge! I don’t think….”

Now the devil was losing his patience with this. “ Hey! Save it, will ya? You seem to be forgetting who’s in charge here. He may not yet, but if you keep him there he is going to put the pieces of it together. I shouldn’t have to tell you what that could mean for you, should I? Jehovah’s balls, you cunt! You get him reposted or maybe have a fatal accident, that’s always been a go to for you. I don’t care how, you just need to clean up loose ends. If I gotta come up there and fix this the shits gonna get ugly! Are we clear?”

Madame Secretary bit her tongue and felt the flush of red heat rise to her face. She thought to herself “Grrr! Some day, you arrogant prick! I’m gonna have your fucking job!” She took a deep breath and let the anger pass before replying. With an icy calm she spoke into the phone for the last time before hanging up. “Crystal clear. It is in the works, trust me. I will keep him blinded and at the right time he will have an accident and no one will ever know a thing. You’re not dealing with an amateur here.”

The devil pondered this and had to admit that it was true. Then he had to laugh in spite of himself. Here was a woman who was constantly making public proclamations about shattering a glass ceiling. While she was looking up to that ceiling she was actually shattering the glass floor: she was destined, someday, to be the most powerful woman in hell.




The devil continued to monitor the developments in Libya and elsewhere through the course of the year. The election was shaping up according to plan. Romney! Hah! What a pussy! And as if a Mormon would ever get elected to the presidency. Why he’d be eating popsicles and ice skating down here if that ever happened! Of course he wasn’t fond of Barry or Mikey either, but they were useful idiots. Barry thought he was so slick but the devil could see the truth. No one could lie better than he and although Barry was quite prolific at it he was a pathetic poser where it came to speaking untruths.  He was able to make it all sound good, all of that grand rhetoric and his professorial tone, but he missed the key element of effective lying. A good lie was one that was easily defended, undiscoverable and which sounded more plausible than the truth. Barry was an incautious liar. Bold, to be sure, but frankly not very good at it. That was ironic, too, because of the two of them Mikey carried the much larger set of stones. Thankfully the devil’s imbeds at the Times and the Post were very good at carrying Barry’s water. And since all of the other slobbering jackals in the press corps simply followed their lead this could continue for years.

In the very early hours of September 12, 2012, US EDT, the devil received one very short but important text from a phone with the DC area code: done. A cruel leer curled upon his lips as he confirmed with his reply: well done. There was other business on the agenda that day, but the devil did manage to filter through more reports on the previous night’s events in Benghazi. They had taken out the Ambassador and more. Very thorough and they already had a cover story for misdirection prepared. Had it been left to him he would certainly have done better with the cover story. That anti-islamic video story was lame as fuck all. It had to be one of Barry’s inventions. What a pathetic amateur. Well, in any case they could put this whole ridiculous Libya operation to bed once and for all.

The next pressing item of the day was Capote’s audacious attempt at filing a sexual harassment lawsuit. Something had told him that he’d rue the day that he let Johnny Cochran through those gates! The devil had a soft spot for lawyers and since no one else would take Johnny he couldn’t turn him away. And now here is the thanks he got for “doin’ a brother a solid”. Through all of the legalese the crux of the case was that while on the executive staff Capote contended that Caligula had fondled him and said “Hey faggot! How ‘bout a little brown eye?”. He pictured this and laughed. Yes, he could certainly see it. It was Caligula, after all. The man would fuck a snake if you held its head long enough for him. A sexual harassment lawsuit! Where did they think they were, summer camp? This is Hell, dammit! Didn’t you see the sign?

The devil sighed. He wouldn’t miss Capote, but he’d had high hopes for Cochran. Oh well. No shortage of lawyers. He chose the most expedient solution for each of them; an eternal sentence to an oubliette.  The French name was borrowed ( the French were such whores! Even their language), but the Hell version was a little different. Hell’s oubliettes were orbs which were completely sealed and immersed into the deepest bowels of white-hot brimstone. Each was tailored specifically to it’s occupant. Capote was to be sealed in his where for all of eternity he would hear The Osmond’s Greatest Hits played on a perpetual loop. Cochran would face a hologram of Judge Lance Ito, also on a perpetual loop, banging his gavel and shouting “ I said objection overruled, counselor!” The devil signed the final orders and dismissed his subordinate to see that it was done. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his hooves out onto the top of his desk.” Damn I’m good” he said to himself.

Barry won his second term according to plan and for most of the next four years the devil was amused by the ongoing circus that proceeded from Washington DC. This was without a doubt the very best reality show since the closing days of the Roman Empire. The Nixon years had come close, but Barry? Barry exposed Nixon as a mere piker by comparison. During the first Clinton administration he had actually enjoyed golfing with Nixon and Rockefeller every Saturday morning, but since old Tricky Dick had taken up with Anais Nin he seldom ever heard from either of them any more. Maybe a card at Halloween. He couldn’t see the attraction. He’d never figured Nixon for an ass man.

Madame Secretary had parted her post with the second Obama administration, as was expected. She was going to raise sooo much money that no one and nothing was going to cheat her of what was rightfully hers again. She was going to be the Queen Bitch and boy were all of those republican assholes going to be sorry! She had a lot of scores to settle. The devil kept an eye on her and the workings of the Clinton family foundation. He had to admire the woman’s nerve. She was going to be a very welcome addition to his staff one day. As he observed developments he knew that any day now he should expect to hear from her again. Around the time that the house Benghazi hearings were winding down in 2015 the call came in.

“ Well hello Hillary! I’ve been watching the news lately and thought I would be hearing from you. Looks like you got yourself a little problem there, huh?”

“Nothing we can’t handle. Everything is on the private server and we’re getting it all wiped down. They’ll never find a fucking thing!”

“Well that’s good to hear. So why the call then? You never call unless you need something.”

“ Oh stow it! What are you? My mother? Like you’re any better!”

A point well taken. My, she was a little testy today! “ Oh, but I am, Hillary. You see unlike you I don’t have to worry about a prison sentence.” He could almost hear her scowl over the phone and it made him smile.

“ I don’t need to ask for anything new. I just need to confirm something. I know Obama’s got our backs and we’re safe over at Justice, so were not concerned about prosecution. They’d never make anything stick anyway. I’m a little concerned about the FBI, though, and leaks coming out of there. Do we still have a man inside there?”

For as smart as this woman could be it was also sometimes astounding how dense she could be. He was tempted to rub her nose in it, but indulged her instead. “ We don’t have a man over there. We have the man.” He stopped there to let that sink in. He shouldn’t need to say it.

“Comey? You got Comey?”

“ None other. Don’t worry. They’ll do all of their posturing in congress, but in the end it will come to nothing. The whole thing will be forgotten. We’ll just marginalize any of them that keep beating the drum. Come on! You know how this works!”

“Okay, okay. We know what to do then. I owe you big time, Satan.”

He didn’t reply to this other than in his own mind. “ Fucking damn right you do, you bitch!”

More months passed as it seemed that it was merely a waiting game for Madame Secretary to take the reins of power. The list of hapless republican candidates was growing to a size that they could field a baseball team with a well stocked bullpen. This was going to be too easy! Just divide and conquer. And then Donald Trump made his announcement. Better still! Now it was going to be a circus, a reality TV show bigger than The Apprentice. They could chatter on about those e-mails all they wanted and it wasn’t going to make one damned bit of difference. It was all too perfect.

Nobody really thought Trump was serious. It was just another PR event. Not even the devil himself considered it to be a credible run. The debates were a farce. He knew better but it almost looked like Trump was working behind the scenes with Madame Secretary to grease the skids.

Then came the primaries. Trump was coming away the winner, but with the vote fractured between so many candidates it still wasn’t worth getting excited over any of it. But there was something else wrong. Who the fuck was this Bernie Sanders asshole? Little by little the republican candidates were whittled down and Bernie was still gathering momentum. After his shocking win in the Michigan primary, a faltering Cruz campaign and more of the former republican contenders beginning to endorse Trump it was plain that something was amiss. And in something which seemed to be unrelated the Cubs were on a hot streak. No worries there, of course. Plenty of times with a strong run only to choke down the stretch, but still this was a very peculiar confluence of events. The executive board of Hell was paying very, very close attention to all of this.

Hitler relayed that he had been in contact with the Clinton campaign and the DNC. They were assured that Greasy Girl Deb had it all fixed.” Don’t worry about Bernie”, she said, “he’s a mensch!” The race proceeded into the conventions and it was indeed true. Bernie was vanquished, got converted and the Trump hijack of the GOP was a done deal. It looked like the stage was indeed set for Madame Secretary’s coronation. The only remaining worry were those pesky Cubs.


The night the Cubs won the series the election was only a week away. Hell was plunged into a deep freeze, the devil driven nearly mad. In the final days before the election the devil phoned Madame Secretary with some bad news.

“ Hillary. It’s me, Satan.”

She noted that he sounded different. Something was wrong. “ Hello…. What’s up? Are you coming to the Javits Center Tuesday night? It’s going to be a big party!”

“Uh, no, Hillary. I won’t. Didn’t you hear?”

She was drunk on the euphoria of her looming victory, spending all of her time surrounded by sycophantic toadies riding on her pantsuit. “ Hear? Hear what? I don’t understand?”

Now some of the flare returned to his speech. “ The Cubs, you stupid cunt! The Cubs won the series! I got a fucking icebox down here!”

“What!? You’re shittin’ me! Really?”

“ Yes really!”

“ I always thought that was a myth!”

“No, it isn’t. Anyway, just needed to let you know you are on your own. Right now we can’t do anything to help. We got enough troubles of our own down here right now.”

There was a part of her sadistic nature that took some pleasure at hearing the devil’s woes. He really was such an arrogant prick! “ Well I am so sorry to hear that, but you know I think we have this one in the bag.”

“Do you? Well at least there is some good news this week. Good luck on Tuesday night.”

“Okay. Thanks Satan. I’ll talk to you Tuesday night before my victory speech. Maybe we can funnel some help from the foundation to get you all back on your feet down there until I’m sworn in.”

“Maybe. We’re working on it. We’ll talk Tuesday night.”

That Tuesday night conversation never happened. Nor did the victory speech. Madame Secretary instead spent the evening and into the wee hours of Wednesday morning getting shitface drunk on Tequila and Rumchata, breaking lamps, kicking over furniture and shrieking at anyone who came within an arms length of her. When Wisconsin was called for Trump Bill said “ Fuck this! I’m gonna go get laid, ya’ll can deal with her.” Finally at about 3AM someone managed to administer some sedatives and Madame Secretary slouched into a drooling heap on a couch to sleep it off.

The suite was deathly silent for hours with only Huma Abedin and a few of Madame Secretary’s closest confidantes holding vigil. At around noon she finally began to stir and slowly raised herself to an upright position. She blinked and looked about the room. Everything was still fuzzy. Her mouth felt like the floor of a Mexican jail cell. She could barely open her mouth and her throat was raspy as she croaked out “ Water “. Huma was there with a cold Dasani and a comforting arm. Madame Secretary took a few swallows and began to crawl out of her funk.

“Ha! Hey…..holy fuck have I got one bitch of a hangover!” She paused to swallow more water and then resumed. “ Must have been some celebration, huh? You know whats funny? I had this nightmare that he actually won! Can you believe it?”

Huma turned to the others nervously and quietly asked that they all leave them a moment alone. They all knew what was coming and couldn’t get through the door fast enough. Madame Secretary was left bewildered by this and when they were left alone she turned her wobbly head to her lover for an explanation.

“Hillary? Darling? I have to tell you something. About that nightmare….”



Within hours there came a cacophony of beating upon the gates of Hell. Madame Secretary had wasted no time in arriving once she had received the unbelievable news of her defeat. As they were experiencing technical difficulties there was no one manning the gates. After about twenty minutes of a ceaseless assault on the bars and a shrieking tirade there finally came one of the low level minions to answer.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re still closed for repairs….”

“I don’t give a fuck! Do you know who I am? You open up these gates or I’m going to tear you a new asshole!”

The minion had never faced such a fury before, not even from the devil himself. Not eager to endure any further damage to his rectum he unlatched the bars and swung the enormous gates open for her. She brushed right past and marched off into the now darkened caverns.

“ Where is he! Where is that motherfucker! Satan! You better show your sorry ass, right now! You broke the deal, you cocksucker! Nobody betrays Hillary Rodham Clinton! “

Most of the staff were busy with the ongoing restoration efforts but as the ranting echoed louder and louder the deeper she went more abandoned their work to find the commotion. Janet Reno recognized her and stepped forward to attempt to calm her down.

“Hillary! It’s me! Janet! Don’t you remember….”

Madame Secretary threw her aside and shrieked “ Outta my way, you piece of shit! I want Satan! Where is that motherfucker? You can’t hide from me, Satan!”

After stirring enough bedlam the word quickly spread and the Devil appeared.

“I’m here Hillary. What are you doing here?”

“ What am I doing here!? Really? What am I doing here….You mother fucking piece of shit!”

She pounced, kicking and tearing at the devil, the fury of her assault unstoppable. She wrestled the devil the floor and began kicking his head, punctuating every blow with shrieked words through clenched teeth. “ What – am – I – doing- here-you-piece-of-fucking-worm-shit!”

The occupants and staff of Hell looked on in awe, completely frozen with fear. As she boiled up to ever greater heights of fury she stopped kicking, grabbed the devil’s tail and ripped it from his body then shoved it viciously up his ass. Then she broke off his horns and stuffed those into his ass as well. The fury began to subside though she was still panting heavily. She was perched with one foot atop the devil curled up on the floor beneath her, like some safari hunter posing for a portrait over his vanquished prey. Her eyes were still wild as her breathing gradually steadied and she looked about at all of the faces staring at her. Suddenly the furnaces groaned, a shuddering wave rolled through the floor and the flames again came to life. As the vast caverns lit up she could see that all of the eyes of Hell were upon her.

Triumphantly she screamed for all to hear. “ I’m in charge of this motherfucker now, bitches! Theres going to be some big changes around here!”






7 thoughts on “Beelzebub, Benghazi and the Bitch”

  1. Burghal,
    You’re on a roll with this devilish series. You obviously follow the personality politics game more carefully than I do. I didn’t recognize (or remember) some of the names, but I remember Hillary.

    Hell must be getting pretty crowded. I love the line, “I’ll have your job someday.”


      1. Burghal,
        If you have readers, it’s not too much, obviously. I tend to prefer print media–easier on my eyes–but I’m in a minority.

        I write satire, too. I’m constantly on the lookout for paying markets, and I haven’t found many of those. Length is variable, Write enough of these and you could put them in a book of short stories. Title, “Life is Hell,” maybe.


      2. That’s my approach, too. It gives you a handle on what people may want to read. I saw you posted this on WB and seem to be getting a good response. I like the requirement for comments, even if they can get contentious.


      3. Indeed. There are those on there I simply choose to ignore. No different from real life. There are those with whom I have numerous disagreements, but still enjoy the discussion. I probably converse with Opher and Stone Eater most and I certainly dont agree with a lot of Ophers beliefs! But I enjoy talking with him and hes civil.

        Liked by 1 person

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