The Many Adventures of Lisa January: Life After College?

The Many Adventures of Lisa January: Life After College?

Dear Readers,

When I went home last break, I was bombarded with scary adults who were very concerned that I had no idea what I was going to do after college.

Adult: “Lisa, what are you gonna do after college?”

Me: “Ionno”

Adult: “Well, do you have any ideas?”

Me: “Something fun.”

Adult: “Fun?” Adult patronizingly chuckles. “And what would that be?”

Me: (I already said IONNO!) “Join the circus? Become a CPA?”

Mrs. Adult thought I was giving her attitude, but to be completely honest, I still haven’t even accepted that there is an ‘after-college.’ I’d been trying not to because as soon as you do, you can never get back to the state of oblivious bliss. Kinda like as soon as you realize there is no Santa, or Tooth Fairy or other fantasy constructs. It's devastating as shit. But, it is true and at some point I will have to get something called a ‘job' to make monies. Although some people would look at this and get RAGE (like I normally get from everything) I have decided to take a positive outlook on this inevitability of my life. Maybe, if I am able to find the right ‘job,’ then I will have more fun when I am an adult and stress won’t turn my hair gray as quickly! Yay! In fact, there may even be more than one right ‘job’ for me out there. I started to get excited about my many prospects and naturally, went to the internet to explore.

To my great surprise, something sparkling and glorious came up: QUIZZESS!!!! I didn’t know you could take a test and the internetzzz would tell you what to be when you grow up! How cool! So I clicked on one of the quizzes, refilled my diet coke and fearlessly got myself ready to figure out my future.

I submitted my test and in those few seconds in which some algorithm was calculating my overall worth as a human being, I was so nervous! Like, what if something comes up that I really don’t wanna do but my mom wants me to?  THEN I HAVE NO EXCUSE! ‘Cause she’ll be all: “the quiz told you can become a doctor,” and I’ll be like: “No.” And then she’ll be mad at me. And then I'll feel bad b/c 'maybe I can become a doctor' and now I'll have to live with the guilt that the internetzzz says I can be a doctor but I don't want to be one and am thus making Mom mad. Finally, after 2.365 seconds, my results were in!

FUCK THIS QUIZ!!!!! This is bullshit!! OH NO! The RAGE is coming on! Quick, think of a happy to calm you down. Come on Lisa, damnit, think! Uhh, uuhh (luckily, at this exact moment, I got a text…which means I am popular. I felt better). But still. This quiz is dumb. I can do so many more things than that. A fashion model would be cool I guess, but then I’d be stuck at that fucking salad bar for the rest of my life and would have to give up delicious things like onion rings. No way Jose. Then, all at once, it hit me like a piece of shining, golden, fluffy idea that had fallen out of the sky. I will make my own quiz! A quiz just for me. So I opened a word document, made a quiz, and took that shit.

I am totally a quiz master! I got all ‘yes’s! Then, I looked over my responses and using my very on algorithm, calculated my results:

I AM SOOO TALENTED AND GREAT!!!!!! Look at all the cool things I am totally meant to do!  I was very pleased with myself and my new prospective careers and no matter what, I knew I would be greatly successful and pwn on bitches and people with lamer jobs all day long. I can’t wait for ‘after college!’............…I take that back. But at least it isn’t looming so dangerously and scarily and intimidatingly, anymore.

I showed the results of my quiz to Mom who said that I was dumb for creating my own quiz because the results were only things that I thought were cool or things I’d recently seen on reality TV shows. You know what, Mom, doctors are total noobs and if I want to be a Wild Animal Trainer/Domesticator I CAN DAMN WELL BE ONE!!!!!!!!

This experience has taught me 4 things.

1.   There are a lot of cool things to do after college, like being President.

2.   Online quizzes that try and find a career for you totally suck!

3.   Anytime a quiz you take gives you a bad/wrong/rage-inducing answer, you can always just make your own that makes you look like a badass-superstar-champion-woman.

4.   Thinking about onion rings makes me really hungry.

If you have any more ideas for ‘jobs’ for me for ‘after college,’ please let me know! And don’t worry if you don’t know what you are doing yet. Just don't let any mean internetz quizzes tell you that you can't work for the mofuckin' FBI. (But if it does, make your own quiz and put it as your top result - like me!)

Love,

Lisa January 

The Many Adventure of Lisa January: General Rage Reflexivity Reaction

The Many Adventure of Lisa January: General Rage Reflexivity Reaction

Dear Readers,

After my incident at the salad bar, the head of dining services contacted my mother and told her I should get checked out for anger disorders. So, immediately my mom called me and said, “Lisa, you need to go to a psychiatrist.”

            “No!”

            “Yes.”

            “You can’t make me!”

            “Wanna bet?”

Never threaten my mother. She called Campus Security and Supervisional (real word?) Services and bribed them to come and take me from my room, kicking and screaming, to the psycho-office. She said that if I told them that ‘I had a laser beam gun that I could zap them into oblivion with if they came towards me,’ that I was full of shit and not to take me seriously. (Which sucks ‘cause that is exactly what I said and they all laughed at me which made me feel embarrassed and stupid. Thanks a lot, Mom).

At the office, Dr. Stern had me look at Rorschach inkblot tests to evaluate my anger.

“What do you see in this one?”

Dr. Stern scratches his beard, squints at me and tries again.

“And in this one?”

It is starting to get hard for me to contain myself. I know I probably do get angrier than most, but I can’t show them that! If I show them the slightest bit of rage, they will lock me up forever and ever like a fucking leper! I’ll be an outcast! A pariah! Must. Maintain. Composure.

Dr. Stern chuckles to himself, squints again and then, smirkingly says

“What about this one?”

GAAHH!! Oh shit. Now he’s gone and done it. How the fuck did he know?! I HATE UNICORNS?! HAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEM!!!!!!! Those smug little bitch horses with fuckin’ sticks on their heads like they think they’re the shit! They are like reindeer that have been castrated on their heads but the castrator got too bored and left 1 dumb horn up there. And they prance around like life is so fuckin’ flowery and I just want to take chain saw and saw off their weak, dumb, shiny, stupid, mutated antler horn!!! RAGGGEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I’m panting like a horse, sweating like a pig, screaming like a banshee, biting like a wolf and angry like a fucking 19 year old girl with a rage problem. FEEL MY WRATH UNICORN BITCH!

After I have completely demolished the picture of the unicorn, which I am pretty sure my mom told him I hated so that they could set me up (I AM A VICTIM AND I HATE EVERYONE! Oh, and thanks again, Mom, for sharing literally everything about me to everyone. Suuuuperrrrr cool of you.), I started to realize what I’d done. The jig is up. I am doomed. I will now be labeled as weird and doctors will perform experiments on me like a lab rat.

Dr. Stern speaks: “It appears you have General Rage Reflexivity Reaction, or GRRR.”

Well that is ironic. You mean I have “GRRR!!!!!!!!”? Like the sound a lion makes? EVEN MY DISORDER IS ANGRY AND AGGRESSIVE!! HOW CAN I EXPECT TO FIX MY ANGER IF EVEN MY ANGER IS ANGRY?!

Dr. Stern: “To fix this problem, we generally prescribe some sort of drug, but I fear with your extreme case, that may not be enough. So, I would like to propose a different method. What do you think?”

            I mean, am I even allowed to say no? I hate that. When adults ask you questions even though you have no choice in the matter but they ask you out of courtesy, pretending you are a real person but actually you are still totally in the limbo between child hood and seniority so they want to meet you half way by deluding you into thinking you have free will, but actually, you don’t. So I just say: “Sure.”

Dr. Stern: “Well, I’d like you to try and come up with at least 10 things that make you very happy. That way when you get angry, you can think about these things; hopefully, your strong spirit will pull yourself through any rage you may face.”

This sounds dumb. But okay Mr. Doctor Man, I accept your challenge. I’ll make a stupid fucking list of pretty, nice, fluffy things and I’ll quit my mofuckin rage like it ain’t no thang. You’ll see.

BACK IN MY DORM ROOM:

Okay, here I go. Imma make the best list of happies ever. Good bye Rage, hello normal-people feelings!

I could only get to 8 before I started to get frustrated. Frustration is like the sister-in-law of Rage. So before I knew it, I was pulling on my hair, screaming, crying, biting, anything to express my deepest Rage. It’s not that I don’t have 10 things that make me happy. I have a KA-JILLION things that make me happy! I just couldn’t think of them all and I got discouraged… Anyway, I called Dr. Stern screaming:

“I CAN’T THINK OF 2 MORE HAPPIES AND I FAILED YOUR ASSIGNMENT AND I AM ADDICTED TO RAGE!”

Dr. Stern assured me that this process of controlling rage will take a while and that I need to be patient. He says it’s okay that I only have 8 happies for the moment, I can always add more later. This made me happy! So I wrote it on a post-it and stuck it to the list:

There is hope yet! Mom says she is proud of me for trying to work through this. She says that I am very brave to confront such a scary thing. Dr. Stern says that as long as I keep thinking of happy things and adding them to my list, I will start to feel less rage. He also told me to try and draw my rage so that I can talk to it out loud and tell it that ‘I am in control now and Rage’s turn running Lisa’s life is over!’

I decided to draw Rage as an upside-down chocolate ice cream cone because when this happens I feel Rage…a lot. And I always imagine the ice cream cone looking up at me being like, “How dare you drop me you ungrateful twerp! Now you have no ice cream, have wasted $2.50, and I will melt to death! Are you happy now?!” And then I get even angrier that my ice cream cone is yelling at me. It’s bad news.

 Dr. Stern also says I need to stop using the F word so much because it fuels my hatred. I told him it was my favorite word and to say I’d even try to do that would be a complete and total lie.

In the end, knowledge is power. Now that I know I have GRRR, I can take my steps to keeping it under control. I will never be cured of GRRR. It is something I will struggle with my entire life. But I can learn to live with it and not flip the fuck out in the dining hall anymore, or at least as often… I’m not making any promises…

Until next time, if you have any happies to add to my list, let me know! I still have 1 more to go!

Love,

Lisa January

The Many Adventures of Lisa January: When the Dining Hall Salad Bar Passive-Aggressively Attacks

The Many Adventures of Lisa January: When the Dining Hall Salad Bar Passive-Aggressively Attacks

Dear Readers,

I need to tell you a story. It is something very dear me and although it singes my heart to think about, I owe it to student-kind to recount this fateful event.

Let me start by saying that the dining hall salad bar holds a lot of power over my mood and general well-being. However, I solidified this realization yesterday when 3 things…just 3 simple, little, seemingly insignificant things didn’t go my way and I crumbled, from the very core of my soul, into absolute and utter hysterics. The salad bar can do this to you. You approach it with low blood sugar, already making you vulnerable, and all you need is for there to be no more kidney beans for you to start pounding your chest like Tarzan, screaming ‘Imma fucking burn this place to the ground!!!!!’

This will be hard for me, but it is important to share my story so you can prepare yourself for the future and hopefully not become such a devastatingly destructible victim, like I am.

         I walk into the dining hall and try to be extra nice to the nice lady who will be swiping my meal card (Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, I always say)…

 (Note: I haven’t eaten for 6 hours so I am hangry – hungry and angry – and I am NOT messing around). I approach the salad bar and low and behold…

1. There are no big bowls for my salad… My heart sinks into my empty, gurgling abyss of a stomach. What do I do now? Use a fucking plate?! ARE YOU JOKING!??? Do you know what happens when you eat salad on plates…?

Okay, so that was the first problem. Enough to get me a little ticked off, to say the very least. But alas, I maintained my composure, strong-willed that I am, and persevered. Unfortunately, what happened next made it even worse …

   2. I am a prisoner! Trapped, against my will, behind a girl that evolved directly from snails. 

I don’t even know how she is taking so long; It literally doesn’t make any sense. Not only are her general movements in slow-motion, but she painstakingly scrutinizes everything, like ‘hmm, do I want artichoke hearts on my salad today? I like them, but maybe not today. Hmm, well, maybe I could just…hmm, okay, okay ,okay *giggle, giggle, teehee* I guess I’ll take two artichoke heart segments. Hmm which ones should I take…?’ She does this for every one of the fucking ba-jillion toppings!!! KILL ME! And, just to reiterate, I am still phenomenally hangry and I could go on and on and on about ways in which I want to inflict pain and everlasting disfiguration upon her, but…

Yeah, I’m kinda a wimp. I just let the Rage Monster boil up inside of me so when it is my turn to scoop the corn, my hand is twitching so bad, corn flings all over the counter and straight up into the air, some landing in my hair and some on the plate of the boy behind me. “Ahh! Sorry!” I scream, my tension is so high right now, the only volume I can access is subsonic boom. Great, now I’m the psycho-path when really it was all her fault for standing there and meticulously inspecting each sliced black olive before gently placing it on her bed of spinach. It’s a fucking salad! Not Jenga!!!

As you can tell, I am sufficiently pissed off. First, I have to use a plate but now, I may not even get my salad until the apocalypse has already swallowed us all up, in which case this would be my last meal and all I want is MY FUCKING SALAD!!!!!1111 Whew, deep breath. We aren’t even to the worst part yet. I knew this was going to be hard for me. But I am a warrior and tell this story, I must.

So, I go through the line, behind the tortoise stuck in molasses, Slowly McSlowerson, and finally come out on the other end with my plated salad. (Note: I will not dedicate an entire bullet point to this, but I would just like to say that while observing the toppings, 4 additional things really irked me, and maintained my hanger.

A.  There are no more carrots (a salad without carrots is like a walrus without his tusks, miserable and lame).

B.  The feta cheese has spilled over into the peas and I HATE FETA CHEESE!

C. They accidently refilled the eggs in the beets bin and now all the eggs are magenta and smell like dirt.

D. The spoon for the cubed ham is missing and people are using the spoon for the vegan beef strips for the ham. WHAT THE SHIT IS A VEGAN BEEF STRIP!!!!

Anyway, I get to end of this pathetic salad bar, and you will never guess what happens…

1. They are out of vinegar….

THEY ARE OUT OF MOTHERFUCKING VINEGAR!!!!!! GODDAMNIT, WILL IT NEVER END!!!! 

      At this point, FUCK the salad! I’d rather starve to death than just use oil. I’d rather barbeque and eat that girl in front of me or gnaw my own arm off than just use oil. I am totally and completely losing it. I don’t even hold it back but belt out a salad-bar-shattering scream, so loud, a dining hall attendant has to come up to me and ask me to ‘not do that.’ Fuck you, lady! You don’t know me! I may be potentially dying from rage and you want me to ‘keep it down?!’ NO! This was the salad that broke the camel’s back. It was either vinegar or starve. So, I summoned all my dignity, courage, integrity, practicality, intellect, and I chose…

                                                                 ...starve.

As you can see, the salad bar has a lot of control over my emotion. I’m really not sure how I can fix this and I’m really not sure what I can tell you to prevent this. Awareness is probably the best solution, for through awareness, we can all learn the dangers of the salad bar. And I can only hope and pray that this never happens to you.

PS: If you see that girl that was in front of me, kick her in the shins, tell her it’s karma and then run away. She won’t be able to catch you. Thanks.

Good Luck, Brave Diners!

Love,

Lisa January

The Many Adventures of Lisa January: A Meeting With The Devil Incarnate

The Many Adventures of Lisa January: A Meeting With The Devil Incarnate

I was just sitting in class, minding my own business when all of a sudden… 




Yep. She started talking. It doesn’t even matter about what. She just kept using arrogantly/borderline-offensively large or complex words like “paradigmatic” and shit like that. And I thought I was going to kill her. Or vomit. Or pull out my own fucking hair from my own fucking head and shove it down her throat so she would just SHUT THE FUCK UP! I hate this girl. When she talks, all I hear is “I’m soooo smart. Look at me because I’m sooo smart. I’ve read every book and can understand Lacan and taught myself astrophysics and I know every big word and more jargon, more jargon, jargon, jargon.” I wish she would just choke on her jargony jargon jargon and that no one in the room knows CPR. Then she can die and we won't have to listen to her ever again! Yaay!! But, she isn't dead. So for now, she is my problem. Anyway, she is just sitting there, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking and more talking. The TA is just taking this crap because she is trying to encouraging, but I’m like…

Then, all of a sudden, right at the moment when I am literally about to pick up my desk and smash her fuckin’ brains in with it, my moment comes! I knew it would have to come sooner or later. No one can talk for that long and that quickly, using that many words and not…slip up (mwahahahahaha!) Proof: she is human and does dumb things like the rest of us! (Not that I would EVER want to identify her. I don't even make eye contact with her). Anyway, like I was saying, next thing I know, she says something like this...

Now is my chance…to shit all over her! Also, I need some participation points for this class because as of now, I've been so distracted and frustrated by this chick that I couldn't even bring myself to say anything. Also, also, to be completely honestly, I am always a little reluctant to say anything, just incase I screw up and she jumps down my throat, making me feel all bad about myself, potentially making me cry later on the phone to my mom (I would NEVER cry in front of her. EVER!). She feeds off the ignorance or mistakes of others like a leech. She sucks the life-force and will to live/learn/breath/smile right out of you like she is sucking chocolate soy milk out of a bendy straw. But not this time! This time she has really 'put her foot in her mouth' and I will take her chocolate soy milk! Heroically, I raise my hand and I say, ever so eloquently…

“You are…

I state my objection to her lame idea beautifully and the class gives me a silent round of applause through their unanimous nods of approval. Mmmmm, victory sure is sweet. I know they want to see this girl in pain too. Some maybe even more than I do but haven’t mustered up the guts to challenge her yet. It’s okay quiet, timid soul. I’ll stand up for you. Even the TA is happy I beat her idea in the nuts with a machete. Or at least made her think twice before running her mouth. There is a new badass mofucka in town, and her name is Lisa January. To just make this thaaat much sweeter, a girl sitting a few rows away raises her hand and says, “I agree with Lisa.” I like you, girl. And anytime you wanna take a metaphorical or literal bat to this chick, I’ve got yo back.

The devil raises her hand and amends her original statement so she doesn’t look like she was completely mutilated. But she was (yesssss). In defending herself she uses another large word which makes me cringe, but I shake it off quite easily. Sure, go back to your room and read yourself silly, but whenever you want a rematch, I’m ready for you and I will fight to your death.

Paradise Misplaced: Book 5

Book 5: A Picnic with Raphael

Okay. So. Just a quick recap. We left off where Satan was creepin’ on Eve, giving her bad dreams. He was then caught and sent out of Heaven and he was sad and mad because he doesn’t like Hell. Poor guy. Now, we are at the part where Eve wakes up and is all distraught about her nightmare: Ready, set, go!

            Adam notices that Eve looks in distress while she is sleeping. Considering there are no negative emotions in Paradise (as of now, mwahahaha!), he is nervous and wakes her up.

            “Eve? Eee-eeevvvveeeee… EVE!!!!!” Adam is apparently fairly impatient.

            “Ahh!!!!!!!!!!!!!11 What?!”

            “I think you were having a bad dream…”

            “Oh my dear soul mate, it was terrible! I dreamed that I was walking and came across an Angel who told me to eat from the Tree of Knowledge (foreshadowing much?) and I became nervous because I know we shouldn’t do that. But this angel was so convincing, saying that eating the fruit would make me as wise and great as all the spirits of Heaven, and wanted to eat it so badly. It was awful! Hold me!” Adam looks pretty nervous. Eve is talkin’ crazy and really scaring him. But, being the super manly man that he is, Adam decides to try and make her feel better. What a nice guy.

            “Evie, my dearest, darling-est Evie-pie! It will all be okay. The fact that you are so upset by this dream means you will not enact this dream in real life. (That’s what youuu think…haha, suckers.) You have reason (kinda) and reason will always prevail over evil impulses. Let’s just get back to our gardening. That will make you feel better.”

Adam and Eve go and tend to their flowers, taking their minds off Eve’s nightmare. I have to say, it is pretty funny how Adam is always talking about foliage. He is like, super into flowers and shrubbery. I feel like, if he were alive today, he would totally be a vegan hippy who smokes a lot of weed and wears jewelry made of wood and bamboo. Okay, so they garden and then pray to God for a little while and their day continues as such.

MEANWHILE:

            God: “Raphael, I need you to go down to Earth and warn those two that Satan has some crafty shit up his sleeve to doom them to complete destruction. They have to be warned so they don’t blame me when they fuck up.” Has anyone noticed how much of a potty-mouth God is? Geez Louise. Anyway, Raphael answers:

            “You got it.”

BACK ON EARTH:

Adam and Eve are sitting in their garden when suddenly Adam sees something coming towards them…

            “Hey Eve, what do you think that could possibly be? Oh! As it approaches I can see that it is an angel from Heaven. No wait! Not just any angel, but the Seraph Raphael. Quick, we must have food when he gets here. Hence! Gather food for our guest.”

Eve goes to find food. She gets all excited about it but also feels a lot of pressure to impress their angel guest with the a great assortment of quality foods. I kinda feel bad for her at this point because I feel like she isn’t the sharpest blade on the razor and she has been ordered to do something that is causing her stressL. But, she does do a pretty good job and soon comes back with food for a picnic.

Adam: “Welcome Angel Raphael! Welcome to our home!” Adam bows. “We have prepared a great feast of fruits and other stuff we have collected from our forest to share with you. Will you eat with us?” Raphael nods and starts checking out Eve. He says hello to her and starts talking about how one day her womb will give rise to a great race of men, which is pretty awkward. He is totally hitting on her, telling her how lovely she looks. It’s a damn good thing that Angels are ill-equipped, otherwise I’d say Adam should beat this fucker’s brains in with a stick.

MEANWHILE:

           

            Just kidding! We are still at the picnic, where they are still just talking and talking and talking, about food and Heaven and food in Heaven and how humans are great and rocks are lame compared to humans and how animals are kinda neat, somewhere in the middle, and akjfv;alkdj;blakjfb;aldsjalsdkja;lfkjab;lskd. Boring stuff, but wait…they get to an important part…here we go:

            “It is important, Adam, that you remain obedient to the Almighty who made you, such a divine yet human being.”

            “Why would I ever not be obedient? God has given me all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve got my garden (see!) and this nice patch of grass (Adam LOOVVVESS his grass, I fuckin’ knew it!) to have a picnic on with good company such as yourself, and I have Eve…(hahahahahahah).”***

***Note: I know I’m doing a lot of commenting in this book, but I really would like to take this opportunity to say what I think of Eve. In my opinion, Eve is like the loveable dumb girl. The “simple minded” girl who is genuinely just “happy to be here.” Eve is the girl who gets called on in class and doesn’t know the answer, so the mean boy next to her tells her something falst to say  and she says it and completely humiliates herself, but is sooooo dumb that she doesn’t even realize what happened. This is Eve, the borderline mentally disabled but adorably oblivious, and probably kinda pretty chick. Back to the plot:

            “Right, but you see, our great Lord created you as perfect, but as still having free will, meaning you make your own destiny and can thus choose to do bad things.” Adam looks deep in thought. We aren’t reaaallly sure if he actually understands what Raphael is saying…he isn’t the sharpest tooth in the shark’s mouth either (but not as dumb as Eve).

            “But does anyone ever disobey God? How could this be?”

            Raphael chuckles, “Well…”

            “Oooohhhh, tell me tell me! Story time!” Reluctantly, Raphael begins the story of Satan’s fall.

            “Once upon a time, there was nothing but what we call Chaos. And from that Chaos, God created Heaven. And in Heaven God created hierarchies, to promote order. However, one day, God told all of his angels that he had a new son who would be placed above all the angels and would become God’s second in command, ruling alongside him. God warned everyone to accept this or we he would break their necks and shit down their throats. Everyone was fine with it except one very important angel, Satan. Satan used to be the highest angel. Top Dog. Big man on campus. A real ace-in-the-hole. So, having this new ‘son’ come in hit his ego hard. He became very jealous, and angst-y (for a change…NOT!) and decided to break away from God, creating his own band of angels. Because of his reputation as a real sharp shoot, a daddy-o, a stud muffin, he had no problem getting followers and soon had created a rebel party focused on demanding equality for all.” Who know Satan was so liberal. Sorry, this is becoming long story. Hang in there, we are about to hit the drama. “However, among Satan’s followers, there was one, Abdiel, who was not so sure that Satan had it right. ‘Satan, how can you be mad at God who created you? He can do whatever he wants and you need to understand that you serve him. You cannot try to match his power for he is the Almighty. Don’t be ungrateful, you fool! If you fight, you will lose, I promise you.’ Despite Abdiel’s quite accurate remarks, Satan and his followers stayed stubbornly steadfast, causing Abdiel to leave them to their rebellious selves and return to God. ”

Whew! That was a long story and though it continues in the next book, this is the end of Book 5. To sum it up: Adam likes plants, Eve is dumb, Satan has forever been angst-y and Raphael gets a free picnic. Onward and upward!