Just imagine, if you can, being alone at night and meeting the most detested and most feared, evil being in all of God’s creation.   Imagine, for a moment: how would you feel coming face to face with “The Devil” himself?   Well, that’s what happened to me.   Let me share my story with you.  

My name is Stoney L. Tonto.   I'm a staff reporter for "The Life Changer" (T.L.C.) magazine.   I specialize in writing human-interest stories, stories in which beauty and ugliness frequently clash and emotions often run high.   Well, emotions were certainly running high the night that I, all by myself, came face to face with none other than “The Devil” himself.   Here is the dateline followed by the story I filed shortly after my first encounter with the Prince of Darkness.  

With Pandora’s box once again wide open, I received a request to conduct a very unusual interview on behalf of a very unusual client.   In one sense of the word, this was a rather ordinary assignment, for I was simply to conduct another interview with another celebrity on another issue of the day -- to find out how he votes on a controversial issue and why.   This request, however, was extremely unusual with regard to the identity of both the celebrity to be interviewed and the individual who requested it.   My editor relayed to me a request from Lady Gaia (Mother Earth) to interview none other than “The Devil” himself.  

Now, I’ve interviewed a lot of celebrities in my day, but needless to say, when I was asked to do this interview, I was more than a little bit hesitant.   My first reaction was, “What?   You’re either kidding or crazy!   You want me to represent Mother “E” and interview the most loathsome being in all of God’s creation?”  

My editor’s response was, “Just think about this for a moment.   You’ll get to conduct the most unusual interview in all of modern journalism, and, if you survive, you’ll get yourself listed in the journalism history books.”  His words  “If you survive!” implied an alternative I didn’t like at all.  

Well, to make a long story short, he touted the benefits eloquently for several minutes, fattened my wallet twice, and punched my ego-button several times.   He even hinted that sexual rewards were not off the table.   So before I knew it, I’d agreed to do the interview.   After I’d walked out of his office, it took me less than twenty minutes to develop serious reservations about what I’d agreed to do.  

I knew I was stepping way out of character, because my prior thrill-seeking had been confined mostly to enjoying the mystique of feminine charms and rarely involved anything more dangerous than occasionally driving too fast.   And now, I’d agreed to a face-to-face meeting with “His Satanic Majesty -- The Prince of Darkness -- the Personification of Evil.”  

When I finally realized that this was real and that my editor wasn’t kidding, I became certain that it was I, not he, who was crazy.   In the intervening three days until our meeting, shivers went up my spine every time I thought of this interview.  

Nonetheless, at the appointed hour, there I was, alone on a small, rented, cruising yacht anchored fifty yards offshore in Coos Bay, Oregon.   The crew had been instructed to return and retrieve both the yacht and me exactly two hours after sunset -- NO MATTER WHAT!  

I sat impatiently with tape recorder and notebook in hand.   I sat quietly -- at least on the outside I was quiet.   Although I didn’t know whether or not they’d work, I secretly also had a crucifix and small bottle of freshly blessed holy water in my left jacket pocket.   I waited anxiously, hoping that “The Devil” would not show up.   As the last flicker of afternoon sun sank beneath the ocean, I scoured the horizon looking for an approaching boat.   Other than empty ocean and darkening sky, my vision captured only one, lone seagull flying north along the shore as it headed for its nighttime roost.  

With straining eyes, I continued to search the sea around me as the evening, coastal fog oozed in from out of nowhere and covered everything with a dull gray sameness.   The horizon on the ocean side became indistinguishable and the shoreline began to disappear into the blackness of the hills beyond.   All too soon, the semi-darkness engulfed everything, including my mind.   I thought, “What am I doing here?   What have I gotten myself into?”   But, alas, the die was already cast, so all I could do now was wait -- and hope.  

I had little comfort -- only the sight of a few of the brightest stars directly overhead, the two small yacht lights that shone from either side of the walkway, and the gentle rocking of the yacht, itself.   As the sky darkened, fear and hope escalated their tug of war in my head.   Was he really coming?   Was this some kind of sick joke?   What am I doing here?   How do I get back to shore?   My mind was full of questions but empty of answers.  

In a brief respite from my visual search, I closed my eyes and rubbed them gently.   Without conscious effort, I found myself taking in a deep breath and letting it out with a sigh.   Upon exhaling, my body seemed to relax somewhat, particularly my stomach, so, with eyes still closed, I intentionally repeated the deep breath, this time with an even deeper inhale, and an intentional focus on relaxing my body as I exhaled.  

I folded my arms in a relaxation mode that my grandmother used to call “rock the baby”—with the insides of my wrists touching each other, with each hand lightly holding the opposite forearm, and both arms resting easily against my abdomen.   With the life energy that is normally expelled from the body by way of the hands now circulating back into me, I began to feel calmer and more relaxed.  

Upon assuming this posture, I almost immediately became aware of the gentle rocking of the boat and rhythmic splash of the waves as they announced their presence against the hull.   I sat, eyes still closed, listening to the waves and listening for anything else I might hear.   Other than the peaceful, repetitive cadence of the waves, I heard only the sounds of my breathing.   In retrospect, I do not remember whether I sat there for a single moment or for a minute or two.  

All I know is that when the yacht lurched suddenly and turned slightly starboard, my dramatic shift from semi-relaxed to hyper-alert was equal in speed to that of my pet cat, Murphy.   My eyes popped open, my body stiffened, I sat bolt upright and could actually feel my heart beating against my shirt.  

Before me on the bow sat a shadow.   I blinked several times to be sure I was actually seeing someone.   Yes, indeed, there was someone, or some thing on the bow.   Then the shadow moved, and I could see it was a man, or, at least, what appeared to be a human male sitting on the bow.   I caught my breath, and, with apprehension and anxiety,  addressed my dreaded guest.

T.L.C.   Sir . . .   Is that you.   

Big D   This is the appointed place and the appointed hour, is it not?  

T.L.C.   Mr. Devil . . .   God-Father D’ Evil . . .   Yer’onher . . .   
        Ahh . . .    Sir . . .   How shall I address you?  

Big D   Just call me Big D.  

T.L.C.   Is that for Big Daddy,  Dallas,  or  The Devil?  

Big D   As you will.  

T.L.C.   I’ve set a chair here for you.  

With an air of authority which matched his deep, penetrating voice, Big D slid off the bow and slowly moved across the deck in my direction.  As he approached, I went into complete panic.  My whole body began to shake.  I strained to control my anal sphincter.   In desperation, I thrust my left hand deeply into my jacket pocket and, with trembling fingers, clutched both the cross and the holy water.   For a split second that seemed like an eternity, his eye fixed on my left hand.   He paused slightly, hardly enough to notice, and then his demeanor seemed to soften slightly.   

Big D    You needn’t be frightened.   I'm not here to harm you.  

He Laughed and continued walking in my direction.  

Big D    If I intended to harm you, you’d need a lot more than your religious artifacts to protect you.   

My eyes pierced the semi-darkness as much as possible, and focused on my un-welcomed guest.   As near as I could tell in the combination of dim, yacht light and the fast-fading daylight, he looked like a normal human male.   His immaculately cut and pristinely pressed, dark blue, business suit smelled of money.   A snow-white dress shirt outlined a brilliant, solid-red tie held with a jeweled clip.   I glanced at his feet and noticed his impeccably polished shoes reflecting the yacht light in my direction.   As he approached, each heel announced its connection to the boat deck with a distinct tap.   He wore a rather large ring on the third finger of each hand.   Had I not known who he was and had I seen him at the Beverly Hills Hotel, or in some other establishment that caters to the wealthy, I would easily have imagined him to be a man of means dressed to meet a prince or a president.  

His long, coal-black, neatly combed hair stopped just above the collar of his coat.   His clean-shaven face was quite handsome, his features sharp and distinct and its overall triangular shape well-supported by a solid jaw.   His eyebrows were also solid black and very distinct.   And his eyes — there was something very unusual about his eyes.   Looking into them almost took my breath away.   They were brilliant green with a yellowish tinge, not really sinister, but piercing as if they were knives which could open me up and look all the way to the very core of my being.  

In the casual manner of a guest visiting a friend, he slipped into the chair directly opposite me.   As he sat down, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.   My mind was still in turmoil, but fortunately, my years as a journalist came through.   I automatically launched directly into the first question.  

T.L.C.   Our readers would like to know where you stand on the abortion issue.  

Big D    Why, against it, of course!  

T.L.C.   Now, wait a minute!   That doesn't seem to make any sense at all.   I’d think you’d be in favor of abortion.  

Big D   Of course, it doesn’t make any sense.   Do you think I’m a fool?   Deception is my very stock in trade.  

T.L.C.   What do you mean?  

Big D    No devil worth his salt would ever come out as an evil one.   I regularly rise up among you disguised as a promoter of what seems like a good cause.   I set myself up in a power position and then I gather a flock of mindless, Would-Be Do-Gooders.   As the controller of a trusted and "Revered Leader,”  I easily manipulate unthinking "true believers" into doing my bidding.   Then, from my sacred place of power and in the name of righteousness or some other emotional hook, I easily shower evil upon all mankind.  

T.L.C.   Please explain how this is related to abortion.  

Big D   I manipulate my "Zealots-for-Church-in-Government" into forcing the sick, the poor, and the deprived to produce and be burdened with even more unloved, unwanted and, thus, emotionally and physically unhealthy children.   Then every few years, I get my "War'shippers" to choose up sides and send these miserable, deprived, and angry bastards out to kill each other in the name of some great cause — in the name of "This-or-That-God,”  in the name of "Glory,”  "Honor,”  "The Flag,"  or some other big, emotional hook.   I pay my "War'shippers" a lot of money for this favor.  

T.L.C.   Money?   Where does money come into this?  

Big D   You've probably noticed that among those I've suckered into depriving women control of their own bodies, most are willing to take the money required to feed and care for these unwanted children and use it to build bombs, tanks and guns.  

As you may know, tandem manipulations are a specialty of mine.   Another case in point:  My "War Peddlers" and my anti-abortionists tend to feather and fly in the same flock.   My "War Peddlers" are my highest-paid employees, you know.   I pay them even more than I pay my "Drug Peddlers.”  

At this point, the weird became even weirder.   I began to hear a faint but noticeable buzz like one might hear when near a high-voltage electrical transformer, and my nostrils caught the distinct smell of smoke.   Big D seemed to almost levitate and to be in a trance, like someone about to have an orgasm.  

Big D   Do you remember my old poem:   ". . .Grief and misery, pains and woes, debts and taxes, and so it goes. . ."?    Well, with my July 3rd Supreme Court decision, I've just shoved religion up your nose.    And  “. . .released still another plague of separation, fear and hate by the unification of church and state. . .”  

He began to shake and laugh — then stopped.   Big D leaned toward me and looked intently at me with his piercing eyes.   Instantly, I pulled back until the chair prohibited further movement.   Sensing my fear, he looked away, slid back in his seat, and spoke again.  

Big D   Of course I oppose abortion rights.   What else would you expect from the master of manipulation.   I get my agents to shove a highly distorted version God down your throats and you fools still think you have separation of church and state!   I could get my agents to shove religion up somewhere else in your sacred anatomy and you fools would still think you have separation of church and state!  

T.L.C.   Yes, Big “D,”  the relationship between church and state is the real issue.   I'd like to talk about that.  

The Devil didn't seem to hear me.   He began shaking.   He started glowing.   He just kept on talking.  

Big D   And with my "Lawyers-for-God," I'm dragging billions of dollars and millions of productive-labor-hours betwixt your buns.   So, with this latest Supreme Court decision, DID  I  SCORE  BIG?  or  DID  I  SCORE  BIG?   Besides, look at all that extra trash those unwanted bodies will create and load onto your Revered Reverend-Mother "E."  

At that point Big D became incoherent.   The shaking increased.   His voice slurred. The only words I could make out were:  "...Mother Eeeee... I'll bust that bitch yet.   Just you wait and see..." The shaking increased, and suddenly Big D disappeared in a huge ball of smoke and fire.   

And I awoke to find myself lying on the grass in the local park, at least a hundred yards from the nearest Bodhi tree.   I have no idea how I got there.   I would have thought I had been dreaming, but my hair was singed, and my clothes smelled of smoke.  

The following morning, I went back to the harbor to be sure the yacht owners had retrieved their boat.   To my great surprise, nobody seemed to have any idea what I was talking about.   It was as if I had never been there before.   In total confusion, I walked around the harbor for about 30 minutes and even went onto the yacht itself, where I found the setting exactly as I remembered it, right down to the color of the cushions and the placement of the deck chairs.   I could detect no odor of smoke, only the smell of fresh, salty, ocean air.  

My muddled mind could make no sense of this, so, in order to make this confusion as clear as possible, I went home and wrote the notes of everything I could remember.   This was just too far out to be real and, at the same time, too real to be a fantasy.   

Upon finishing my notes, I made two decisions: first I would write the brief overview of my experience that you have just read.   Second, if I ever I meet this Big D character again, I would be very forceful and press him for clear, straight answers.   To my surprise, a second encounter came rather quickly.   

The Story Continues in Chapter Two  

Interview with The Devil  --  Table of Contents