Satan, Haskins in cahoots for U’s end

In an odd but clarifying turn of events, it was discovered that Satan has been living in the University Boathouse since the fall of 1986.
An investigator of the men’s basketball academic fraud scandal said the development clears up quite a bit of testimony.
“Several witnesses made repeated references to a ‘Satan.’ We just figured they were talking about (Alonzo) Newby,” she shrugged.
Former men’s athletics director Mark Dienhart was not surprised by the news.
“And I suppose THAT’s my fault too,” muttered a somewhat disgruntled Dienhart.
“A$$holes,” he concluded.
The Prince of Darkness was discovered by University freshman Buck Samuelson, who was lost at the time.
“Yeah, I was just lookin’ for my Econ class,” he expounded.
What happened next had no effect on the young Buck whatsoever.
“Yeah, well, we talked for awhile,” Buck yammered. “Just shootin’ the breeze, you know. Then he gave me directions to my class, we exchanged phone numbers and that was it. Hey, I got some friends comin’ down this weekend. Can you, like, get me beer?”
University President Mark Yudof was stunned by the Boathouse discovery.
“Hmph. Figures,” the president harrumphed, adding, after a reflective pause and a look up from his desk, “Wait a minute. We have a boathouse?”
“To hell with this,” Yudof concluded as he grabbed his fishing pole and swimming trunks and trotted out of the room whistling what appeared to be “The 1812 Overture.”
Satan offered the Daily an exclusive interview in exchange for the soul of Managing Editor Joe Carlson. Carlson and his “anything-for-a-story” attitude jumped at the chance, landed awkwardly, and broke his leg.
The uncharacteristically lighthearted Prince of Darkness had no qualms about admitting his role in a number of recent University happenings as he reclined in a comfortable, if a bit tacky, overstuffed armchair.
“I got here in the fall of ’86; Clem (Haskins) got here in the fall of ’86,” Satan explained. “The world’s a funny place, but it ain’t that funny, Skip.”
In addition to Clembo, he claimed responsibility for the story coming out last spring, saying George Dohrmann, the Pioneer Press reporter who first wrote on the scandal, sold his soul for it.
“Seriously, why else would Jan (Gangelhoff) go to the Pioneer Press? I mean, really.”
His thoughts on the millennium were somewhat more ambiguous.
“Oh, it’s gonna be a hoot,” Lucifer guffawed into his tumbler of scotch. “They’ve got that Y2K bug all wrong, for starters. I’ve been working with Gates on that one, as per our contract. Myself, I’ve got no head for computers, but that Bill … he’s really something. I don’t want to give too much away, but I’d avoid watching the major networks unless you dig naked pictures of Elizabeth Dole.”
The man of wealth and taste proclaimed that he has no formal plans to set off Armageddon and added that he moved in to Minnesota to “get away from it all” for awhile.
“It’s quiet here, you know? Nice and relaxing. Listening to the screams of the damned day in and day out … I find it hard to think sometimes.”
So in 1986 he left hell under the rrrrreally grreat management of Ed Sullivan and began planning for the millennium.
“At first, I had a lot in mind, but I scrapped most of it after all you people started freakin’ out.”
Pausing to light a cigar, he continued, “I figure,” puff, “between the militias, those crazy bastards hoarding propane, the Christian Coalition,” giggle, puff, “and, well, pretty much all of New Jersey, why get m’ panties in a bunch, right? Fuggedaboudit.”
Puff, “And if they break out the old Commodore 64,” puff, maniacal laughter, “well hoo-WEE! That’ll just be the icing on the friggin’ cake!”
He refused to elaborate on the cryptic line, lapsing into hysterical fits of laughter whenever it was brought up again during the interview.
After calming down enough to answer the next question and wiping off the scotch he had snarfed, the Lord of Darkness stated there will be no great battles between good and evil anytime soon, although he has a golf game scheduled with Christ early next week.
“You’d be surprised how well we get along. Brother Jed and the rest of those Beatles-humming jaggoffs blew it all out of proportion. I mean, granted, I do want to watch you all burn in a lake of sulfur some day, but other than that, me and the Big J.C. aren’t all that different. Little questions of semantics, really. We’ve worked past it.
“The only time things heat up any more is when I kick His a$$ at golf. He might be able to walk on water, but the Guy slices like a drunk Italian.”
Satan added that he is allowing several of his more militant subordinates to maintain an evil army “just in case The Man Upstairs gets antsy.”
“I’m not concerned myself, but some of my guys are a liiiiiittle paranoid,” he shrugged, tossing back the last of his scotch.
“I gotta admit, I work with some pretty twisted people,” Lucifer continued as he refilled the tumbler. “Anyway, they’re holding some recruitment thing in that Carlson School of Management place, pushing the whole ‘Ultimate Battle’ fear tactic. Whatever. Toss the line in, see what bites, you know?
“We figured the business school was a good place to start. Yuppies are always the easiest to seduce. You have to get ’em early, though. In a couple of years, their souls will barely amount to chump change.”
Aside from an afternoon tea he had scheduled with the Bush family, Lucifer is leaving his calendar “pretty much open” in the future.
“I dunno,” Satan sighed wistfully, leaning back with his hands entwined behind his head, cigar clenched between his teeth. “Maybe I’ll turn off the heat back home and give the Vikings a shot at the Super Bowl.”

The Shag-master covers the Seven Circles of Hell and city government for the Daily. He can be reached by using the mayor’s secret “Fonzi Signal” klieg light. Heyyyyyyy.