No one asks me if I'm a Satanist or anything because I take the precaution of wearing a predominantly flannel and hawaiian shirt-oriented wardrobe

That's right ladies. The Dark Prince Of The Underworld simply does not shop where I do. My lack of black says "I am not Goth! I love the Baby Jebus!"

A wardrobe permeated with flannels and hawaiian shirts does not send the message that I'm going to be sacrificing goats later. Look here, at what I'm wearing... your first thought? "Hang ten!" "Surf's up!"

I may have been off, but honestly, did you think about protecting your virgin daughter from me because of the ritualistic sex you just instantly knew I wanted to have with her tonight?

Certainly not.

Flannel exudes utility, warmth, and a rugged quality that simply doesn't fit in with The Devil. We all know Satan has to hire people with delicate features, far more delicate than mine.

I can detail, flesh out, and accessorize my entire wardrobe without ever setting foot in a Hot Topic or an alternative religion supply outlet. You can't practice Satanism while wearing Structure! You can't summon Ba'al if you smell slightly of Hugo Boss.

Satan don't surf. Armed with this knowledge I can browse Banana Republic without fear of eternal damnation.

So remember, if you want to really send a message in clear language that you are NOT in servitude to Lucifer, head to the mall for such stores as Pacific Sunwear or American Eagle.

However, it is recommended that you avoid wearing Tommy Hilfiger, as wearing clothes DESIGNED by Satan will probably not get your point across.

Of course, I am a satanist, and despite the way I've chosen to live my life, I'm not hassled for it as many of my compatriots are, have been, and probably will be. I mean, if you can't wise up and ditch the giant gleaming pentagram necklace, black trenchcoat, and thigh high buckle up bitch boots when you're going to buy groceries, or hang out or whatever, then you've got some serious problems.

So, I consider myself my own god, and it's kind of funny when you think about it, a deity in long shorts and flip flops, with a flowery shirt and a few days worth of unshaven scraggle on his chin. In the end though, it'll all pay off, and as long as nobody is the wiser... I'll probably have a much more enjoyable time of it till that day.

Note to self: Next time you get in your car, when nobody is paying attention to the guy who subscribes to almost none of the important parts of their value systems, scream, "Suckers!!!" as loud as you can before leaving the scene in a perfectly calm manner.