Baby, this is money. I’m swaying my big bear claws and dousing my magic demon potion on a brutal-looking baby who likes to party. She’s just like this green goblin, and I’ve got her tied to the bedposts. I’m looking at my pagan potion and I’m thinking to myself, “How do I kill this goblin?”

Her head is doing twirlie-whirlies and she’s smiling at how money I am. You know it’s not so much me as it is the priestly garb I’m wearing. She’s a freaky baby that is digging the outfit. I’m performing an exorcism in Georgetown, so guys like me gotta kick it old-school. And if that means I gotta wear all black with a touch of white, then so be it.

Fuck me, you say? Ahh-hahaha-ha-ha, you’re right you want to fuck me, baby. Oh, you wanna play devil-worshipper games? We can play devil-worshipper games. I can be Damien. Look at this face. OK, this is your little mischievous, trouble-making Damien. Watch me pout. See this face? It’s hurt, but it’s not really hurt. It’s thinking devious thoughts. It’s thinking about deviant things to do to your filthy potty mouth.

My mother is a cocksucker ass-eating whore? I don’t think you’re qualified to be making those kind of observations, darling. No, I don’t think you are. But here, take some more evil-cleansing potion, baby.

I’m doing my thing with the thing and whoa … some kind of crazy devil-baby force pushes me through a window and I’m tumbling down this steep slope of steps. OK, fine, I’m the asshole? Yeah? I would never party with a demon child anyway. I’m out.