Satan’s role in Rock n’ Roll music has long been characterized by an Ozzy libretto, a Roger Daltry lick, or a Judas Priest treatise. Indeed, where would heavy Metal be without the influence of the Devil? (It is silent as you feebly grasp for an answer.) But the Dark Lord himself often worked uncredited, quietly behind the scenes, turning dials, pushing buttons, and at times even working in the studio. By the late Sixties, in what would later be described by "the" jaded rock press as the “Puppet Metaphor”, his clawed, scaly hand (into which you could scratch the word, “dry”) seemingly pulled the strings of the rock elite. (Now try scratching the word “elite” into a rock. “You chump”.) Clinically blind since birth, Satan was considered “sightless” by the jaded rock press. Satan had the last laugh, in private, in the company of whores. You see, in the haywire Sixties the Devil was the coal engine that drove the steam engine of popular music along the iron tracks near the Old Mississip’. Whatever happened to that fictional train? Mama don’t know. Papa done run away long ago, so he don’t figure in’t. But Mickey Rourke knows. That’s why we contacted him to do the interviewing. Let me explain, Mickey is like a penny on those same aforementioned metaphorical iron tracks: He has little to do with the whole thing, but if you smash him flat, he’ll spread out real nice and wide.
Mr. Rourke met Satan at a café near his home in the provincial village of Los Feliz, in Los Angeles, CA. The occasional slurping sound is that of Larry King, who is eavesdropping at a nearby table.
Mickey Rourke: ‘Sup?
The Devil: I beg your pardon?
M.R. What’s going on?
T.D. I am fine, thank you. Is it hot in here?
M.R.: Hot? You want I should punch a windie? (Punches window. Glass shatters.)
T.D.: (Yelps) Good Lord, man. I have broken glass all over me. Are you crazy?
M.R.: Tough it out, Jim. (Offering a tray) You want I should offer you a sweet Milano cookie?
T.D.: Cookies are God’s fancy discs of impotence. I’ll take four. (Begins eating cookie.)
Larry King: (Leaning in) Hello, I’m Larry King.
M.R.: I’m supposed to ax’ you queries ‘bout music, or Uncle Mickey do not get paid. Question one:What is some of your favorite music?
T.D.: All I listen to is Young Country.
M.R.: Did you see “Sin City”?
T.D.: I did not.
M.R.: How about “9-1/2 Weeks”?
T.D.: I’ll wait until it goes to video.
M.R.: Good move. (Takes a wild swing at the Devil. Devil ducks and counters with a karate chop to the back of the neck.) OK, next question: All of America wants to know – Satan and “morning wood”. Is it a problem?
T.D. (Blushing) Hiiyah! (Karate chops Mickey on the money maker.)
M.R.: My eye! My script reading eye. OK, next question: Beatles or Stones?
T.D. Which one has Ringo in it?
M.R.: Wings? (Offers a plate of buffalo wings)
T.D.: (Devouring buffalo wings) Hiiyah! (Karate chops Mickey in the other money maker)
M.R.: My other eye! OK, next question: Are you bummed when musicians cop yer schtick?
T.D.: Elvis is paying a dear price for his indiscretions, I assure you. Can you imagine having your arm torn out of its socket over and over for all eternity?
M.R.: No, I cannot imagine that.
T.D.: Neither can Elvis. You see, I’ve sapped his imagination, placed it into the glass that is now in front of you. And now with a prissy flourish, I add a dab of honey. Drink up, Mickey.
M.R.: Gulp. Ahhhhhh! My arm! Ahhh! Again, with the arm!
T.D.: Look, are you going to drink it or not?
M.R.: (Holding out hand) It has been lovely speaking with you.
T.D.: (Glancing over check) Say, Mickey, can you float me a dollar? (The Devil smashes Mr. Rourke, whose soft body spreads out real nice and wide.)
Larry King: Are you going to eat that?
Trombone player at next table:
“Bloooooomp!”
Finis