What I Think About I.M.P

I'm still fuming, my balls are blazing with anger, and my tongue is lashing out like a whip-wielding dominatrix. That little twerp Blizo thinks he can take on the great Fizzarolli? Ha! I'll have him for breakfast, and then I'll skull-fuck his puny demon ass for dessert.

You know what really grinds my gears? It's not just Blizo's insolence, it's the fact that he thinks he's above me. Newsflash, Bliz: I'm the one who makes the deals, who gets the action, who gets the girls (and boys, and everything in between). I'm the one who runs this demonic circus, and you're just a flea on the back of a mangy donkey.

But I digress. Today, I want to talk about I.M.P. Those pretentious, self-righteous, holier-than-thou buffoons. They think they're so much better than everyone else just because they have a few fancy tricks up their sleeves? Please. I've seen more impressive magic at a kiddie birthday party.

What really gets my goat is that they think they're above the fray. They're above the petty squabbles and demon politics, above the backroom deals and the clandestine hookups. Oh no, they're too pure, too noble, too... boring. I mean, who wants to hang out with a bunch of stuffy, self-important prigs? Not me, that's for sure.

And don't even get me started on their whole "we're not like the other demons" act. Oh please, spare me the sanctimonious drivel. You're demons, just like the rest of us. You've got your own brand of evil, your own special sauce of sin. Don't try to pretend you're better than me, because let's face it, I'm the one who's been doing this for eons.

I.M.P. thinks they're so cool with their "we only take on projects that align with our values" nonsense. Values? Ha! The only value they care about is the value of their own self-importance. They're like the demon equivalent of a hipster coffee shop: all pretension, no substance.

And what's with their obsession with "protecting the balance"? Balance, schmalance. I've been around long enough to know that the only balance that matters is the one between my bank account and my libido. And let me tell you, I.M.P. doesn't know the first thing about either of those things.

But you know what the worst part is? They're actually good at what they do. They're like the demonic equivalent of a Swiss watch: precise, efficient, and boring as hell. And that's what really gets under my skin. I mean, who wants to be outdone by a bunch of goody-two-shoes demons?

So yeah, I'm still seething about that fight with Blizo. But you know what? It's not about Blizo anymore. It's about I.M.P. and their self-righteousness, their pretension, their... their... ugh. Just thinking about them makes me want to summon a horde of succubi to do a conga line on their collective heads.

Anyway, that's my rant for the day. Maybe tomorrow I'll be less angry, less bitter, less... Fizzarolli. But until then, I'll just keep on hating, keep on ranting, and keep on being the most fabulous, the most fantastic, the most unforgettable demon this side of the underworld.