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So, I was chatting with Lucifer the other day, and he starts giving me dating advice. Yeah, because who wouldn't want romantic tips from the guy who got kicked out of heaven? He's like, "Dude, you need to be more assertive. Look at me; I never take no for an answer." I'm thinking, "Yeah, that's probably because you're Satan, and people are too scared to say no."
Then he goes on about the importance of making a lasting impression. "Set something on fire, metaphorically speaking," he says. I'm like, "Lucifer, I'm trying to find love, not burn down a building. And what's with the pitchfork? Is that supposed to be a conversation starter?"
But the worst part is when he suggests incorporating a little mischief. "Play hard to get," he advises. I'm thinking, "Lucifer, you're the master of manipulation. I just want a second date, not to start an eternal war."
Dating advice from the devil – not exactly what I was looking for. I'm just waiting for him to suggest summoning demons to serenade my date. "Oh, don't mind them; they're just here to set the mood."
Dating with Lucifer's tips is like navigating a minefield, except the mines are actually tiny devils with tiny pitchforks.
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So, Lucifer has this unique approach to career advice. He tells me, "Follow your passion, no matter what." Great advice, right? Until he adds, "Even if your passion is ruling over the underworld." I'm like, "Lucifer, I appreciate the encouragement, but I don't think a resume with 'Lord of Darkness' is going to land me a job at the local coffee shop." He just shrugs and says, "You never know until you try."
Then he suggests I start my own cult. "It's a booming industry," he says. I'm thinking, "Yeah, maybe in the seventh circle of hell, but not so much in the real world."
And when I tell him I'm thinking about a more conventional career, he looks disappointed. "You're not embracing your true potential," he says. I'm like, "Lucifer, I just want a 9-to-5 job with dental benefits, not a pact with the devil."
Following career advice from Lucifer is like playing with fire, and not the metaphorical kind. I'm just waiting for the day he suggests I become a professional soul collector. "Great benefits," he'd probably say.
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You ever notice how living with a roommate can be challenging? Well, I've got this roommate, let's call him Lucifer. Yeah, that's right, the devil himself. I thought it would be cool—like having a pet dragon or something. Turns out, it's a nightmare. Lucifer's always trying to redecorate our place. I come home, and suddenly the walls are painted in flames, and there's this weird smell of sulfur. I tell him, "Dude, we need to compromise on the interior design," and he just grins like he's about to unleash hell. Oh, wait, he actually did that once.
And the heating bills? Through the roof, literally. I'm like, "Lucifer, can't we just use a space heater like normal people?" He just laughs and summons a bunch of imps to keep us warm. Great, now I've got tiny demons running around my living room.
But the worst part? Trying to get a good night's sleep when your roommate is the Prince of Darkness. I wake up in the middle of the night, and he's practicing his evil laugh. It's like living in a horror movie. I'm just there under my covers, like, "Lucifer, it's 3 AM, can you save the diabolical laughter for daylight hours?"
Living with Lucifer is like a sitcom, but instead of quirky neighbors, I've got demons stealing my snacks. At least the rent is cheap, though – he pays in souls.
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Living with Lucifer is like having your own personal chef from hell. Literally. I ask him to cook something simple, and suddenly there's a cauldron in the kitchen, and he's summoning ingredients from the abyss. I'm like, "Lucifer, I just wanted a grilled cheese, not a ritualistic feast." And the spices he uses? Fire and brimstone. Every dish tastes like a combination of regret and impending doom.
He's always bragging about his culinary skills, like, "I can turn water into wine." I'm like, "That's impressive, but can you turn this pizza into something edible?"
And don't even get me started on the clean-up. Lucifer refuses to use dish soap because apparently, it's too heavenly for him. So, I'm stuck scrubbing pots with holy water, hoping it'll cleanse away the traces of whatever demonic concoction he whipped up.
Living with Lucifer in the kitchen is a recipe for disaster. I've never appreciated a simple microwave meal more in my life.
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