Satan quits his job, only to find that someone else has gone and started up the end of the world without him.
Disgusted with God’s plan for Judgment Day, Satan has quit his job and abandoned Hell in favor of a quiet retirement in Washington, D.C. But life on Earth is tricky for an ex-angel with a short fuse and no impulse control. When a parking attendant mysteriously bursts into flames and a weight-challenged woman somehow ends up in low-Earth orbit, Satan finds that he has attracted the attention of several meddlesome federal agencies. Even worse, there are signs that the governor of Texas has somehow gone ahead and started up the end of the world without him.
The Prince of Darkness heads for the Lone Star State, where he tangles with a megalomaniacal televangelist, joins the Militant Arm of the American Geriatrics Association, and wields the Flaming Shotgun of Divine Justice at a guy whose hobbies include invading churches to denounce ritualized cannibalism. Through it all, one thing is clear: Someone has to put a stop to Judgment Day. Now, having spent millennia trying to wreck the place, the Devil may be the world’s only hope.
Excerpt
There are days when it is appropriate to stomp the hell out of a frog, and days when it is just better not to. The trick is to know which is which.
Satan shot an evil look at the creature on the sidewalk. Fuck frogs, he thought, using the new vernacular he hadn’t quite got the hang of yet. Fuck them to fucking Hell.
He had on his favorite Italian shoes – made out of baby cats or something really nice he couldn’t remember – and they were no good for stomping much of anything, let alone juicy amphibians. But the little bastards were everywhere, just begging to be obliterated and, in the case of a few particularly cheeky ones, having their innards ground into the pavement.
The frog croaked and Satan snapped – Italian shoes be damned, this frog was going to die.
He raised his leg high, preparing to stomp down. But then the clock tower tolled, and he realized he was late for class. When he looked back, the frog had hopped away, thereby narrowly
escaping stompy, cat-shoe death.
He heaved a weary sigh. His shoulders slumped. After a few strange looks from
passersby, he also put his foot down and stalked off to class
