Clovenhoof (Clovenhoof #1)

All suffering means all suffering,” Peter said, “and some has been assessed as merely satisfactory. It’s not good enough.” “Surely satisfactory means that it is good enough,” said Satan. “Not anymore,” said Peter.

Clovenhoof had orchestrated great plans and co-ordinated many minions in the pursuit of a single goal before. And getting demons to work together was like trying to herd cats. However, getting six year olds to do the right thing at the right time was like trying to herd neutrons in a nuclear reactor. They simply had too much energy.

Clovenhoof had orchestrated great plans and co-ordinated many minions in the pursuit of a single goal before. And getting demons to work together was like trying to herd cats. However, getting six year olds to do the right thing at the right time was like trying to herd neutrons in a nuclear reactor. They simply had too much energy. Before the morning was out, he had composed several angry letters to parents in his head on the subject of sugary cereal and snacks and why they should be replaced with a diet of gruel.

Clovenhoof stopped a shelf-stacker with a left breast called Barbara.

eBay had also removed several listings for him and sent him a stern message regarding inappropriate postings. He thought something ridiculous had to come to pass when one was barred from selling animals, old ladies and contract killings over the internet.

Hah! This one’s fun. Do you want to pick up that pen, sir?” He indicated to Michael, who picked up the pen. “It looks very much like any ordinary pen. Now would you click the top please?” Michael held it at arm’s length as he clicked the top and the pen was somehow transformed into a lightweight pitchfork.

He had decided that if he ever returned to his old job he would create a special level of hell, an enormous inescapable shop of attractive but useless and overpriced items that the damned would wander for eternity in the cold delusion that this was what they wanted. And then Nerys had taken him to IKEA and Clovenhoof realised the humans had once again beaten him to it.

He had decided that if he ever returned to his old job he would create a special level of hell, an enormous inescapable shop of attractive but useless and overpriced items that the damned would wander for eternity in the cold delusion that this was what they wanted. And then Nerys had taken him to IKEA and Clovenhoof realised the humans had once again beaten him to it. “Ninety-one

Here’s the venue layout. We have three main stages here, here and here. We’ve got Johnny Cash, Lillie Langtry and Karen Carpenter headlining. George Handel and Glen Miller are putting together some fusion thing for the chill-out tent.” “Johnny Cash,” said Pius. “Isn’t he in Hell?” “We got him on secondment.” “You’ve got the damned performing at our festival?” “No, The Damned are still alive and touring down on Earth,” said Joan, grinning. No one else smiled. “Whoosh,” said Evelyn, passing a hand over her head.

He was stark bollock naked?” said Nerys, laughing. “Like a newborn baby. And there were these two old ladies just staring at him, goggle-eyed.” “I’m surprised one of them didn’t have a stroke,” said Nerys. “Couldn’t reach,” said Ben,

Nerys looked at them. It was the sad, affectionate, look of a woman who’s about to have a favourite puppy made into a nice pair of gloves.

Nerys wondered if there was anyone she could really count as a friend. She’d always had best friends at school. A series of complicated affiliations that could change with a swift and crushing blow if one of them wore the wrong outfit or liked the wrong music. A couple of those friendships had lasted into her teens and she cursed herself for messing things up by sleeping with Claire’s boyfriend. And Catherine’s dad. She might have got away with it if they weren’t both at the same time.

Ooh, beetroot,” Ben said, as he gazed at the salad. “Gotta love beetroot, for making it through the digestive tract. It adds colour to your life today and tomorrow.

Right,” said Ben, taken aback. “What instruments will we play?” Clovenhoof yanked the dust-covered keyboard out of the cupboard and held it up triumphantly. “It’s years since I’ve played it,” said Ben. “It wheezes like an asthmatic and occasionally picks up CB radio signals.

Satan nodded. “People are turning their backs on religion.” “It’s not so much that,” Mulciber said, “but it seems more acceptable than ever now to be religious and to treat people badly. You have crazy fundamentalists in every religion. They hate gays, foreigners, women. You name it, they’ll find you a reason in the bible or whatever to hate it.

Where are we going?” said Ben. “Alcohol.” “Alcohol’s not a place.” “It’s a destination.