Parting Glances: Uganda, a forked tale

It's been countless centuries since proud Lucifer, an Angel of Light, was cast from heaven by the Almighty to roam the earth at will, seeking faithful but mindless minions to do his nefarious bidding.
Lucifer found three such servants recently. He sent them a continent away on a mission to a people not their own.
Though Lucifer's image is ever tarnished – may one add tongue in cheek: but polishable – reflecting moon rather than sun – in cold, chilling luminosity – he still reigns a conniver of auras, nimbuses, neon-tipped theocratic pretenses. Mask maker to the self-righteous.
Who among us hasn't met up with him in some dimly lit dark night of the soul, been offered low-watt radiance, given artificial warmth from the eternal cold? (Those weary from dead-end journeys are tempted to linger.)
Who among us hasn't listened, enthralled, to his buddy-buddy voice, "Hey guys, follow me. My kingdom's yours. At least for the duration of your mortal sojourn in this crazy spooked-up place."? In truth, who among us hasn't had his or her forty days of wilderness wandering? Sometimes seemingly lost without valid passport?
We are mistaken if for a moment we think following this prevaricator of pie-in-the-sky will mean his power, his allegiance, is gained only by actions that are philosophically questionable. Quite, quite the contrary.
Often the Luciferian kingdom is leased out in the name of good. The wall separating Hell from Heaven – Church from State – is so paper thin in places that music from one side mingles with rhythms from the other, becoming a dance of death.
We all know of beings that are evil. Fallen angels. Demons. Vampires. Of the latter: their popularity is legion. Movies. Posters. Sitcoms. Magazines. Still, there is afoot a new breed – shall we call them Circa 2010? – a mutation of vampires.
More intrinsically deadly. They shun not daylight. They are predatory 24/7. (But never on Sunday.) They do not recoil in abject horror from the crucifix. They wear it openly. They greet each of their brethern with a holy kiss. They tithe their 30 pieces of silver.
Most curious of all, they can see their own reflection in a mirror – dimly perhaps – even though that same mirror clearly reflects mortals they fear most. A glimpse reminds these hybrid vampires of their own inner self. Thus, their blood lust begins to boil. But in a nice, evangelical way.
And always this new breed of faith-fanged will hiss between sharpened teeth, "Love the sinner. Hate the sin," before striking again and again. "The life of all flesh is in the blood," they've been told. The good book says so. Never question it.
(Their ancestors came here and brought with them their scripture. In exchange they took native land. These days, not welcome in lands with other books – India, China, Saudi Arabia – they seek out their prey in continents like South America and Africa.)
So an Unholy Three, vampires of holy disguise – all smiles, all hugs of deceptive greeting – all mouthing praise and prayer – all giving hallelujah lip service from our shores – sought to victimize abroad any and all who might listen.
"Hear us, good people of Uganda. We come in the name of a bearer of end-times radiance. We come with a message of hope and everlasting good cheer! Homosexuality is an abomination! A sickness! Homosexuals will seduce your children! They'll rape your country! Are you listening, Uganda? Strike first. Stone them! Before they destroy you!
"In the name of the Angel of Light. The Prince of Principalities. Go for the jugular! But have a blessed day doing it. Yea, verily. We come in peace. Please don't shoot the messengers."