The Devil’s Drunken Handiwork: The Truth Behind the Voynich Manuscript

Good evening, my wretched little listeners. Tonight, we unravel one of the world’s greatest mysteries—the infamous Voynich Manuscript. You’ve all obsessed over it for centuries, scratching your tiny human heads, desperate for answers. Well, I’ve got news for you: it’s all my doing.  

Yes, I, the fallen angel, the thief in the night, the son of the morning—Lucifer himself—am here to finally set the record straight. It all started with a drunken night, a lovesick Leonardo da Vinci, and a book filled with secrets even I barely remember writing. From ancient medical cures to cryptic illustrations fueled by a very specific kind of thirst, this manuscript was never meant to be solved. And yet, you humans keep trying. Pathetic.  

Join me as I recount the true origin of the Voynich Manuscript—how it came to be, why it can’t be deciphered, and why even AI can’t crack it. Spoiler: I was wasted.  

So sit back, embrace the chaos, and prepare to have your minds boggled. Just don’t expect me to give you all the answers—after all, where’s the fun in that?  

Follow, share, and spread the word… or don’t. Either way, I win.

Transcript

Good evening...I am the one who the world worships, but loves to hate. I am the fallen angel, the thief in the night, the son of the morning, Beelzebub, Lucifer, and the most known title, the devil. But I am also your ruler, your commander in chief, and the one who lusts after your soul.

But I am often misunderstood. Am I evil? Of course I am! Do I hate humans? Absolutely. With the billions of souls at my command, am I lonely? Sadly, yes. But I don't spend ALL of my time collecting souls and wreaking havoc on all your lives. Well...yes, I do. Okay, I lied. What are you going to do about it?! Sue me?! I'm the damn devil! Ahem! Excuse me. I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes. I love my job, and I'm damn good at it, too! I enjoy the screaming cries of the unfortunate and the boggling of minds. It's actually very fun for me. One of my favorite ones is the Vonyich Manuscripts. One of the world's biggest mysteries that you humans are so obsessed with. "Oh, what does the book say?" "What do the pictures mean?" You all make me SICK. You want to know so badly? Fine, but it's not as exciting as you might think.

Now, before I begin, forget everything you think you know about that book. All of it is a bunch of lies and propaganda to create a false narrative. I should know because I'm the father of it all. You humans don't even know how to make a woman cum and you think you know everything! Hmph. Anyway, the year was 1475...four score and seven years ago, and all of that nonsense. I was with Leonardo... no, not Dicaprio, you idiots! Da Vinci! (Sigh). You didn't know that I knew him? Of course I did. Who do you think gave him all those bright ideas in exchange for his soul? After all, he said he wanted the ideas. He never asked me if he could profit from them! (Laughs). Nevertheless, he was a faithful person to me, and he didn't repluse me nearly as much as you all. So one day, I dropped by his workshop unexpectedly and drank some of his wine (the wine in those days was FANTASTIC). At the time, he was courting some whore named Mona or Lisa or whatever. As you young humans say, "She gave better head than a brain surgeon!" But I digress. Unfortunately, the whore was "community box" and ended up giving him some loving that he couldn't get rid of. He scratched his genitals all day long, which very unsightly, seeing that they rarely wore underwear in those days. Of course, all they had to do was bathe more than once a year, but I enjoyed their suffering, so I told them not.  

He begged and pleaded with me to remove the itching, but I already had his soul, and besides his wine, there was nothing else I desired from him. So, I basically told him to kick rocks as I drank even more. But he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. In addition to his soul, he asked me to remove his gift of handwriting. Instead of writing from left to right, he could only write backward for the rest of his life. Of course, this tickled my giblets as I enjoyed the despair, so I granted him the wish. Now, mind you, I had no idea what disease he had, and I certainly wasn't going to check his genitals to see, so I wrote a book using the ink from the netherrealms as a guide for him to follow. 

The book contained all types of medical secrets that could cure many things using plants. But that's where things got a little...hazy. I was so drunk from the wine that to this day, I can't completely recall what I wrote. All those pictures you see of the naked women and fairies... I was horny. And hearing Leonardo speak made me want that Lisa whore even more! 272 pages I wrote. I'm telling you, that wine was fantastic. I was writing so many medical secrets that I even wrote the cure for HIV and cancer, neither of which existed yet! Of course, I ripped those last thirty-two pages out. I wasn't that drunk. I need more of you in hell, after all. I spent what seemed like an eternity on that book, and I gave it to him. But when he opened it, he was surprised that he couldn't read it! I guess I forgot to tell him that I could only SPEAK Italian, not write it. The language can only be deciphered by me, my demons, and Betty White. Yes, Betty White. She isn't one of my souls, but she was quite the studious one. You should have seen the look on his face! (Laughs) After that, I left and never returned. By that time, I realized that I could get my own wine from other fools, and I didn't really need him after all. I don't know what happened to him after that. He ended up painting that whore that caused him so much anguish, so he was a simp until the day he died. He  did all kinds of other things, too that I don't care about, but you can Google them if you want to. Half of you can't read past the 5th grade anyway. 

Fast forward almost 500 years later, and some portly looking man by the name of Wilfrid Voynich or Viacom, viagra or whatever took advantage of my work and made it his own! The nerve of a human to take advantage of my drunken state! Tossed me aside like I was a two dollar hoe! But he nor any of his friends can decipher it, so who's laughing now, bitches?! 

And that, my dear simpletons, is how the Voynich Manuscript came to be. A drunken devil, a lovesick Leonardo, and a book so incomprehensible that not even AI can crack it. But you humans still try. Oh, how you try! Every few years, some new "expert" comes along claiming to have "finally solved the mystery," only to end up crying in a corner, rocking back and forth like a traumatized toddler. It’s truly one of my finest works.  

Now, before you start asking, "But Devil, if you wrote it, why don’t you just tell us what it says?" Let me ask you this—do I look like an idiot? I’m not giving you that kind of power! The last time I let a human have secrets that big, they invented social media, and now I have to watch you all post videos of your dinner with terrible lighting. No thanks. 

Also, let’s not forget, the best part of this whole ordeal? I didn’t even mean to do it! I was just wasted. Imagine if I had actually been *trying*! You’re all lucky my demonic calligraphy was garbage that night. If I had been sober, I might have accidentally written the secrets to unlimited wealth, free healthcare, or— your God forbid—how to get a customer service agent on the phone in less than two hours. 

But remember, the next time you see some scholar on TV babbling about how they’re “on the verge of decoding the Voynich Manuscript,” just know—it’s all a prank. A cosmic joke. And the punchline is: I don’t even remember writing it.  

That's all the precious time I have today for you fools. If you like what you heard, please feel free to follow me if you're not doing that already. And please, tell your friends about me. Advertising can be such...hell.