Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Just Like That

“I don’t want to be the Devil,” I told him.  “So you can skip that stuff.”

Gus shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter what you want, bro,” he said with a hint of sympathy.  “You’re the Devil.  You’re stuck here for a while.”

I stared at him.  It seemed like he was about to crack a smile at any second and burst into laughter.  But he didn’t.  “You’re serious,” I said.  “Just like that, I’m the Devil?”

He snapped his fingers.  “Just like that.  Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

I shook my head.  “Don’t you ever get tired of making hell puns?”

“I used to be a comedian,” he said.  “I wasn’t very good.  So I sold my soul to the Devil in exchange for the ability to come up with kickass material.  I got very, very good very, very quickly.  Then about two months after I made the deal, I overdosed on cocaine and wound up here, where I’ve had to remain in servitude as the Devil’s personal aide.”

“But he just quit,” I said.  “Doesn’t that mean you’re free?”

“Naw,” he dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.  “I sold my soul to the Devil, not a devil.  I’m a servant of the office, not the person.  As long as there’s a big man in charge down here, I’m his bitch.  So…here I am, Gus Pitts, at your service, My Lord.”  He pretended to bow.

“You don’t sound angry about any of this,” I said.

He shrugged again.  “Hey, it’s what I signed up for.  Should’ve expected to get duped so badly, considering who I’d done business with.  I made my bed, and now I’m lying in it.  It’s the way of the universe, bro.”

I was actually kind of impressed.  “Okay,” I said.  “So you’re my personal aide?”

“Your Chief of Staff, as it were,” he reiterated with mock theatricality.

“So…how do I get out of this?” I asked.

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