I Have No Sympathy for the Devil

Huh... even I don't know...

"Yow!

Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste..."

In front of me sits the devil (not Mick Jagger, but the devil), and to my left an open window to Fort Wayne life; to my right patrons discussing... oh, God know what. Now there's an empty counter with various coffee mugs and napkins scattered about.

"Whoot woo, whoot woo, whoot woo..."

The devil's still throwing various contracts in my face, demanding my soul for world acclaim, wealth, and the such, which I shake away with a flick of my wrist as I continue sitting here bathing in the golden, setting sun.

"Damn right you're in need of some restraint..." I mutter as the devil provides a counter-offer... five in fact... and all of the documents end up torn up and thrown across the floor.

"I'm doing just fine, pal." I respond as he hangs his head in which I, victorious, lean forward and shout in his face, "WHOOT WOO, WHOOT WOO, WHOOT WOO..."

Surprised, he leans back from my insane chorus and finally grumbles his defeat. Clapping his hands he disappears in a puff of smoke and sulfur. I sit back, obviously pleased, but not for long. I groan as I scrunched myself in my seat and covered my face as Jesus strode in...

 

These punks never learn...