When I was about 8 years old, I tried to sell my soul to Satan.

My buddy’s (Scott) sister (Dawn) had a ouija board and its presence in his home was obviously making him uncomfortable. I was unconvinced of the whole existence of spirits and devils and whatnot, so I figured I’d get it straightened out right then and there by asking Lucifer for something in return that nature/science tells us is impossible. It’d be a great service to the world to prove once and for all whether or not we should believe this religion jazz. (Proving for Satan is how to prove for religion. If we prove Satan exists we can make a guess and infer the existence of God. Because we can’t prove God’s existence. As Douglas Adams says “proof denies faith… and God Vanishes in a puff of logic” hey… I was a smart kid, what can I say?)

Also, I’d have the whole soul-selling thing out of the way so that later in life, when I needed to bring back a dead lover or make that winning basketball championship shot, The ramifications of the deal wouldn’t come back and bite me in the ass in a serious way like the deals always do in the movies. No, my deal would just be some mundane thing on the surface.

Oh I know what you’re thinking, “hey Dean’s a kid in this story, he’d ask for something awesome, like a never ending candy bucket or a chance to be 500 feet tall.”
I’m sorry to disappoint, but I reasoned that those are the sorts of things an enterprising demon could find a way to do in a non-supernatural way.
ie. I inherit a candy factory or scientists come up with a gene therapy that allows for unmitigated growth and I am the first test subject of Gulliver’s Grow-phenol.

Ladies and gentleman, if Beelzebub had taken me up on my offer I would be the first man in history who could move his cast shadow independent of light source just by thinking about it. Specifically, I wanted the ability to touch the ground, before my shadow caught up, so really I guess… Faster than light travel is what I was shooting for, but the other concept is a bit more elegant and it’s basically the sort of thing I wanted. Now you may be thinking “Dean, don’t be so smug, maybe Faster-than-light travel is coming and you’re in for an eternity of fire and brimstone” but no, I specified “and I want to be able to do this today, and whenever I have the slightest whim to do so.” so I covered that base in an”you’re not weaseling out of this deal by letting me do it once on my deathbed when no one’s looking” clause.

“but Dean, how did you get in touch with the horned one?” Well… I reasoned, if God is like they say and sees everything and knows everything and can make anything happen (like Santa Claus). His counterpart would have to be similarly endowed and empowered or how else would he track me down when he wants to come harvest souljuice? So I just yelled my proposition out succinctly and clearly, even though I reasoned that just thinking it should really be enough.

Anyway yeah, so 8-year-old Dean says either this shit doesn’t exist or someone’s a big pussy.

Either way I win.

Just thought you should know.

Alright… Muse, you win, I like you.

George was bitching about parking so I figured I’d share my story. Perhaps read his and then read mine to see how we differ in our approaches to dealing with things.

So, I’m in a hurry to make it to the 3 inches of blood show. I’m rushing up to the city. I’m running as late as is usual.

Before I meet up with Ashia, I have to pick up my copy of Rockband, for the nerd party (Photos of said nerds) that I’m going to the next day because I promised Ana I’d bring the rock. I reserved it at the downtown Electronics Boutique, which necessitates a trip to the downtown mall.

I pull into the parking lot at edmonton center. (and I mean Edmonton center, not the Eaton Center with the theatre and stuff which has been renamed “edmonton city center” because it’s now thoroughly integrated with the ACTUAL edmonton center.) I grab my ticket, I throw it on my dash, I park the car, I hop out, I lock the car. I notice signs everywhere
“Did you remember to take your ticket?”
“uhm… yes… they generally don’t let you into the parking lot if you don’t take your ticket? What are you driving at, signs?”
I try the stairs, but I apparently parked by the wrong door, and the pedway to the mall is on the other side of the parking complex, oh well, I’ll just jog over there.

I exit the parking garage and notice…
“Ohhhh I see, there is a little payment robot kiosk thing, and they meant ‘did you remember to bring your ticket with you and not leave it on your dash as you would in any normal parking garage’ when they say ‘take your ticket’” Oh well, I’ll just have to run across the parking lot and back on the way out, no biggie.

I pick up rockband. (Our band [steph and dean] is called Connie Chung Calendar if you want to follow our exploits online.)

I go back to the garage, run across, unlock the car, stick rockband in the trunk and grab the ticket. I briefly consider driving back to the other side of the complex but I’d have to go the wrong way down the one way flow and I decide against it. I lock my car. I run back to the payment robot with my ticket. it gives me the option to scan in the ticket and pay with cash. I scan the ticket. I insert the money. It spits it back out. I flatten it and try it several more times. It doesn’t take my money when I insert it the way the diagram shows. I insert the money the other three ways, it spits it out, it spits it out and the last way (the exact opposite of what their diagram shows) takes.
“Do you want a receipt?”
“Uh, yeah, how else am I going to get out of here? I imagine you’re supposed to spit out a barcode that I scan in at the exit.”
I take the change and receipt and everything it spit out and notice no barcode or anything that a machine might need to let me out. I give the machine another look over and reread the screen. Guess that’s it.
I run back to my car. I unlock my car, I hop in, I drive to the exit.

“Insert your ticket” the machine at the exit says.

“erm, what ticket? the receipt? The other machine took my ticket and didn’t give it back.”
I put the receipt in. it spits it out. I put it in the other three ways… it spits it out, it spits it out, it spits it out.

“press the help button for help.”
I press the help button for help.
I receive no response.

I back up, I drive to another exit.
Same process. insert insert insert insert spit spit spit spit press the help button, no help.

I notice a slot for a credit card next to the ticket slot. I think. “screw this, I am late. I will pay your $2 extortion fee and then pee in your machine the next time I’m here.”

I put my card in, it spits it out. I put my card in the other three ways, it spits it out, it spits it out, it spits it out… and says “invalid”

I swear as I spill the contents of my wallet onto the pavement. I pick my stuff back up. I replace it in my wallet. I notice a number on the receipt to call in case of trouble “and waste cellphone airtime or 35cents at a payphone on the 20 minutes I know it will take on that ‘press one for…’ system that I’m sure you have? no thanks.”

“Maybe it needs me to scan a ticket in before it will accept my card.” I run to the entry gate, to grab a ticket as though I am a new car entering the parking lot. I press the button, nothing. There must be a pressure sensor in the pavement so that some bum doesn’t just come and print off a bunch of tickets and watch the retainer arm go up and down. Oh well.

I walk back to my car. I look at the very flimsy looking mechanical arm.

Fuckit.

I break the mechanical arm.

I drive out.

Yeah… so i’m probably wanted on vandalism charges now…

3 inches of blood was great though.

I think it suits me.

I don’t know about you but I’m considering a career as a professional menstruator.