A bunch of silly stories about stupid people selling their sould to Satan for stupid things like a neww phone.
Soul no. 123456
I walked into the empty cafe. The dripping of the coffee machine was starting to piss me off and the radio was playing some indie band I recognised as Belle&Sebastien. In fact, the only dude in there except me was a guy in a black hooded jumper. I went over to sit with him.
'Yo, man, is there any service here?' I asked him. But he made this weird hissing noise in response. I grunted to show I didn't care.
Then he suprised me by talking, 'you really want a cup of tea?'
'Yes! I could sell my soul to the Devil for one!' I said seriously. I really needed one. Like, now. I saw a flash of white teeth as he smiled.
'Here,' he said, shoving paper at me, 'sign this and you'll get three free cups of tea everyday until I come and claim your soul. Sound good?'
I nodded, 'it sure does. It's a wicked cool deal. So I just sign here?' I wrote my name on the dotted line. It glowed red.
'Woah! Cool effects, man!' I laughed.
'I'll see you tomorrow Barry.' He said darkly.
The next day, the dude knocked on my door and killed me. Thats why I'm here in this wicked hot place, writing my story for the 'Hells Passageway Office' to process and see if I'm valid for disclosure. I was like, 'what the fuck?' and they just told me to do it or I'd end up in the un-deathing-re-deathing chamber. So, I'm like can I go now? Pleasseeeee?
Barry Quickshaw: valid to go to Hell.