"What am I, stupid? A new body please! No maggots for me," you determine with ease. "Now, just to be clear, when I give you my 'soul', does that mean I'll be weak and have no self-control? Will I be an evil and cruel selfish bastard? Have no strength of character, an utter disaster? Or does that just mean that I won't go to heaven? 'Cause that's been out of the question since I was eleven."
You take a deep breath and it hurts, and you cough. This head-only existence makes you feel very off.
"By 'soul', I mean soul," says Satan's low voice . "It's basically an umbrella term that leaves me the choice. You could be a good boy and I'll throw you a bone, but it's highly unlikely I'll leave you alone. Yet make no mistake! Your decision is wise. Honestly head soup is bad for my thighs."
So Satan is tricky, you conclude in your head. His contract is vague and there's much left unsaid. But still many questions are coming to mind, and you'd best ask them now so they'll be well-defined... for, only a fool fails to read what he signed.
"I just want to be sure, so correct me if I'm wrong... whatever you do, I'll be handsome and strong? And nothing you do with my soul, and your stealth, would threaten my mansion and women and wealth? So all that you've promised is safe and secure, though the rest of my life could all go to manure?"
But at that very moment, Satan's tongue-- split in half-- slightly flickers, as his eyes flash bright yellow and laugh.