I’ve decided to write stories you can tell your kids. They contain a strong moral and a good message. Read these to your kids before bed if you consider yourself a great parent.
Dealing with the Devil
Long ago, before things we take for granted these days such as mobile phones, computers, and polio vaccines, times were hard. Life expectancy was a good two to three years less than it is today, which means we didn’t have the luxury and privilege of senility and loss of bladder control. No siree, folks had to be tough and work hard back then. But this story isn’t about impotence and sagging mammary glands. It’s about a man. Not just an ordinary man, this man is a man among men, and among women as well, but mostly among men. His name was Clint Chase, affectionately known as “Buck”, a nickname that sprung from a legendary story about how he could “turn a buck into a fuck…” It’s doubtful that any of you young whipper-snappers know who Buck was by name, however you all undoubtedly know him by actions, the man from Jamestown, Virginia. This is the first man who sold his soul to the devil for a piece of the pie — the poontang pie, that is!
You see, young Buck was anything but a buck in his early years. He used to go by the nickname of “Clit Face”, not because of the clever rhyme on his name, but because of the clitoris above his upper lip. It was quite the unfortunate birth defect, I assure you. See, the internet wasn’t around back then so pornography wasn’t as prevalent as it is now, so people used to get their jollies off on making Buck cover his nose and eyes and slowly eat a banana. It was a different time back then. Anyway, Buck’s appearance and demeanor of being the nice guy never gave him any leverage with the ladies, which led to his second nickname later on in life, “Clit Face the Virgin.” The people of Jamestown weren’t very apt name-givers, as you can see. Poor ol’ Buck just couldn’t catch a break. After all, there’s only so much rejection a man can take, and Clint was just about at that point. Late one night, while playing the old timey equivalent of Magic: The Gathering alone in his mother’s basement, Buck had a breakdown. It wasn’t the fact that he lost to himself in a card game that is un-homosexually queer, but his overall frustration with his life.
“O Beezlebub, God refuses to listen to my prayers, so please heed my plea for satisfaction in life!” No response. “Morning Star, aid me in my time of need!” Nothing but the silly sound of his breathing over the female anatomy below his nose. “Curse you, Lucifer! Inquire into thine own mind of instant satisfaction in exchange for a soul to do as thou please!” The magic words were spoken, thine and thou. Satan has always been a sucker for archaic British dialects. Suddenly before him appeared the devil himself, wearing his traditional black sports blazer and his white Keds. He loves those Keds.
Satan asks Buck what it is he proposes in exchange for his soul. Young Buck makes it clear that all he needs is “to get laid lots.” After a couple of minutes of clitoris jokes thrown out by the devil toward Buck and a forceful banana show, Satan decided to get down to business. Lucifer made it simple: Buck would have charm imposed upon him and the clit removed in exchange for his soul burning in eternal damnation. Say what you want about the devil, but he’s a pretty straightforward and traditional guy. Of course, to remove the clit they had to go to Africa where they specialize in those surgeries. You may think selling your soul to get a clitoris off your mouth is a bit extreme, but remember this is a guy who couldn’t play the trumpet due to untimely orgasms.
Skip through a montage with Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” playing in the background and Buck is a changed man. No more unsightly lip, some added charm and charisma, and enough notches on his belt to make Colin Farrel look like Colin Firth. Damn straight, this man was stroking pussy like the grooming department at PetSmart. He could get the most proper girl to DVDA in front of her parents without even putting in much effort. Things were going great for Clint. That is, until Lucifer came to collect. I know, I know, you’re saying, “but Clint isn’t dead. His soul belongs to the devil when he’s dead.” That should have been the way, but the devil’s contracts have killer fine print. In this specific contract, the fine print notes that Satan can collect the soul of his victim at his discretion. This particular time the devil decided to collect Buck’s soul when he was in his prime, which was stated sternly by him when he said “when you’s at yo’ prime, yo’ ass is mine.” Yes, the devil speaks jive. It’s why McDonald’s “I’m lovin’ it” slogan is doing so well. Some asshole sold his soul to the devil.
Buck has a problem. He’s in his prime getting ass left and right, but the devil wants to collect now. So what does Buck do? What ever could Buck, a mere mortal from the living realm, do to supersede the devil, ruler of evil and darkness?
Buck hired a lawyer.
See, in the good ‘ol US of A, a contract signed in red ink is considered void. These so called “legal” documents (given said name due to the fact that they’re legally binding, thus the term “legal”… duh) can only be signed in blue or black ink. However, the devil, being the eccentric king of beasts that he is, requires his signatures to be in red ink. Since buddy Buck signed in red on American soil, Satan is not legally entitled to his soul.
Buck was on top of the world, and Satan was enraged. Everything went well for Buck, grabbin’ poon left and right. That is, until he died. Sad ending that was too. That damn SARS got him. I told him to stick with them good ‘ol American women, but he had a thing for Asians he did.
Satan didn’t end up too bad, though. After Buck’s lawyer Ira Shapiro screwed the devil in that out-of-court contract settlement I mentioned, he decided he needed to proactively change them American laws. Many years later, with many years of effort and planning, he finally devised a plan. Satan ran for vice president, using a falsified birth certificate, and won. His human-form name… one Richard ‘Dick’ Cheney.
Moral of the Story