Roast my soul to a fine medium rare. I dare you.

remember the time
in 1976
when time seemed so kind?

So anyway, the Mormons have this quaint little thing where they baptise people after they're dead. It's kind of like a get out of jail free card.

Let's say you're Catholic and roasting in hell. Well, then along comes the posthumous baptism and BAM! Heaven. Sweet deal, no?

So that got me thinking... I got in touch with Satan and started selling off souls posthumously. I've gotten some sweet shit out of it. What did you get for a few souls you're probably wondering. Let me fucking elucidate.

1.) Six bjs from a sandy nun. On a Sunday. In the confessional. It was delightful.
2.) The promise that classic rock will die soon. This may have been a bad one because of the word soon. But if I hear Stairway to Heaven one more fucking time I'll go ballistic on old Satan. And I will, too.
3.) A good Krispy Kreme donut. I fancied that an imposibility, but I guess there's at least one out there.
4.) A diamond ring from a record machine priced at a dime fifteen. I sold it for beer money and a hand job.
5.) Sin and sunshine and salvation all rolled up into one. I'll see you in heaven--don't sell my soul or I'll haunt you like a sick bitch.

Excuse the spelling errors, I was high and horny and filled with a gentle wrath.