Past
due
Tito
always meant to return the demon. Thing is, it was so darn useful
when Jehovah's Witnesses came to the door. Plus, the demon did the
laundry and other chores while Tito was at work. Everything was fine
and dandy until he got the overdue notice.
"Holy
sh*t! This can't be right! This is the first notice I received, and
it says I already owe a fine of 1.5 souls. I don't have 1.5 souls."
He rubbed his bare scalp with one hand and shook the offending
postcard in the demon's face with the other.
The
demon sneered. "Bureaucrats. Emasculated worms. I'll take
care of this."
A
month later, Tito got a second postcard. 2.0 souls, and the case
was being referred to a collection agency called "The Sole
Source."
"I
thought you took care of it," he screamed. The demon was
vacuuming the drapes.
"What?"
"Collection
agency! And turn off the damn vacuum!" He was almost as red
as the demon.
The
demon took the postcard. "Oooo! They must really have something
on you. These guys don't pick up every sorry hellbound Tom, Dick, or
Harriet."
Tito
was pacing back and forth. "I haven't done anything. Not
really. We need to take care of this before they get here."
"Too
late," the demon said. The picture window exploded inward,
shards of glass flashing and tinkling as they hurtled across the
room. Four or five creatures hopped in. They were about the size of
adult men, covered with patchy fur and what looked like scabs. Their
wings were feathered. Their teeth were huge and brows low.
Tito
put up his hands. "Look, this is all a misunderstanding.
Here's the demon. You can just take him now."
"And
how do we get our commission then?" the monkey asked.
"I
never got the first notice," Tito quavered. "Can't this
bill be resubmitted?"
"Sure,"
the monkey growled. "But that has to be done in hell."
"Tell
you what," Tito said. "Why don't I send my servant here
down to wait in line and get this straightened out. When the final
decision is made, just let me know and I'll pay whatever I owe."
There must be even more red tape in hell than above ground. Most
likely he'd be dead before the infernal bureaucrats figured out what
to do with him.
Today
was Saturday. He was going to get stinking drunk tonight, and repent
tomorrow. There was a Catholic church just around the corner.
Publ.
July 29, 2008, Daily Cabal
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