Sell my soul to the devil in a Waffle House in Georgia
Most Waffle Houses are in the South. And even though some of these places are known as a stomping ground for drunks and stoners hoping to line their intestinal walls with soothing fatty soul foods, the Waffle House lives in an eternal state of breakfast bliss with an infinite number of strips of bacon and eggs doused with never-ending cups of coffee. But little did I know what would happen to me inside this place.
Yes, I happened to be drunk at the time after visiting a friend in Georgia. I was also lured by Southern hospitality, believing in the goodness of strangers. I was alone, and it was late at night. Strangely, I was the only customer who walked in. The people working there were eerily familiar, and I, for a moment, forgot the evil corporate nature of fast food restaurants. The cooks were happy doing their work and enjoyed feeding the hungry drunks.
The heat of the night was intense, and it feels like hell. The temperature is so high everyone seems to be going insane. But inside of the Waffle House was cooled by machines spilling man made cold air of oblivious salvation
I sat in one of the empty booths by the window, looking at the door. I think about my life and the state of our misery in the world, the beauty and despair we are at the mercy of when a sharp-dressed man walks into the restaurant. This man was not unusual or suspicious, but I was immediately drawn to him.
He was a handsome devil and of a seductive nature. His persona is charismatic, magnetic, and irresistible. I felt an immediate rush of sympathy for this guy. He looked at me as if he knew me.
He approached me, and I asked him to join me. He sat across from me and said: “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and fame. Pleased to meet you; I hope you guess my name.” I quickly said jokingly: Lucifer?
And like a drug, when it hits you in the wrong way, a giant hand with long fingernails like railroad bolts grabbed my innards and made me gasp for air and made me puke. A rush of every emotion, pleasure, and pain ascends my spine, making me aroused, scared, and at the same time elated in a strange mixture of pleasure, pain, and a sense of hemorrhagic joy and with a voice of a thousand souls, he utters: Don’t fuck with me! Suddenly, I was let free from the paralyzing choke hold.
Listen carefully, you moron, I came here to buy your soul. My sense of normality returned, and it was like nothing had happened; unexpectedly, it felt like I was talking to someone I knew. My fear went away, and I felt comfortable. “I have three deals you can choose from.” I realized Lucifer was a shrewd businessman, but I was a terrible one to convince. Should I sell my soul to the devil?
Here is the first bargain: listen up. I will make you the most attractive man on earth. You will be handsome and gorgeous, but most of all, you’ll have power over anyone you desire. They will be helpless to your cravings and wants. You’ll have the authority to make any woman fall in love with you at a nod. They will not be able to resist. You’ll have a massive penis, and with your magical wand, you will make any woman come like gods. Your magic dick will be hard whenever and for as long as you want. I replied: What must I give you in return, Mr. Lucifer?
You have to be a sex slave for three lifetimes. You’ll be sold to slave masters, he will offer you to his friend, and you’ll be fucked day in and day out by the most gross and disgusting man. They will fuck you until you bleed, and after you die, you’ll be reborn as a slave again and resume your pitiful curse for three lifetimes. I replied: No, thanks, I’ll pass that one; what about deal number two?
Deal number two is a real beauty. I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. You can trick anyone you want; everything you say will be believed. You could utter lies, and everyone will think they are truths. Your charisma will be irresistible. You could be the president of the most powerful nation on earth. You will loot and rob, and everyone will think you are Jesus. To which I replied: And what is the price for that?
For three lifetimes, you’ll be poor and live in poverty. Every country you’re born in will be hell, plagued by poverty, burglary, and tyrannical kings that will rape its people. Wars will be paid with your money, and your sons will be murdered for no reason other than to serve and make the king more prosperous. No. That sounds awful; what is deal number three?
Deal number three is the special one, and this one is for you.
I’ll take you to the future, modernity, and progress. You’ll fly like a bird through the air, and every place in the world will be yours. Slave machines fueled by Lucifer's oil will do all the work. There will be a telescreen with a million channels where you can see everything and know everything, good and evil. You’ll be able to leave your boring town and forget about your family. In this world, you can discard everything out the window. For anything you throw away, a new one will immediately be replaced. So, what is the price, Mr Lucifer?
The price is steep but worthed. For ten lifetimes, you’ll live on a torrid and arid planet; floods and droughts will plague the land, most animals will be dead, the air will smell like sulfur, and the food will taste like oil…
But wait, Mr. Lucifer, this is the world we already live in! There is nothing new here. But Lucifer replied: Yes, but deal number three has some hidden bonuses.
In deal number three, you’ll forget everything. You’ll be a person of oblivion and ignorant bliss, happy even though everything is going to hell. You’ll enjoy everything without any guilt. You’ll eat all the animals and burn all the oil, thinking nothing about it. You can destroy nature to your heart’s content and feel nothing, no remorse. But here’s the best part.
When you purchase deal three, you may receive modified versions of deals one and two at a discounted price, with potential restrictions. Imagine the potential. Pay attention to the details, my friend, because the devil is in it…
After saying that, he vanished in the night. I looked at the cooks in the kitchen working away, seeming either unaware or in cahoots with the devil. It all seemed like a drunken hallucination, and maybe it was. The devil was gone and didn’t wait to hear my final choice; perhaps he knew I was a demanding and useless customer, and unlike most people, he left because he knew I would not waffle. Thank god!
I walked out, and the temperature was still like hell. Huge monster trucks were going by on the highway, and there was so much noise and smoke, and everyone seemed to be somehow possessed by some spirit. I realized why the devil didn’t waste much time with me. He had better and easier customers, and I saw he didn’t need my business. I supposed the devil was doing well in Georgia, and I’m glad I was not one of those suckers. For now, I was safe, but for how long?
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