Faustian Deal

Let's call him Mr. Faust for rhetorical and metaphoric reasons. He answered the knock on the door. The horned and betailed visitor greeted him with a winsome smile.

"Hello, Mr. Faust," said the visitor. "My name is Mephistopheles."

"Isn't that some sort of mosquito?" asked Mr. Faust.

"Some sort of demon, in this case," smiled Mephistopheles. "I understand that you are interested in selling your immortal soul."

"Ah, yes," replied Faust. "Quite so! Are you a soul buyer, then?"

"Indeed, I am," said Mephistopheles. "Now, my research indicates that you are a highly respected lawyer. We love landing people like that. Let me just get an idea of what price you're asking. Extensive, far-ranging knowledge? That's a popular one with the intellectual types."

"Nah," Faust replied. "I've never had much use for that."

"Ah! Riches! Yes? Richest man in the world kind of thing? Pretty much everyone goes for that1"

"No-o-o, ... I'm pretty ok on the money score ..." Faust admitted.

"Oh!" Mephistopheles winked. "Must be sex, then, huh?"

"Well, no ..." Faust squirmed a bit. "Not really ..."

"What then?" asked Mephistopheles eagerly. "You're a tough nut to crack!"

Faust looked around him, as if fearing to be overheard. Then, almost whispering, he said, "I want to be a soulless sycophant to a vile, toxic tyrant. I want to be, like, a second-level minion who kisses the boss's ass and dispenses his putrescence to the masses."

"Oh, wow!" Mephistopheles shook his horned head. "Look, Todd ... I mean, Faust ... hell is too good for you. But I know this guy who deals in factory rejects, seconds, and so forth. His name is Donnie. Let me introduce you to him. And here's the best part: he thinks he's a great deal-maker."