"Hot" Mail

I found this singed jotting, skewered with a 'pitchfork-esque' swizzle to my front door. I immediately assumed it was in response to yesterday's letter.

'Drear' Prego:

My assistant, Mr. Reagan passed your letter to me. Let me begin by telling you that you are correct: your soul is mine. Theos and I were throwing back the Zimas a while back, (mid 90's) and if I'm not mistaken, I believe that was the height of your foray into debauchery. We discussed your prospects for the afterlife and it was clear to us (particularly after the possum fiasco) that you were destined for perdition. You have about as much chance of getting into heaven as Pete Rose has of getting into the Hall of Fame.

I must admit, though, I like your moxie and irreverence. That's why I'm willing to entertain your offer. As you might have noticed, your Sabres were victors in last night's hockey game. I'm going to mull it over between now and Saturday afternoon. The Senators, after all, did beat my Pittsburgh Penguins.

As for your other proposal, though Attila appreciated it, he has his sights set on the "Zack and Cody" twins. Rosie, however has a vatful of petroleum jelly and some leg shackles with your name on it. As the hillbilly said to Ned Beatty: "Squeal like a pig, boy...!""

Nefariously Yours,
Lucifer

PS I do, in fact, exist. Nice job on the fence-sitting "out" clause, sucker... but around here a deal's a deal.