How I Beat the Devil at his Own Game
What happens when you fuck up a job for the devil?
You end up in the back of a pink stretch limo listening to show tunes and playing a game of chance with the big man himself. Win or die scenario.
It’s not normal but that’s how it is.
You gotta beat the devil at his own game– a drinking contest.
Did I mention that Old Scratch is immune to the effects of alcohol?
“Gonna hate to lose you, JT,” he says.
He laughs and opens up the wet bar.
“Pick our poison, JT.”
I take a good long look and that’s when I see it.
It’s dusty but it’s there. I dig it out and hand it over.
His grin vanishes and his hands start shaking.
He rips the cap off the bottle and sniffs. He looks at the Zima and back at me.
His shoulders droop. “Can’t do it.”
I snatch the bottle, drain it, and fight to keep it down.
“You win,” he growls. “Get the fuck out of my limo.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Walk of fame, baby. I’m alive.