Devil: Welcome Mr. Stevenson, or do you prefer Jeffery or Jeff?

Stevenson: Nah, that's fine, you can call me Mr. Stevenson, I don't mind.

Devil: Okay Mr. Stevenson, what are you here for?

Stevenson: I wanna be a rock star!

Devil: Really? That's actually one of the easier requests...right up there with pop star and Spring Break event referee.

Stevenson: Well, it was just an expression. I'm not really sure why I'm here. I guess I just wanted to find out a little more about this whole thing.

Devil: It's really simple actually. You tell me what you want to be and I draw up a contract. Then our lawyers fight each other in a no-holds-barred cage match over the details of the contract. It's really quite fun to watch.

Stevenson: Think we could throw the lawyers in there for a little exhibition match?

Devil: Sure thing. And people say I'm difficult to get along with. So, have you decided what you want to be yet?

Stevenson: Can I be the Devil?

Devil: No, you can't be the Devil...I'm the Devil. There's only one of me. There are some cousins though and an aunt that's still kicking, but for the most part, there's just me.

Stevenson: Can I be God then?

Devil: *sigh* No, you can't be God.

Stevenson: How about immortal? That could be kind of neat.

Devil: Listen, I can't make you immortal either. People are born, they live, they die, and then someone collects on their soul. I can't just disrupt the natural order of things on a whim. Besides it's highly overrated...after a few millenia, you get these horrible aches in your joints and your sense of smell goes and all food tastes really bland.

Stevenson: Well, I'm all out of ideas.

Devil: How about you tell me a bit about yourself and we'll go from there. Where are you from?

Stevenson: Texas...the land of steaks and petroleum (but don't mix the two).

Devil: And what do you currently do for a living?

Stevenson: I'm a former special ops data assassin that went to the civilian sector to use my extensive database skills for the good of mankind. Oh, and I also write.

Devil: A writer, eh? What exactly do you write?

Stevenson: Well, I've dabbled with prose, comic books, screenplays, resumes, ad copy, poetry, song lyrics, tech documentation, reviews, presentations, training manuals, and speeches...whatever I can get my hands on really, but I mostly enjoy working on screenplays, comic books and prose.

Devil: That's a lot of stuff, you must get paid well for your writing.

Stevenson: Paid? What's this "paid" you speak of? I do most of that for fun (plus my third personality Billy Jim Joe Bob Stevenson makes me do it). Okay, so I do get some pay every now and then, but it's nowhere near what I make as a database guru.

Devil: Okay, let's try to get back on track here...what are your goals?

Stevenson: Hmmm...let's see. How about the front of the grey Jetta across from the fire hydrant, and on this end, we'll go with the corner of Mr. Thompson's fence?

Devil: You're beginning to try my patience.

Stevenson: Patience is a virtue.

Devil: Ahhhhh! Do you want to make the damn trade or not?

Stevenson: What trade? Is that the same as bartering because I thought we were bartering?

Devil: Fine. We're "bartering" if that'll make you happy.

Stevenson: Wow, you're so nice...concerned about my happiness and everything.

Devil: That's it! Out! Get the hell out of here now before I release the hounds on you.

Stevenson: So, you don't want my soul? Cause I thought we were going to make a deal.

Devil: Just make it quick...tell me what you want to be, sign the contract and we're done.

Stevenson: Cool. Can I be the Devil?