Repeat Till Death

Chapter Two - Now Hold On A Minute!!!

CHAPTER TWO - NOW HOLD ON A MINUTE!!!

Everyone makes a pact with Satan. Quite pedestrian. Hell, I did!

All time sucky deals: Indians swap Manhattan for trinkets, ha ha chumps! Any Oakland A's trade since around 2010. Who’d their stupid General Manager get for Tim Hudson? And they chose Eric Chavez over Miguel Tejada, dumb f***s! And, and, my grand negotiation with El Diablo, the i***t! Hey, I'm talking about me!

Two decades plus or minus, the crack pipe and I, we were a thing, hitched! Hall of Fame smoker, yup. I was the joneser for the twenty years of rug patrolling. Bell ringers!!! And, mind you, this is a separate energy from my very young man crystal methamphetamine era, which massively physically whacked my butt. Yet that early human years era is sent to the memory banks upon the lighting of the crack. Now one clearly sees the crazy power pull of the rock, hence, we are back to Mr. Satan.

I stayed alive during the two decades crack run. Leaped into the smoke deep jungle of good bye potential goodbye hope goodbye dreams goodbye soul. Soul. Stop. Here we have reached the addict soul, and right there, key word soul, is the Devil's end of the bargain. Me, I get the crack, yum! Contract signed and sealed, complete.

Wait!

But first, sure enough, Satan and his squad, top notch of Lucifer delivering the message and Beelzebuth the Purple Reign and Astaroth lowriding and just so many many more in the crew, they all do carry on. Yet, to be real there's gotta be a dialectic such as yes my c**k exist and it's longer than that guy's c**k and not as long as some of those lucky stiffs in the Barely Legal type porns (Yet up against a few i'm pretty sure I hold my own - I should audition!). So, see, for my c**k to exist so do all those other c***s live and breathe and therefore as the Black Magic Satanic Gang rolls, a dialectic must prevail. And now, seat yourself get ready, we have Angels.

Those crazy wing nuts! Slender St. Jennifer and punk St. Lou and all those sweeties, well that's how I see them, up and down the Holy Ladder they all, well, a handful, did in fact look at my soul for crack deal and at some miraculous moment maybe during an N.A. or A.A. meeting say "Now hold on a minute. Let's examine this fine print with our Eagle Wings."

And in the court of the Supernatural it was found, amongst so much, I was not of able body to flip my soul for the crack. I was still physical death from the crystal and, oh yeah, I was stuck on the crack! Not of sound mind to bargain. Point one. And, good to note, there is some sort of bare minimum one must receive in turn for a soul. While the freebase rock certainly blast one into the stratosphere, that is not of the same dark force gift caliber as being a Wall Street backed Democratic Presidential candidate, or, of being a Angel Investor (Oh my god the actual Angels so hate that doublespeak, and they do mean to be present at those tycoons' days of reckoning.) amassing wealth by building market rate housing on a foundation of the bones of torched working class folk. And, as so many other such discoveries were presented, hey, I got my soul back! Woo Hoo! My part, I did the Twelve Steps, and now, new game!

Light bulb!

Oh oh, I do get peculiar like this.

If I can sell my soul once, I can sell it again!