So,

Once Upon A Time,

N–, one of my oldest and dearest friends, used to go by the nick-name and nom-de-net The Incubus.

Now N– had moved away, to Florida actually, and then was moving back to Alaska.  We were all thrilled of course, N– is wicked smart and funny and a delight to be around in many social situations, and I determined to find something amusing and warped for his return.  Inspired by his infernal nick-name and the many ongoing jokes and routines that he and I and our circle of friends had come up with over the years, I typed up and printed out a bakers dozen of contracts, with the signer granting full possession and control of their Immortal Soul to N— to do with as he saw fit.

Now, I am not sure if it is a tribute to N—‘s popularity, my ability to seem quite innocuous, or the lack of forethought of people in their late teens and early twenties, BUT when he stepped from the plane I was able to present N— with 13 SIGNED contracts granting him full ownership and oversight over the immortal souls of a bakers dozen of our friends and acquaintances!

The best of the incidents was with J.H., a fine piece of American military manhood, who quite proudly insisted once he had signing the contract (1)…

“That’s ok, its not like I really  believe in an immortal soul so its no big deal.”

“Well,” said young Pax, who while he wasn’t a piece of military manhood  HAD lettered in Speech&Debate (2) after all, “obviously you DO believe in your immortal soul because you just signed a formal document pertaining to it.”

“For that matter,” he continued cheerfully, whilst discretely tucking said signed contract into the folder with the others and carefully backing away out of lunging range, “by signing the contract you not only admit belief in your  immortal soul but give ownership and control over it to N— all in the same moment!”

J.H. stood there a moment, blinking, and working his jaw as if to speak…

“Uh…uh…Damn It!” he said.

“Well, that’s really no longer your decision, now is it?”” said young Pax as he merrily bopped off into the crowd at the Java Joint in Spenard, Ak.

ah, the folly of youth….

Footnotes…

(1) – In ink, for those that are interested.  In the interests of expediency, and given that the contract was printed on a dot-matrix printer, blood seemed a bit over the top.  It WAS red ink though.   Although I suppose you could use a mixture of Pomegranate Juice and Red Wine and Dragons Blood Ink in a reduction as a substitute…

(2)- Technically speaking I lettered in Drama, Debate, and Forensics… Forensics as in formalized informative or opinion based speeches.  I figured though, that this explanation might distract from the narrative flow, and telling people you lettered in Forensics can get you some really odd looks, especially if inserted into the above…