Three To Tango
November 9th 2006 16:13
And the Devil asked me what I wanted in exchange for my soul. And I told him I wanted the greatest pair of feet ever so that I can become the greatest tango dancer ever so that I can woo the prettiest, most heavenly girl ever, Isobel. And the Devil said, in a quite serenely eloquent voice, "But what good would a good pair of feet do if you don’t have the soul for the tango, my boy?"
And I said, in a not as relaxed a voice, "You're very philosophical for a Devil. Do you want my soul or or not?"
"I'm just saying!" and the Devil reasoned. And with that, the Devil told me it was done. And so I looked down at my chest, then down to my feet. And it all looked exactly the same to me, I let it be known to the Devil.
"Don't worry. It's done," the Devil reassured. And I asked the Devil to tango with me, just to make sure. And the Devil said to me, quite cynically, "Are you kidding me? Forget it! I'm the Devil. I don't tango!"
And I pleaded with him for one quick tango. And the Devil kept insisting he doesn't tango; and that the tango wasn't his thing.
"Boy? The tango isn't my thing." See?
And I made one last plea to him: "It's just a tango. S'not like it's gonna kill you."
And with a heavy sigh, he agreed. And so we started to tango. And I instantly realized I still stunk. And I made it known instantly to the Devil. And the Devil didn't bother saying a word, instead choosing to roll his blood-red eyes.
And then it began: my feet started to shuffle in a way they had never shuffled before; my knees were bending every which way; my head flailing backwards, forwards, sideways, this way and that way. And my body started gyrating like a marionette being puppetted by an eleven-fingered maple syrup addict.
And suddenly, I was transported to the costume dance party. And there I was, dancing skillfully with Isobel: my hair jet-black and slick and shaped like horns; a fiery red mask covering my face; sweat purposefully perforating my crimson satin shirt; and a pair of shiny, sable-coloured spandex slash lycra pants and that is all I have to say about the pants.
And after the tango number ended, I proceeded to kiss Isobel on her hand, as one would. And as I proceeded to get her a drink -- a Bloody Mary as it turned out she requested -- I saw none other than the Devil, dressed in all-white with a Nicholas Cage mask, proceeding to tango away with Isobel.
And the tango wasn't his thing, he said!
And so I stood there at the bar watching them with furious amazement. And as the dance went on, they began shimmying further and further away to the corner of the dance floor.
And without so much as another hip twist, they disappeared through a door and into a room. A door that I could've sworn 2 minutes ago was the fireplace.
And I said, in a not as relaxed a voice, "You're very philosophical for a Devil. Do you want my soul or or not?"
"I'm just saying!" and the Devil reasoned. And with that, the Devil told me it was done. And so I looked down at my chest, then down to my feet. And it all looked exactly the same to me, I let it be known to the Devil.
"Don't worry. It's done," the Devil reassured. And I asked the Devil to tango with me, just to make sure. And the Devil said to me, quite cynically, "Are you kidding me? Forget it! I'm the Devil. I don't tango!"
And I pleaded with him for one quick tango. And the Devil kept insisting he doesn't tango; and that the tango wasn't his thing.
"Boy? The tango isn't my thing." See?
And I made one last plea to him: "It's just a tango. S'not like it's gonna kill you."
And with a heavy sigh, he agreed. And so we started to tango. And I instantly realized I still stunk. And I made it known instantly to the Devil. And the Devil didn't bother saying a word, instead choosing to roll his blood-red eyes.
And then it began: my feet started to shuffle in a way they had never shuffled before; my knees were bending every which way; my head flailing backwards, forwards, sideways, this way and that way. And my body started gyrating like a marionette being puppetted by an eleven-fingered maple syrup addict.
And suddenly, I was transported to the costume dance party. And there I was, dancing skillfully with Isobel: my hair jet-black and slick and shaped like horns; a fiery red mask covering my face; sweat purposefully perforating my crimson satin shirt; and a pair of shiny, sable-coloured spandex slash lycra pants and that is all I have to say about the pants.
And after the tango number ended, I proceeded to kiss Isobel on her hand, as one would. And as I proceeded to get her a drink -- a Bloody Mary as it turned out she requested -- I saw none other than the Devil, dressed in all-white with a Nicholas Cage mask, proceeding to tango away with Isobel.
And the tango wasn't his thing, he said!
And so I stood there at the bar watching them with furious amazement. And as the dance went on, they began shimmying further and further away to the corner of the dance floor.
And without so much as another hip twist, they disappeared through a door and into a room. A door that I could've sworn 2 minutes ago was the fireplace.
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Interesting read and welcome to Orble.
Charles.
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The tooth fair went.. "Umm..."
and flew off.
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