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} Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Sold our soul to Satan, have we? What,
} not Satan? Then who? Let's have a look at that contract. "I, the
} undersigned, freely and willingly submit my soul and any associated
} spiritual intangibles to H. Sleestack, Esq., Prince of Darkness..."
} Oh no, not again. Just hang on a moment, supplicant.
}
} [The Oracle mutters an incantation whilst fiddling with various buttons
} and levers on his console. Presently, an interdimensional portal opens
} and deposits two figures on the floor of the Oracular Chamber. One is
} tall and shifty-looking, the other short, round and wearing an
} expression of amiable befuddlement. Both are dressed in skivvy's
} clothing, flat caps and two days' growth of stubble.]
}
} Oracle: Hello, Harold, Sydney. What are you up to this time?
}
} Harry: Cripes, squire, yer don' wanner do that innerdimenshunal stuff
} on people wivvout warnin'. We coulder been on the loo or sumfink!
}
} Syd: We's in the heternal souls bizness, Orrie.
}
} Harry: Shurrup, Syd.
}
} Syd: Sorry, 'Arry.
}
} Harry: Don' lissen ter 'im, guv. We ain't doin' nuffink. Straight up.
} Yer must be finking of two ovver fellers.
}
} Oracle: Harry, I know you're buying souls. I've got one of your
} suppliers here.
}
} Harry: Oh yeh, so yer 'as. Wotcher, mate! 'Ow's the prospect of
} heverlarstin' torment lookin' terday? Still, yer gotter larf,
} doncher?
}
} Oracle: Do tell me, I'm dying to know - why are you buying souls?
}
} Harry: It's a buyer's market at the mo, innit? Prices is rock-bottom!
} It's not like the 80s no more. I mean, we got this geezer's soul fer
} a song.
}
} Syd: Two porshuns of jellied eels an' chips ter be precise.
}
} Oracle: Letting it go a bit cheap, aren't you?
}
} Supplicant: I was really, really hungry.
}
} Syd: One of the porshuns was mine, too.
}
} Harry: I keeps tellin' yer, Syd - yer bizness ain't gonner get orff the
} penny-an'-pound if yer don' hinvest in it.
}
} Oracle: What do you want with a bunch of souls, Harry?
}
} Harry: Strewf, innit hobvious? It's Harmageddon this millennyum, innit?
}
} Oracle: Of course, silly me.
}
} Harry: An', wiv a big job like that, they's gonner need subcontractors,
} inney?
}
} Oracle: You're not putting in a bid to be the Antichrist?
}
} Harry: Nah, nah, nah, don' be daft!
}
} Oracle: Well, that's a relief.
}
} Harry: ...That'll be Syd in a Mephistorpheles cozzy.
}
} Syd: I'm rentin' it from the fancy dress shop dahn the 'igh street.
}
} Oracle: So how many souls have you got so far?
}
} Harry: Trade secret, that is!
}
} Syd: Free.
}
} Oracle: Three?
}
} Syd: Yeh. This surpplicant, busty Brenda dahn the Crown an' Ferret -
} she wants ter be the 'Ore of Babylon - an' me. An' I ain't too
} chuffed abaht that bit, 'Arry.
}
} Harry: Look, yer carn't expect the Troops of Midian ter foller yer
} rahnd if yer ain't damned ter heternal perdition first, Syd. No
} street cred, if yer gets me drift. They's very pertickerler abaht
} that sorter fing.
}
} Oracle: I hate to be the one to break it to you, boys, but I don't
} think a total of three slightly used souls is going to get you very
} far in terms of running the global holocaust.
}
} Harry: Nah, nah, not global, yer silly old fillet of cod. We's got our
} mincers on the local contract, in't we? I wants yer ter fink of me as
} the 'Orseman of the Norf 'Ackney Hapockerlypse, like.
}
} Oracle: [rubbing his temples in a pained way] I can't say why exactly,
} but the more I hear of this grand venture, the less I want to know.
}
} Syd: We's even gettin' our own seven seals!
}
} Harry: Well, they's sea lions really, but 'oo's ter know the diff, eh?
}
} Syd: They's not dodgy is they, 'Arry?
}
} Harry: Wiv Phil the Greek gettin' them for us? Corse they's dodgy!
} Remember, we's gonner be negoshatin' wiv the Barons of 'Ades 'ere,
} Syd - they wouldner wants it any ovver way, see?
}
} Oracle: Getting back to the real world for a moment, if that's not too
} much to ask - I don't believe this contract is entirely valid.
}
} Harry: Corse it is! It's signed wiv blood an' all!
}
} Syd: My blood, as it 'appens.
}
} Harry: Well, wot was we surpposed ter do? That surpplicant is a right
} squeamish woolly woofter.
}
} Oracle: Yes, but did you notice he signed his name "George W. Bush"?
}
} Harry: Stone the crows dahn the Old Kent Road!
}
} Oracle: Taking that, the dubious provenance of the blood and the
} absence of any reliable witnesses into consideration (because, let's
} face it, Harry - you don't know anybody remotely reliable), I think
} it's safe to say the supplicant's soul is his own again.
}
} Harry: The connivin' git!
}
} Syd: Does that mean 'e 'as ter pay me fer me jellied eels an' chips?
}
} Harry: Wot am I surpposed ter do wiv jus' two souls?
}
} Oracle: You could always repair your shoes.
}
} Syd: Har har har! That's good, that is!
}
} Harry: Shurrup, Syd.
}
} Syd: Sorry, 'Arry.
}
} Oracle: Goodbye, boys.
}
} [The Oracle begins muttering another incantation and fiddling with the
} buttons and levers on his console.]
}
} Syd: So 'oo's this George W. Bush geezer?
}
} Harry: 'E's a hactor, inne? 'E was in that film, "Oh God".
}
} [The interdimensional portal closes, swallowing up our two would-be
} lords of misrule.]
}
} Well, let that be a lesson to you, supplicant - don't go selling your
} soul to just anyone you meet. Not for a portion of jellied eels,
} anyway.
}
} You owe the Oracle your eternal gratitude. Here, sign this agreement
} form on the dotted line. Oh, all right, use ketchup if you must!
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