[ WP ] The Devil now sends Billy Mays out to sell people on deals with the Devil .

All I wanted to do was put some words on the page. Tell a story, make a point, I really do n't know. I just wanted to write, but the words clogged up in my mind and refused to move to hand and exit through the pen. I just could n't do it. 
 
 And I was starting to get depressed. I love writing, but sometimes it seemed like writing did n't love me. The muses were fickle like that, I guess. 
 
 I'd spent thirty-minutes staring at a blank WordPad on my computer screen, and I was about to give up. 
 
 Right when I was about to click on the big red'X' to close it down, I was given a reason to nearly shit myself. 
 
 `` BILLY MAYS HERE FOR THE DEVIL!'' said a loud, commanding voice from behind me. 
 
 `` What the-'' I spun around, leaping out of my chair, fist cocked back and ready to swing, when what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. 
 
 `` Holy... you're... you're...'' 
 
 `` Billy Mays, at your service!'' he said, that big smile I knew from so many nights of watching infomercials beaming brightly at me. He was just as I remembered... except for the horns. I do n't remember him having horns, but then again, it was the middle of the night, and I was usually dead tired or half drunk when I watched them. 
 
 `` I thought... I thought you were...'' 
 
 `` Dead? I was! Still am! But, I managed to talk the Devil into a deal!'' 
 
 ``... I thought he was the one that was supposed to make the deals.'' 
 
 `` He is! Usually. But that's the deal we struck! Now I run that department!' 
 
 I stood there, arm lowering to my side, fist unclenching. There was no way in hell this was happening. I was asleep. That was it. I was asleep, and this was just a bad dream. 
 
 `` Nope! Sorry, bud! Not dreaming! So, I understand you're having trouble writing.'' he said, hypnotizing me with his hand gestures as he spoke. And that beard... it was just as immaculate as I remembered. Neatly trimmed, perfectly formed... so maybe it was n't a dream. Drugs, perhaps? 
 
 `` Nope, not drugs! You're completely sober for once!'' 
 
 ``... what's that supposed to mea-'' 
 
 `` Focus, Mike,'' he said, raising a hand, palm outward, completely cutting me off mid-sentence. I hated that. Stuff like that usually made me angry. Except for now. It was almost... magical. He had me in his spell, and there was n't a damn thing I could do about it. 
 
 `` I have an offer for you, straight from the Man Downstairs himself.'' 
 
 I stared at him, transfixed. Seriously, what the hell was going on? 
 
 The hand in my face lowered, palm upwards, and in his hand appeared a book. No title, but there at the bottom was my name, indicating I was the author. I had never in my life dreamt of writing a volume that large. I was a short story writer, and this... this was way out of my league. But the idea of having my name attached to a volume that large, I have to admit, was tempting. 
 
 `` In exchange for your mortal soul upon death, and a small down payment of your blood in the form of a signature, this could be your masterpeice. A story of such magnitude that people will speak of you with reverence until the end of time.'' 
 
 I stared at him for several moments in silence before I began to ask the question weighing heavily on my mind. `` What's the cat-'' 
 
 `` BUT WAIT! There's more!'' he said, cutting me off again. Atop the book he held appeared several more. Some of them thinner, some of them thicker, but all of them with my name on the spines. `` Not just one book written by you, but an entire body of work. All for free when you take the original deal. So, what do you think?'' 
 
 But that was the problem. I could n't think. I just stood there and stared, slack-jawed. He stared back at me, that smile never leaving his face. 
 
 The guy was good. The guy was damn good. 
 
 `` I... can I... think on it for a bit?'' 
 
 `` Offer's now or never, champ! But really, no pressure.'' 
 
 ``... I'm sorry, but I ca n't. I ca n't just... take fame offered on a plate that I do n't really feel I deserve. I'm sorry, but-'' 
 
 `` Stop you right there, bud! It's okay! I'm not going to force something on you that you're unwilling to accept. But do n't say I did n't try! Billy Mays, gone!'' 
 
 With that, and a puff of smoke ( accompanied by the smell of brimstone ), he was gone. I slumped back down into my chair, and turned back to my computer screen, shell-shocked. What the hell just happened?
