The devil was in the neighbourhood fishing for souls.
Denison was desperate. He couldn’t make it as a novelist. Maybe as a musician. He always wanted to play in a band.
Very well, the Devil said. Wish granted.
Denison found he could play any instrument he wanted. But he was still unhappy.
What’s the problem? the Devil asked.
I’m getting nowhere, he said.
I’m not the fucking genie in the bottle! He replied. I have powers but they are limited. I’ve granted you ability. The rest is up to you.
That’s a cop out, Denison snapped.
Blame the big guy in the sky.
It’s not enough. I want to rescind the bargain, Denison said.
Too late, the Devil said, as He flipped a switch. Denison disappeared down the trapdoor beneath him, busily expostulating …
John Malone 