Then I went through a period of unrequited horniness and agonizing loneliness. It was as though I'd acquired psychic halitosis because every woman I approached turned various shades of green and hustled away. Even got turned down by prostitutes. I couldn't even get relief by masturbating. My dick wilted at my own touch. I was at wit's end.
What I finally did, though, was reason out this demon business to my own satisfaction. Why should a demon, something of a mover and shaker in supernatural circles after all, associate himself with anything as petty and sleazy as a chain letter? Don't demons have a reputation to maintain? Don't they have any pride? Isn't there some kind of guild or demonic fraternal association to enforce professional standards? Well, it reminded me of the good old boys in the Zanesburg Police Department. To fulfill their quota of parking tickets, the cops there will honor even unofficial "No Parking" signs put up by anyone whatsoever. You could butcher together a crayon-scrawled cardboard sign, and a "Zanytown" cop would issue a summons to anyone parking in front of it. So this particular demon dude was probably desperate to fill his monthly quota of curses, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Just got another one of those double-damned letters in the mail. I see the demon still isn't much for spelling or grammar. Someone ought to report that friggin illiterate junk-mailing spook to the Postmaster General.
================================================= LAST WARNIG. TO ALL IF YOU DO NOT SEND THIS YOU WILL BE CURSD WITH BAD LUCK BY THE DAMON. AT LEAST IF YOU SEND IT OUT TO TEN PEOPLE YOUR LUCK WILL BE BETTER, AND LESS OF THE DAMON WILL BOTHER YOU.
IMPORTANT YOU HAVE TWENTY FOUR HOURS AFTER READING TO MAIL THIS OUT, OR ELSE BAD LUCK. MAIL THIS OUT GET GOOD LUCK IN YOUR LOVE AND SEX. =================================================
I've hit bottom. What's next, a plague of locusts? Dammit, that's enough. Enough! I'm through. Game over. I surrender.
So here I sit, looking at a three-foot-high stack of the letters. Stamped, sealed, ready to go. They're addressed to relatives, friends, enemies, ex-lovers, random strangers picked from the phone book, even to everyone who has downloaded or shared this sad tale (yes, I know who you are!). Now if I can only make my way through the swarms of locusts to the mailbox . . .
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The Syntax of Seduction Page 45