Howdy, folks! What's it going to take to put you into a river of maggots and burning feces today?

If you’re a human being who can still experience what our pre-Facebook ancestors once called empathy, you probably felt briefly sorry for the people of Haiti, whose country was struck by a terrible earthquake on Tuesday. Then you tuned into The 700 Club and saw Pat Robertson explain that the earthquake was Haiti’s fault because they made a pact with the devil. For those of you who do not live with your elderly grandparents, I quote: “Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it. They were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III and whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, ‘We will serve you if you will get us free from the French.’ True story. And so, the devil said, ‘OK, it’s a deal.'”

You know that’s true, because Robertson is an ordained minister and also he said “true story” at the end. We don’t have to feel sorry for the people of Haiti, because it turns out that, like the developmentally disabled and people who have lost their jobs, the whole thing is their fault. The Haitian people have been free from slavery for almost 200 years, so they can’t really say that the devil hasn’t held up his end of the deal. On the other hand, Haiti is beset by endemic poverty, has one of the highest AIDS exposure rates of any nation in the western hemisphere, and is right next door to the Dominican Republic—which means constant merengue music no matter what time it is. Diabolic servitude or not, they’ve clearly had a hard time of it. Haiti made a classic error: they forged a blood pact with the dark lord Mephistopheles, which was great, but they forgot to be specific. When you’re dealing with the devil, it’s critically important that everything be specified. Because once he says, “Okay, it’s a deal,” that’s it.

I know, because I recently entered into a contract with the devil to improve reception on my iPhone. My initial plan was to try to address the issue through AT&T customer service, but those people are terrible. Instead, I went out to the woods and drew a pentagram in the dirt with the femur of a newborn child. That connected me to the devil’s voice-navigation menu. At that point, a lot of people will sit there saying “yes” and “no” into the pentagram in an increasingly irritated tone of voice for the next several minutes, which wastes a lot of time and makes everyone else in the woods think you’re weird. Not many people know this, but you can just say “operator” and immediately be connected to Ayn Rand. All you have to do then is give her your Social Security number and a lock of your mother’s hair, and she’ll roll over and connect you to the devil.

When the devil appears in the pentagram, it is critically important that you not look at his earring. It’s a stud; he got it shortly after he turned 6,000 and it looks extremely gay, but the devil doesn’t know that because gay people are naked when they get to hell. (Seriously, you really need to start watching The 700 Club.) He thinks it’s cool, and if he notices you looking at it he will ask you what you think of it, and then you have to lie to the devil. That will make you feel guilty and uncomfortable, which will not put you in your best negotiating position. It’s possible the devil knows all of this and wears the earring specifically for that reason, which is frankly too dickish to even think about. So you should just focus on his eyes, which smolder with the acrid envy that the morning star feels for the dawn, or his Arizona State tattoo.

The actual negotiation process with the devil is tricky, and varies depending on what you’re asking for. Mine was a pretty straightforward tech support problem, so the conversation was pretty short. All pacts with the devil are recorded for training purposes, and if you email darklordsatan123@aol.com they’ll send you a transcript. Mine looks like this:
DAN: Holy Christ almighty, it is the Adversary Beelzebub. What foul corruption have I unleashed upon this earth?

DEVIL: What’s up, my [racial epithet]?

DAN: Whoah! I do not think it is okay for you to use that word.

DEVIL: Why not? Black people use that word all the time. Every time I go to Haiti, it’s [epithet] this and [epithet] that.

DAN: Yeah, but that’s different. They’re reclaiming it. White people shouldn’t use that word.

DEVIL: What about Latinos? Latinos can use it.

DAN: You’re Latino?

DEVIL: [masturbating]

DAN: Um. [Pause, trying not to look at earring.] Who are you—

DEVIL: Kim Kardashian.

DAN: I will serve you forever if you make 3G work in the subway.

DEVIL: Okay, it’s a deal. [Vanishes]

DAN: Great, I— [Immediately grows teeth in anus.] Shoot.

Three weeks later I got a packet in the mail outlining the terms of our agreement, which basically says that I get unlimited data anywhere that’s not in direct sunlight, using push email will reduce my battery life, and I will continue to age normally but never die. It’s not the best deal with the devil in history, but I feel like I’m somewhere between Robert Johnson and Billy Ray Cyrus, who got fame and riches in the early nineties but now has to spend every afternoon on the set of Hannah Montana. All things considered, I’d give the devil an eight. My phone works great, and once you get used to the initial shock of seeing worms emerge from the eye sockets of all your loved ones every sunset, it’s kind of cool. I would definitely recommend the devil to a non-Haitian friend, although as in all business transactions, it’s caveat emptor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go use “totes” as an intensifier in at least three conversations. It’s kind of awkward, but if I do it my house will be earthquake-proof until Christmas. True story.

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