EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #7: WHAT WOULD YOU SELL YOUR SOUL FOR?

I’m not a religious man, not even in the slightest way. As most of you probably know, I’m a hardcore atheist. I don’t believe in any of the mumbo-jumbo, and I don’t believe in souls. However, I believe there is something that sets us apart from one another, something that makes us individuals rather than walking, rutting pieces of meat. I don’t think that whatever that is carries on after we die, of course. It definitely dies with us. But for the time being, let’s call it a soul.

Also, let’s pretend God exists, if only so we can pretend the devil exists, too. What if you found yourself confronted by the prince of darkness, and he was ready to make a deal with you? What would you want in return for your soul?


I used to think about this situation a lot. If the devil really appeared before me and offered me a deal, I thought I’d just take it as a sign that I’m wrong and God exists. Therefore, Hell exists, and who would want to be tormented in its fiery pits for eternity? I’d turn Splitfoot Nick down.

But things have been pretty rough for me of late. Two years ago, I didn’t think life could get worse for me. Then, 2010 happened, and I couldn’t possibly imagine myself in worse shape. And now, 2011 is kicking the shit out of me in the grimmest of ways. It has shown me many things, and I finally have something I would sell my soul for.


I would let Mephistopheles have the ragged old thing for the price of me living a perfectly healthy, normal life. In other words, I don’t ever want to have abdominal pain ever again. I never want to spend an entire day puking my guts out ever again. I want to go on existing as a fully functional human being for the rest of my days. And I don’t even care how long I live. I’m not looking for quantity; I’m looking for quality.


I know what you’re thinking: just eat right and exercise, and you’ll be fine. Wrong. I do exercise (as surprising as that might seem to many of you), and it’s too late for me to eat right. Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t do it. Only a masochist would. I like things like meat, cheese and bread (to say nothing of booze), and I’m not going to give them up.

Think about the other things such a deal would entail. For example, I would never suffer an irregular bowel movement ever again. They’d all come out clean and solid, and I wouldn’t even have to wipe. (I’d still give my butthole a once-over, for good measure.) I’d never get sick again. I’d never have a runny nose, and I’d never have problems trying to get to sleep because I’m all congested. No more pimples, no more abscesses. My diabetes would be gone, as would my hypertension and high cholesterol. I’d never have to go in for regular checkups because I would never get, say, cancer or a heart attack. I could sleep with whomever I wanted to, because I’d never get STD’s. I’d have a hard-on whenever I needed it, no matter what troubles and distracts my mind. I’d never have an annoying rectal itch ever again. And if I suffered a cut, I would never get infected.

All of a sudden, that’s sounding like a pretty good deal, huh? But there’s more. I think perfect health involves a lot of other things that the devil would have to undo. For example, as many of you know, I lost a tooth recently and had an implant put in. The devil would have to put my old tooth back in there and make it perfectly healthy. In fact, he’d have to make my teeth white and in perfect shape. Hell, to be perfectly healthy, I’d need them all to be straight instead of crooked and unevenly spaced, as they are now. My gums have receded, so he’d have to fix that, too. And my teeth would have to be indestructible, so they can’t get knocked out and make me imperfectly unhealthy.

He’d also have to fix the stretch marks I have on my arms from when I used to lift too many weights in high school. And the stretch marks I have on my stomach from when I weighed 306-fucking-pounds. While he’s at it, that stint as a fat guy also gave me a lot of extra skin. Doctors advise that I should fill up all of that space with muscle from working out, but I don’t want to do that. There’s so much loose skin that I’d look like one of those pro-wrestling idiots when I was done, and that’s just too much muscle. It’s good to look ripped, but when your legs are as thick as an elephant’s, it’s just not attractive. I don’t want to look like I’m smuggling a python under my skin, I just want to look normal.


I also have a lot of scars that the devil would have to erase. And it would be nice if the nails on my little toes would grow out instead of up. Come to think of it, it would be nice to not have flat feet. My forehead has been mottled and lumpy ever since I got out of the hospital the first time, so a good complexion would also help.


The devil would also have to fix my deviated septum and my esophagal hernia. And since age tends to make people infirm, I would have to remain youthful in appearance and practice for the rest of my time. No wrinkles, no loss of hair, no falling and breaking my hip, none of that.


I’m not asking to be beautiful. I’ve never been pretty, and I never will be. I just want to live the rest of my time without having to go to the ER for anything. I never want to spend another night trying to sleep with an IV hooked up to my arm. I never want to have to send a check to Elmhurst Memorial ever again.

Is that too much to ask?

All right, folks. Confession time: what would you sell your soul for? Let me know in the comments below.