Coffee... Beans. Lime... Sherbet. Vanilla...

Coffee... Beans. Lime... Sherbet. Vanilla... Sky. Autumn... Leaves. Mint... Currency. Rain... Dance. Money... Nothing. Dr. Sheridan seemed frustrated. He turned up the voltage and

yelled louder. Bacon… osculum infame. Pancakes… ritual murder. Liquid cheese… snuff films. Dr. Sheridan disconnected the electrodes. "It's not acid reflux. You've made a pact with

Beelzebub which manifests itself as acid reflux. I've booked you in with a reliable exorcist who'll deal with your problem. Casting Out of Demons isn't usually covered on most insu

rance policies because it's usually an act of God if you trace the thing back far enough. So looking for a real exorcist can get really expensive. But I have a system. I use a

Not all demons need exorcism, of course; just the ones in the gluttony circle. I figure I'll do them a solid because my blood feels backed up in my head and neck. I'm so scared of

finding out that I'm a hemophiliac that I refuse to stem my bleeding simply on principle. "I absolutely refuse your offensive offer. Pistols at dawn is my counteroffer." The demons

discussed this notion among themselves. Being demons, they had always relied on their evil powers instead of firearms, but being stupid, they agreed to the duel. At dawn, I watched

them square off back to back—with unloaded guns (I told you they were stupid). At 10 paces they turned and fired. There were only trigger clicks, but the demons still dropped dead.

Just then Hredgor The Beholder came around the corner. He saw the two dead demons, threw up his hands and walked away. "I'm not cleaning this up," I said and followed The Beholder.