When his father finally gave him the Guns

When his father finally gave him the Guns n Roses album, he held the vinyl up to the light, as if Slash's leads and Axl's voice would come shimmering through. Then he moved towards

The turntable, anticipation shaking his fingers down to the tips. He'd been waiting for fifteen years for record player priveledges since the time he scratched the Welk single.

Now, as he stared at the spinning disc he knew that no recording would sound better than what he would experience over the next moments. The record was

made of hardened human flesh. A dragon's tooth was used to burn the souls of the damned onto the record. He was the only living human to be allowed this honor, so he turned

of children lost at sea wailed - a sound to him like a sweet lullaby. He slept soundly that night for the first time in months. His only regret was

that the iceberg trick would work only once, twice at the most. He'd have to devise a new strategy for bringing more souls into his domain. He dreamed

that one day the world would freeze over, bringing about the end of humanity so he could torment them in his sulfurous chambers for the rest of eternity.

It was fun for about half a millennia but the damned just got peevish. He finally had the lost souls in marathon games of Boogle and musical chairs. "Unispiring," mumbled the imps.

"Well, if you don't like it," he said, "you can go to h--" He broke off, dropped to the ground and wept. There was just nowhere worse to go.