The Angel of Death entered the Target. The

The Angel of Death entered the Target. The first thing it noticed was the

Slayer album collection in the CD aisle. After snagging a few copies, the Angel of Death stalked Target's children's clothing dept. "Do you have older siblings?" it asked Billy.

Billy's eyes grew wide as saucers as he looked up at the Angel of Death, who bore an uncanny resemblence to Justin Bieber, only paler. "Can I have your autograph for, uh, my sister

Mary Jezebel?" When it came, people were often stunned and clueless. The Bieberesque Angel of Death told Billy, "I'm not here to tattoo anyone, I'm just here to help you cross the

't's and dot the 'i's. These soul contracts can be tricky to digest, which is why the Devil put ME in charge of new accounts!" The Biebereque Angel of Death beamed, offering a pen

dant covered in his blood to which I declined as I already wore gold chains given to me by Mr T. The New Accounts department was busy but I impressed the boss by alphabetising the

names of the national celebrity alpha-males. "Mr. A, Mr. B ... Mr. Y, Mr. Z. All in order. Well done!" Expecting a raise, I was dejected when all I received was an attaboy and

Told I was a Beta male, shades of brave new world. This creeped me out! I wanted to puke. So I did. There was little choice. Nobody noticed anything when I returned to fold a line

dripping blood all over the keyboard because they were on the wrong side of the screen. I lined up their bodies on the floor all around my bed. I left a small path from the bed to

the graveyard, then I began the slow business of burying them, one by one. By dawn I was done with all but one grave: my own. I decided to go to Denny's instead. I regret it now.