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July 6, 2005

Michele: Speak of the Devil

I’m a traveling salesman. Sort of. See, I don’t sell steaks or encyclopedias. I sell salvation.

Yea, I’m one of them. I knock on your door on a Saturday morning. My suit, tie and fixed smile all say “I’m here for your soul.” You appear startled. Must be the tail.

If you try to slam the door on me, I wedge my foot in there and say “Watch this!” I whip out my dick and piss on your bushes, which disintegrate on the spot.

That trick is my boss’s idea. That, and the business card that says: Go to Hell!

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