It was only a matter of time before Harcourt finally met the Devil. It happened on a Thursday, despite (as has been mentioned on numerous occasions) the meaninglessness of distinctions like “days.”
“You slay me!” the Devil said, almost crying with laughter. “Walls! You actually asked walls! ‘Are you the Devil?’”
Harcourt’s face reddened like a spanked bum.
He said, “I’d like to protest.”
“Feel free!” the Devil replied, still laughing.
“I don’t remember what acronyms mean! I use to. Now I don’t! I think you did that.”
“Well, they’re dumb in the first place. Why worry?”
“I wouldn’t except people keep using them.”
“Listen,” the Devil explained, “There are no people here. Get use to it. There’s just lost souls that once were people. And they all got here D.O.A.”
“What’s that mean?”
“D.O.A.? How stupid are you?”
The Devil had a devilish sense of humour. That, too, may have been mentioned already.
