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Graphic by Sarah

I’m trying to sell out, but the world isn’t interested.

Why is the going rate for my soul so low?

Faust gave me a collection of unrealistic expectations so large you could raise a family of four in them, with room for a dog and a parrot. I thought, when the day came for me to sell out, the payout for my principals would be super high.

I was expecting a yacht at least. Maybe a 401K and a walk-in closet. Eternal torment was always a given, but before that happened, I really wanted to attend a fancy party in a gown cut up to there. (If The Red Death also happened to attend that same fancy party, WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN? Clearly I earned such an end by being wealthy and annoying.)

I’ve spent a lot of time being true to my principles, trying to write meaningful things and make art that no one could possibly understand. I put in the work! I made sacrifices!

And now your girl is tired and would like to lean on the old failsafe.

Except the lifeboat is looking a little leaky these days.

These days, you sell your soul to Satan and end up with a Big Mac. Something’s gotta be messing with the exchange rate, because IMO soul burgers should at least be artisanal.

Maybe I waited too long? Perhaps I should have entertained a few offers straight out of art school, instead of waiting until I was creaky and bitter? Perhaps that’s the problem.

Still, I haven’t given up. Someone must be waiting in the wings with a briefcase of cash.

Here is a list of things I’m willing to do for money and fame:

  • Draw a picture of your nonorganic tomato
  • Drape my aging body across the car you’re trying to sell
  • Put on a bowler hat and wear it non ironically while I smoke a cigar
  • Disappoint my parents
  • Follow hot celebrities around with a camera and try to get pictures of them with food in their mouths
  • Math
  • Wear a shirt that says “Wifey”.
  • Quote Ayn Rand
  • Post instagram photos of my sexy knees
  • Get through an entire meeting without making fun of any of the buzzwords
  • Write the screenplay for Garfield 3

There are probably a lot of other ways I could sell out, but I haven’t thought of them yet. If one particular method of selling out has worked for you, please let me know in the comments. I feel like I’m standing out here on the street corner waving a big sign around that reads “Soul for Sale” and all I’m getting is annoyed honks from the passing cars.

Someone help me soon.

Otherwise I’m going to be forced to write The Next Great American Novel. And if there’s anything people want less than my soul, it’s that.

Written by

Engaged in inadvisable wordsmitheries and other creative acts.

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