Sorry, Skald, but I shall have to decline your offer. Even if my soul didn’t already belong to the man upstairs, my husband has second dibs. 
So where’s my damn Succubusses… err… Succubi… Where’s my women at?
21, goddammit 21!
No need for an estimate, and in fact no haggling. Write down on a piece of paper what material goods you require as recompense; Azazel will look it over and say either yes or no.
The phrase is “Where’s all the white women at!?!?”
SSSSuuuurrrrreeeee you are.
But they’re so cool and refreshing!
They don’t all need to be white… in fact I’d like a few of every ethnicity. A smorgasbord!
I eagerly anticipate delivery…
Take it up with the boss. Though why you would try to obtain the right to go to Hell is unclear to me.
And just where the Hell were you about 38 years ago, hmmmm? When I was TRYING to sell my soul? I had the black candles, the wine, the Host, the bells, the books…I even had the Satanic Bible. Do you know how hard it was to get that book in Springfield Missouri, when my parents escorted me through the store every time I went? And nobody showed up, except my mother, who wanted to know why I was burning candles in the basement when I was supposed to be in bed already!
I actually DID try to make a deal with the devil when I was 15 or 16, but never had any luck with it.
Silly rabbit. You get to sell your soul when Beelzebub or his agent comes to you. If it’s your idea, the LowerArchy isn’t interested, because frankly you’re headed down Hades Way anyhow.
And don’t talk about Faust, either. We were always going to get his soul. We let him think he was selling it for our own purposes.
Having said all that, you seem to have inadvertently cleaned your moral slate in the past few decades and currently are not bound for the Pit. Shall I draw up a contract?
Just letting you know what you’re missing. 
Mine is badly stained. Still interested?
Hell you can have mine for free. It’s not like I use it.
But I’m not pricking my finger for any price so we’ll just have to shake on the deal.
So… what if, hypothetically, I suckered someone into selling their soul to me, and I then gave that extra soul to you? I mean, legally it belongs to me- er, it would belong do me if I were the type of person to do such a thing- and I could thus said to be selling my soul, in the same way I could sell you my car or my porcelain cat figurine collection.
Hypothetically, of course. whistles innocently
I understand your fear of needles, so I’ve instructed the netherwordly notary to prick your finger for you. Though he’s been known to get the phrases make a tiny prick in and lop off entirely without benefit of anaesthesia mixed up. I’d like to remove him but he’s in the union.
Deal. Of course, after I spend most of the fabulous wealth on hookers and blow (keep the demon babes, just not my style), I’ll save enough to take out a full page ad calling the leader of the local motorcycle gang a kiddie diddler, and giving my full name and address. Then, you can either accept a few outlaw biker souls and call it even, or come to collect…at Valhalla.
Another lawyer checking in - but, assuming my soul was bundled with pravnik’s or is otherwise back on the market, I’d certainly be interested in a deal:
Power, please! Call it a big whoppin’ serving of cash - a couple hundred million should do nicely - plus the charisma to get me through when the cash can’t. I’ll use it all to start some worthy nonprofits, eventually run for the Senate, and serve as a voice for human rights, civil liberties, and good sense in that august institution. At least, at first - I’ll believe that I’ve made the noble sacrifice of my soul to advance the good of all Mankind, but eventually I’ll become so jaded by power that I’ll well and truly deserve my inevitable damnation. If you like, I’ll toss in a love of my life whom I’ll win, and then lose as I descend into corruption - ensuring that I die truly and horribly alone.
Sorry, Oak. There’s no clean title on your soul; Odin has a prior claim. I’n not getting it with the Aesir.
BTW - why am I the first one trying to sell his soul for power? Good grief, people, read your Faust!